welcome to your new hell, Welcome to the Menagerie. Or as we like to call it, Dome Sweet Dome! We are an eight-year strong futuristic shapeshifter and sci-fi creature roleplay, dedicated to bringing you a world unlike any other; a world in which your character has become an experiment and must fight for survival in a domed city, cut off from the rest of the world. Choose to be any animal in your fight for survival in an artificial world built by the Keepers as they subject you to experiments beyond your control. Choose to wander the world inside the walls alone, as a Rogue, or find safety in numbers in one of the groups known as Rings. How will you survive?
60 - 65 ºF
blustery with scattered showers spotty sunshine
YEAR 2309
shift bans.
» Cougars (aka Puma, Mountain Lion, Panther)
» All Tiger Species
» All Lion Species
» All Wolf Species
» African Leopards
group bans.
none.
encouraged !
FEMALE CHARACTERS! create a RETRO or ANTHRO and get 250 CP + a free skill! read me for more info!
last updated: april 19th, 2016
Click on each Ring or Retro group image to view their ranks!
GROUP UPDATES
CARNARING
Jocelyn Edelwolfe is the new Alpha! Seija Mulviene is the new Beta, and Grey is the new Delta. Lead Hunter is now Boone Haywood, Head of Border Patrol is now Noelle Ndango!
FALLENRING
-
FULSIRING
Fulsi has a standing treaty with the Nakoma, granting limited access to their fresh water.
NAKOMA TRIBE
-
ANALOYA PRIDE
a while back, the Analoya suffered a suspicious poisoning of their river, luckily with few casualties; the Bellator are suspected of having taken part in it, and there are whispers that Pride leader Wanderer is talking alliance with the Nilda for access to their clean water.
BELLATOR HERD
As new leader of the Bellator, Loril has instituted some rank changes. See this thread for more information!
LAWAII FLOCK
no updates!
NILDA PACK
no updates!
CARNARING QUICK STATS
ALPHA -- Jocelyn Edelwolfe, Clouded Leopard, played by IronChild
BETA -- Seija Mulviene, Spotted Hyena, played by Seija-chan
DELTA --Grey, Mackenzie Valley Wolf, played by Kriss
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It was dark. And it was cold. Holly huddled reluctantly in her bed, still half asleep and unwilling to get up. Still, she knew that if she didn’t, she’d never hear the end of it and would only succeed in annoying the Scout she was partnered with for the day. After allowing herself to laze for a few more moments, she sighed and slid out from under the blankets, shivering in the cold air. Clothes were pulled on quickly; jeans, socks, shoes, then sweatshirt, over the panties, bra, and tank-top she already wore. Still not fully awake, bleary eyed and operating on autopilot, she made her way out of the sewers.
The walk helped to wake her up slightly, so when she spotted the figure of her fellow Scout waiting by the exit, she didn’t walk right past him in a daze. Covering a yawn, she beckoned him with her other hand, shouldering the makeshift door open and stepping into the gray light that suggested dawn was coming. She paused to stretch up on her toes, arms extended above her head, delighting in the tension then release of muscles. Shaking off the bitter chill of the morning air, she turned to the boy who’d followed her out the door.
“Lyric,” she greeted. “I got the assignment last night, we’re headed for the Huntingrounds today.” She was already moving off in the familiar direction, hands lifting to her hair, which tumbled unbound past her shoulders. As she walked, she combed her fingers through it, pulling it back from her face and weaving it into a loose braid. “They want us to see if we can get close to the Analoya and get an update on their numbers.”
Reaching the top of a small, frostbitten rise, she turned to the other Shifter. “Are you opposed to flying?” They could walk, but in addition to taking hours, it was more dangerous on the ground. Her shift would have no trouble with his weight, and the flight would take less than an hour. Whether or not Lyric would actually be willing to go hundreds of feet into the air remained to be seen. They’d never been scouting together, and she only knew him by association. On the other hand, perhaps he was unaware of her shift altogether and was currently wondering what she was talking about - she didn’t hide it, but rarely had reason to shift while in the sewers.
The sharp chill of the morning reawakened a memory—it stirred in Lyric’s mind like a bird shifting in its nest at the break of dawn. He’d already dragged himself out of bed, albeit somewhat resentfully and his feet were leaden on the ground, his movements slow as he stalked through the sewers with a sense of groggy resentment and coldness. An involuntary shake racked his frame from the bitter cold, his breath huffing out from his flaring nostrils in the form of opaque and drifting shapes. And it was needless to say that this little memory was somewhat bitter indeed, making his golden eyes narrow and swarm with clustering shadows that seemed ridden with despair.
