US POOR DEVILS [CLOSED]

[Cole]

Cole had taken up the habit of keeping meticulous documentation of her time in the Menagerie. She wrote down encounters in detail, including dates (or at least a rough estimate of month) and names. It had become her coping mechanism to her lack of memory; her entire life was now contained in pages of details written immediately after the fact. She had sheets dedicated to single individuals, such as Hush and his family, or mere notes of passing encounters. She included actual names, accompanied by the nicknames that she gave people in order to trigger her memory of them. Cole wrote down physical characteristics such as eye and hair color, height, size, and combat ability. It had become one of her rare passions; something she delighted in. 

The crux of the new hobby, however, meant she had accounts of encounters she would have preferred to forget of entirely. She recorded her dreams and what she could remember of her ex-husband. She had heard, ironically enough, that he had taken up a position in the Carna Ring. The idea sickened her as surely as it possessed her but Cole refused to speak to Hush of it. She would not voice her concerns; or her obsessions. The idea he was still alive, roaming the Menagerie, ensured Cole stayed up late at night and did not sleep well. Her dull days in the Fallen Ring, in which she did menial household chores, certainly allotted her more than enough time to think. 

All in all, Cole was slowly loosing her mind. She had once had all the power in the world. She had seen all of the continents; she had visited some of the most obscure places in the world. The images haunted her and her thoughts pointed her back toward a single revelation:

She was a monster. 

She would always be a monster. No matter how kind her deeds now, she could not remove the atrocities of her past. Her life felt atypical, more so now than ever. She washed clothes, prepared meals, and took care of children. She was acting at normalcy she had never had. She held Akane's daughter with the hands of a killer and the thought haunted her. Some nights she found herself choked on tears she refused to shed, sitting atop the train-car in her leopard form so Hush would not ask her why she seemed so upset. A feline's face betrayed no emotion. This restlessness, this discontent, drove her to obsess over her encounter with the Fallen Beta and his proposition. Months had passed since she had talked to him but something had recently made her contemplate his original offer. He had been injured in Carna territory on account of heroics. 

Cole had always been taught that heroics would get you killed. 

Regardless, Cole had tracked him down to his location of recovery. She felt invasive seeking him out in his own home but she had few other options. She had waited for the end of the day, when the desert sky was overcast with the threat of a spring shower. Upon finding his train-car, she knocked curtly on the outside but was pleased to discover the door open. She had learned it was almost customary at this point to invite oneself in Fallen territory after knocking and so she did so but lingered politely in the doorway. 

Her face was flushed with the brisk chill of early spring and her red hair was done back in a series of intricate braids. Cole had done little to ensure she seemed "presentable" to the Beta, as she had little desire to impress. Her time in the Menagerie had done little for her manners; if anything it had ensured she lost them. With a quick scan of her surroundings, her eyes settled on the man she sought in his injured state. "I'm here because I reconsidered your proposition." 

She would only explain why if he asked and, even then, the full truth would be withheld. The feelings were too complicated for her to properly convey, regardless.

["Quick" Taylor]

Quick felt like he was going insane.

He had been bedridden for a week, and every minute had been torture for him. He lay in bed , staring at the walls and ceiling of his train car for the most part. Luckily enough, there were a few times a day he still had Beta duties he could take care of from bed, so that helped keep him somewhat occupied. Mostly, though, he was left with naught but his own thoughts for company.

He shifted in bed, pain from his wound shooting through his side as he did. He had fallen into a spiked pit trap, near the border with Carnaring, while trying to save a new member of the Fallen from the same trap-hole. He had been impaled during the fall, one of the spikes running straight through his gut. He had been returned to the Fallen camp quickly enough to prevent any real danger to his life. The wound was still very much healing and still very, very tender.

He laid there in his bed, fighting off sleep, when he heard a knock at the door to his train car. Despite his wound’s protests, he pulled himself to a sitting position where he could see the door as it swung open. He was surprised when he saw “Jetta” standing in the doorway, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there. His brow wrinkled as he wondered what this visit was for. His thoughts were quickly answered as her eyes settled on him and she said, “I’m here because I reconsidered your proposition.”

Quick’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He had no doubt she meant the little spiel he’d given her a while back about protecting the Fallen and doing more than she was now as an Omega. He had all but given up on his plans though, as her response had made him second guess the others he’d picked out of the Ring for his plans. He’d all but given up on them. Now that she had changed her mind, though, he felt a small glimmer of renewed hope.

He grunted in pain as he swung his legs over the side of his bed and slowly stood, holding a hand out to the nearby wall for support. He walked slowly toward the open door, his open hand pressed lightly against his wound while the cool evening air brushed against his skin through the open door. He came right up in front of “Jetta”, the horizon behind her a blaze of reds, yellows, and oranges, futilely studying her face for some hint of what might have changed her mind.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he said quietly, the pain of his wound evident in his voice despite the small smirk on his face, “But what changed your mind? Last time you were pretty dead set against the entire idea. I think your exact words were ‘I refuse to be your attack dog.’”