He was in a relatively bad mood, which was remarkable considering his normal demeanor. His mind was still on his encounter with Ven, even though that had been some time ago. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to distract him his ceaseless brooding. The Russian seemed to be completely entranced in his own thoughts, which wasn’t far from the truth. The same words kept repeating in his mind, the entire conversation seemed repetitive. He kept analyzing it, rethinking the things he’d said and done. Not only that, but he was cracking open his memories, reliving those early moments of his life. Trying to recall in perfect clarity the things he’d done as a child… but… he kept falling up short.
Lyric pushed away these thoughts with some force, standing stiffly near the exit of the sewers. It was too early for this, but he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before anyways. Rather, it was spent with restless unease. I’m… selfish, he thought to himself with a sort of baseless blame. But he didn’t argue. He wouldn’t argue just because of Ven Volkov. It didn’t matter, in the scheme of things… did it? He didn’t have to be a do-gooder, or a people pleaser, he didn’t even need to be liked. But then the same thought struck him as it always did, sounding bitter and mocking from the deepest recesses of his mind. The voice that spoke to him was the same voice that spoke reproach to others. You’re just as bad as your parents, Lyric Shikov.
However, at that moment Holly Kingston decided to appear. Lyric was caught between being momentarily happy at the interruption in his thoughts, or being in a worse mood than before while in the presence of another. He chose to decide neither, rather remaining indifferent and shoving away any sensations, as it should be. Likewise, Lyric did not greet her, but followed her gesture and followed her out of the sewers. If he’d thought the complex labyrinthine was cold, he was mistaken, for immediately as he stepped out of the confronts below, he was confronted with a cold blast of air and a blaze of stark lighting that burned into the sockets of his eyes.
”Okay,” Lyric muttered, lowering his yellow eyes to the ground to avoid the glare of oppressive gray light. When he glanced up again, he realized she’d already paced some distance away. He loped to eliminate the distance between them, before slowing his pace to an even long-legged walk. He cast her a sidelong glance at her question, shrugging his shoulders. At first, the query surprised him, but then he remembered hearing rumors that Holly’s shift was some mythological creature like a griffin. Ly imagined that the rumor must be true, if she was offering him a ride. ”I’m fine with flying.”
occ;;ohmygod please, please excuse the wait and the major, major failpost... my muse is like... dead, even for Ly Dx
At the other Carna’s consent, she nodded and took a few steps away before sliding into her shift. The size of a small horse, surprising light for her size, with the golden furred body of a lioness and the dark amber-brown feathered head of an eagle. In addition to the massive wings that extended from her shoulders, her tail was lion like, but sported feathers, while her forepaws had talons instead of regular claws. She turned her now-golden gaze on Lyric and blinked upon seeing him with her magnification vision, then folded her legs beneath her, settling to the ground.
Spreading one wing to allow him to reach her side revealed a leather harness strapped around her chest and back, providing foot- and handholds. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it was practical, and put the rider in crouched position like that of a jockey, so they wouldn’t lounge like a deadweight, throwing her off balance. Holly waited for the other shifter to approach and settle himself on her back, then rose to her paws and backed a few feet down the rise. There she spread her other wing to match the first and lifted them, then bounded for the top of the rise. Leaping into the air as her wings swept down, she pulled away from the earth, legs curling up against her torso.
The first few yards were always the hardest - she climbed for height, wings pounding the air in a rapid tempo as she battled gravity and the extra weight dragging at her back. Only when she was some distance above tree height did she level, gliding for a moment to catch her breath before resuming the ascent. The frigid air made her lungs ache, but she pushed the sensation to the back of her mind, and focused on driving herself higher. Flying was always difficult in early morning, when the sun had not yet risen enough to create thermals. As a result, it was a couple minutes before she reached a suitable soaring altitude.
Holly leveled out with a grateful sigh, stretching her wings to their fullest extent and allowing the air to support her weight. She drifted for a few moments, resting, then tipped her wings and banked into a curve, angling toward the Huntingrounds. The flight was uneventful if laborious. Because the air was so stagnant, both with the morning cold and the glass wall that prevented the great wind currents of the upper atmosphere from having an effect, she flew the entire distance under her own power, wings beating more often than she would have liked.
When the descent began, it was barely noticeable, but after a few minutes the ground was visibly closer. She glided down for an easy landing at the fringes of the forest, back-winging as her hind paws stretched downward, searching for the ground, before dropping to all fours and coming to a running halt. Lowering her stomach to the ground, she folded one wing, leaving the other extended so Lyric could get clear. When he had, she straightened and rolled her shoulders, then shifted back to human form. “We’d be noticed if I flew over their territory,” she explained, turning to pad deeper into the forest’s depths. Staying just above the treetops would conceal her, but they’d be nearly blind, and she couldn’t maintain low flight for very long. Too much of her flying relied on simple gliding. They’d have to do the actual scouting on foot.
When he had ever imagined flying like this—albeit, not on the back of a griffin, but as something like a bird—Lyric had always thought the flight would be smooth and easy. Moments later he was proven wrong, when holding lightly to the leather handholds, being careful not to hurt the fellow Carna (he thought having someone ride on your back would be uncomfortable), he was jerked where he sat and held on tighter. Lyric bit his tongue in the process, tasting blood in his mouth, grunting as the she flapped her wings. Each wingstroke caused another jerk, and throughout the ascent his stomach curled in his stomach like an angry snake.
Finally, when they began to glide—they had earlier for a short time, but then Holly had begun to ascend again—Lyric was allowed a breath or two. His hands hurt from holding on so tightly, and his muscles were clenched in anticipation of falling. When she wasn’t flapping, he discovered that it was actually enjoyable. But then he would be shocked into tension by another jolt of her wings, feeling as though at any moment he was going to fall off and plummet to his death. God forbid he actually look down. Perhaps due to the fact Lyric was keeping his eyes pointedly forward he didn’t notice, per se, when they began to descend. After a moment or two he realized that they were moving steadily downward, if only because he happened to glance down and see how close the ground was.
He was relieved when they landed, and even more so when he could scramble off of her back and stand, hands on his knees, breathing deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth. Just then, he was very glad he hadn’t been born a bird shifter. In fact, he was fairly content with having his belly to the ground when he shifted. It was far better than that. Then again, maybe it was better for the flyer. “Alright,” he muttered, straightening to follow her as she began to trail deeper into the forest. His nose wrinkled, while he wondered exactly what kind of beasties lurked in the trees. Analoya were a tribe of felines, if he could remember correctly.
Right. Because lions and tigers weren’t threatening at all—but, hell, he wouldn’t want to mess with a griffin. Lyric slid his eyes over the monstrosity, wondering what had made her. The Keepers—who else? He was walking quickly to keep up with Holly, but there was an entire void of distance between the two of them. He was slightly envious of her, just then, for her shift. What he wouldn’t give to be something like that. Instead he had small animals. Not entirely defenseless, though. He subconscious ran his tongue—still smarting from when he’d bitten it—over his teeth.
“A couple miles.” Pausing, she used the toe of her sneaker to shove a layer of evergreen needles aside, and dropped to one knee beside the freshly exposed patch of earth. With one forefinger, she drew a rough shape in the soil, and marked an N for north. “If this is the Huntingrounds, the Analoya camp is here.” She tapped a spot. “Here’s where we are now. And there’s a ridge right here that should make a good lookout spot.” Rising, she dusted off her hands, using her foot to wipe out the crude map and kick the needles back into place.
They continued on, pressing deeper into the forest. Their progress was slow, as they ventured carefully, assuring that they hadn’t been discovered. The birdsong was reassuring - silence had fallen when the Shifters spoke, but one they were quiet the heavy, ominous stillness lessened as the forest creatures resumed their morning activities. The sun had risen properly by the time they neared the rise she’d mentioned, thawing the frigid fall air slightly.
Though the heather-covered ridge was mostly bare of trees, a copse of saplings and brambles crowned the top. From the direction they’d approached, the cats’ camp was out of sight, on the far side of the rise. It was a dangerous blind for the cats, concealing enemies until they were too close. For that reason, they’d posted a sentry. Holly stopped Lyric with a nudge, and pointed to the base of the hill - in one of the last trees before the cleared area, a small wildcat lounged on a branch, nearly invisible against the bark.
Gesturing for the other Carna to follow, she circled around to a point where the forest almost reached the brambles that sprawled over the crest of the ridge. She paused behind the trunk of a massive pine, waited for the cat’s head to turn in the other direction, and darted across the ten feet of open space that separated her from the thicket. She knelt behind the cover until Lyric joined her, then rose to a crouch and crept up the ridge, placing her feet carefully to avoid making a noise. Only when they were out of sight of the sentry’s post, in the copse of trees, did she breathe out a sigh of relief.
Winding through the brambles, she made her way to the far side of the ridge, where they could look down on the camp. There wasn’t much to indicate any sort of headquarters, except for the sheer number of cats milling about. From this distance details were indistinct, but they would be able to take tallies. Satisfied, Holly glanced around, and indicated a sheltered hollow under a browning Honeysuckle that still had most of its leaves. “We can set up there. We’ll be able to look out, and it will help cover our scent, at least a little. Can you keep watch? I’m going to make sure the hill is clear.”
When he agreed, Holly turned away and disappeared into the young trees. She circled the crest of the ridge, spotting one more sentry posted at the bottom of the hill in addition to the one they’d first seen, and returned to their post from the opposite direction. She was a few yards from the Honeysuckle when she stepped forward, triggering the snare that snapped up from its place on the ground, closing tight around her lower leg.
Holly choked back a yowl, hands clamping over her mouth, as she staggered and fell. Icy metal wire cut cleanly through the denim of her jeans, biting viscously into the muscle of her calf. Hot blood welled from the slit carved into her flesh, steaming in the crisp air. Moving her leg brought a fresh wave of agony, and she swallowed the whimper that rose in her throat. Tears of pain blurred her vision, but she blinked them angrily away. “Lyric,” she managed to choke out, pitching her voice low. “Lyric!”
He wished they had a real map, but he made do with the one that Holly had drawn instead. For the most part, they were silent. He had nothing he wished to say, nothing that needed to be shared—sometimes he made quiet observations aloud, speaking in a sort of hushed murmur that curled with a telltale sardonic note. He thought that it would’ve been wiser to capture or kill the sentry, but he did not remark when they didn’t. He kept close on her trail throughout the entire trip, careful not to make noise, stumble, or do anything idiotic like that. He’d gone scouting on missions similar enough to this to know and acknowledge the dangers of screwing up.
“Yeah, I can keep watch.” The Russian muttered, crouched, and watched her until she disappeared from his site. Lyric kept his eyes opened, and didn’t allow one area to go unwatched for very long. His eyes continued to stray towards the large and small wildcats that walked throughout the territory. They were threatening—or at least the larger ones, but the most he felt was a sort of mild curiosity. Had their numbers grown since the last tally was taken? He didn’t know for certain, but it almost looked like it. He wondered if in the future they would prove as a threat, but then shrugged off that idea.
He waited tensely for Holly to return. He honestly didn’t expect anything to go wrong—Lyric! It was low, but very audible. He winced. What was so important that she could compromise their mission over? Annoyed, he rose from his easy crouch, slinking in the direction of the sound—he was careful to stay low and keep his footsteps quiet, brows furrowed slightly. His yellow eyes were indifferent. “What—” Ly broke off when he saw her, on the ground, blood gushing from her leg. Well. He supposed that this did mean she had a decent reason for calling him.
Lyric approached tentatively, cautiously—his eyes looked to the ground, and then towards the surrounding foliage. “I didn’t think that these things were intelligent enough to make snares,” he remarked with a list of telltale, bitter humor. Ly fell to his knees besides her, first reaching towards the wire—but jerking his hand back when it cut through the skin of his fingers.That was going to be inconvenient He dug out one of the K-BAR knives he kept hooked in his belt. “I really hope that didn’t sever anything important.”
“This is going to hurt. Like a bitch.” He reached out, knife in hand, and began cutting at the wire that encircled her calf. After a moment, he realized how inefficient his strategy was. He kept cutting his hands, and the wire jerked with each motion of the knife… “Well, shit…” Now both of his hands were cut and bleeding, and he was certain that one of the Analoya would catch the scent of blood and come running. Finally, on one last desperate attempt, Lyric covered his hand with the long sleeve of his denim jacket, and pulled the knife through the wire. It snapped undone, loosening around her calf, but he was immediately worried by all the blood loss. He could probably heal it enough to slow the blood flow through the wound, but he couldn’t completely mend it without knocking himself unconscious in the process.
“I’m not a Medic,” he protested to no one in particular, and then swore sharply in Russian. “We need to get out of here, and soon. They’ll catch the scent of blood, but I’m not sure if you can walk. I can heal you some, but I don’t think I can heal you enough.” Lyric cursed, once more, in Russian, reaching out a hand to her calf and beginning to heal what he could. After a few moments, the blood gushing from the wound slowed, but did not stop, and he breathed out a heavy breath. Even with his Endurance and Healing ability, it was a deep wound… “We’re gonna have to make do with an old-fashion tourniquet, I think.”
“Anything important? Course not. Who needs a foot?” she forced out through gritted teeth. It certainly felt as if the wire could slice clean through her leg. It must be close to the bone, if it wasn’t digging into it already. “This is going to hurt. Like a bitch.” She could have told him that it was a bit late for that. It was hard to conceive that it could possibly hurt worse. But as she’d learned long ago, there was always a higher level of pain. Holly braced herself for it, but still gasped as he began to saw at the wire.
He gave up after a few moments, much to her relief, only to pull his sleeve down over his battered hand. “Now what are you-bloody hell,” she swore vehemently, as he yanked the knife across the wire, sending a sharp line of fire around her leg. At least it was loose. She sat up with a grimace, and began to ease the wire out of the thin, deep gash it had buried itself in. It wasn’t an easy process - the wire was slippery, slick with blood, and difficult to see. A hiss of pain escaped, but then the wire was free, and she threw it aside in disgust. While she worked, Lyric thought aloud.
“I can walk just fine,” she growled. Despite what she said, he placed a hand over the wound, causing it to tingle faintly, though the sensation was mostly lost among the throbbing pain. The bleeding slowed some, and he removed his hand. “We’re gonna have to make do with an old-fashion tourniquet, I think.” She didn’t wait for him to decide one way or the other. As he’d said, they needed to move, and quickly. She yanked the drawstring from the hood of her sweatshirt, and tied it tightly around her leg, just below the knee.
“Now let’s go.” She staggered to her feet, unsteady as her head spun. The bottom section of her pantleg had been sliced off, but she left it in a heap around her sneaker - hopefully it would soak up the blood that still dripped down her leg, and prevent then from leaving a blood trail for the cats to follow. It was tempting to simply run, driven by adrenaline and fear of discovery, but Holly knew that stealth was still their best option. She slid deeper into the copse of trees, leg throbbing in time with her rapid heartbeat.
It was bad technical form, but she retraced their steps. On that route, at least, they knew there were no snares or unexpected sentries. They had darted across the open hillside and into the trees when ferocious snarls echoed from the top of the ridge, followed by growled responses from the sentries. So much for sneaking out undetected. Holly exchanged a glance with Lyric, and broke into a run, head pounding. At least, she tried to, but her injured leg tripped her up. She shifted as she fell, landing smoothly on her forepaws instead of her palms, and finding her stride in a lope, hind leg held awkwardly off the ground. They raced along a forest path, as roars and snarls rang out behind them. When the calls suddenly halted, her heart leaped into her throat. The cats were hunting.
They didn’t have a chance in hell of outrunning the larger beasts, not when she was on three legs. Even if they did outdistance them some, they wouldn’t have time to cover their trail, allowing the cats to track them. “We need to get into the air,” she panted. “I can fight off one or two, but not three or more, not like this. Need a clearing, though. I can’t punch through the trees without any momentum.” She pressed herself faster, only half watching where she was going as she searched the trees for a gap, even a hint of lightness that would indicate the weave of branches was thinner than usual. “There! On, quickly!” She lifted her wings, keeping them close but high to avoid catching on the trees. Lyric’s weight settled on her back, and she bounded upward, straining as only one back leg launched her into the air. Her wings, fully open and pounding the air furiously, smashed through smaller branches. The twigs clawed at her, scratching and tugging, whipping across her face and chest.
After a moments that seemed like ages, she crashed into open air. Gasping, she struggled for altitude as vertigo made the world tip and spin. Holly turned on instinct, thoughts focused on putting distance between them and their pursuers, not on what direction she headed. The bright sunshine blurred into indistinct streaks as blackness tugged at the edge of her consciousness. She was aware of very little except the unsteady thud of her wings and the driving need to keep moving. When forest vanished into open land, however, the temptation was too much. She groaned, and stilled her wings, sinking to the ground. It rushed up to meet her far too quickly. Stumbling to a graceless landing, momentum threw her head over heels, landing heavily on her back and skidding to a halt. By that point, thankfully, she had relented to the darkness, dropping into oblivion.
ooc; scattered post is scattered. watching Narnia. xD words; 877
Lyric was no Medic, but he knew that he hadn’t healed her enough, and that now they were running. The wildcats pursued, and he felt adrenaline rush through him, eliminating whatever exhaustion healing her had done. He could have run easily faster than Holly, especially in her injured state, but Lyric kept pace with her. It would do him absolutely no good if she tripped or passed out, and he was left alone to defend himself and her against the Analoya tribe. She tripped, fell, shifted, and then got back up again, loping awkwardly this time.
“We need to get up into the air…” Ly cast her a doubtful glance. He didn’t really know if she could get up in the air, much less with him on her back. But she was right. He imagined one last attempt to flee before they got devoured was better than having her lose consciousness right then and there. Whenever he looked back, he could see the splattering trail of blood that she left. His hands still stung, viciously so, and the idea of riding a griffin didn’t exactly appeal to him just then. Nevertheless... when she said to, he got on her back. It was a good thing he wasn’t particularly heavy…
They jerked into the air after a few violent wing-strokes, and branches tore at his face. Lyric held on tightly to the leather, feeling the sharp pain on his hands, and then ignoring it. He didn’t know how she was possibly flying—and he felt even more unstable now then he had on their way here. She seemed shaky, unstable—and as soon as they put distance between themselves and the pursuing felines, she dropped down towards a clearing. He thought for a moment that this was another controlled gliding, but only when he realized exactly how fast the ground was approaching did he realize this was far from the case.
“Oh—” Lyric started, but did not finish, for they hit the ground. He was flung from her back, hitting the ground with a heavy thud a few feet away, he slid against the earth. His shirt chafed his skin, and the air had been forced out his lungs. First he grunted, and then he moaned. He thought this was going to be a very simple mission. Ly blurrily opened his eyes, but his face was pressed into the dirt. He spit some of it out of his mouth, only to realize he’d bitten his tongue again, which made his browns furrow in irritation. Not to mention now there was dirt all over his bleeding hands.
Lyric stood up, remembering that he wasn’t the only one who was injured. He made his way towards Holly, who lay on her back. After a moment of consideration, he discovered that she wasn’t moving. Shit. I hope she isn’t dead… He stumbled towards her, and fell to his knees besides the griffin, looking first at her face, and then towards her chest, which he saw was moving. Not the most accurate way to decide something was alive, but hell, it meant she was breathing. “Holly?” he prodded her shoulder with his knuckles, being careful not to step on her wings. “You’ve got to get up, Holly. C’mon. Up.” He realized that those few words probably didn’t have any effect on someone unconscious.
He wondered if he could heal her into consciousness. Hm. Ly reached out a hand, touching the griffin on the temple, he put as much soothing energy as he could into it, hoping that it was rouse her. Meanwhile, he felt increasingly more exhausted. “I really hope you get up, or at least turn back to a human. I can’t drag a griffin back to Carna, you know. And we need to wrap your leg better, which would also be easier if you were human.” Not that he expected her to awaken. Lyric leaned back on his heels, staring intently with a slightly puckered brow. “Dammit.”
Lyric turned his head—what was his hearing? He thought maybe that it was water. When he stood up, he realized that it was a small stream running through the center of the clearing. Perfect. He loped over to it, as quickly as he could, cupped some water in his hands, and came back to unceremoniously dump it on her face. He wasn’t laughing yet, per se, but his lips were slightly turned up in the hints of an un-amused smile. “There’s more where that came from. I really don’t want you to bleed to death.” What the two and two had to do together, he couldn’t decide.
occ;; homg, Ly x.x … hope this post is alrighty, Rumor :3
She started awake with an indignant yelp as cold water splashed over her face. Blinking blearily, she lifted her head from the ground, feathers darkened and dripping. Lifting a forepaw, she swiped it over her face. Lyric stood over her, his wet and blood smeared hands indicating he’d been the one to dump water on her. Holly blinked at him, then twisted gingerly onto her side and groaned, immediately regretting the movement as her head spun. Her leg was numb, sensation cut off by the tourniquet, and her wings had been mangled in the process of getting through the tree canopy. Feathers had been ripped or broken, and in some cases pulled out entirely. Dust and dirt caked her various scrapes.
Carefully, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and pulled the battered wings in to fold against her back, grimacing. Hauling herself to her feet, she limped and stumbled slowly over to the stream and plunged her head into it, gulping the cold, clear water. Then she straightened and waded into the brook, settling to her stomach to force the current to swell over her back. It was frigid, but useful - blood and dirt washed away, leaving her soaked but clean. Hauling herself back onto the bank, she shook like a dog, though the motion made her dizzy. “You should rinse your hands,” she muttered. “We need to keep moving.”
After moving a few steps away from the stream, she staggered, and sat down heavily. A low growl hummed in her throat, an invitation for Lyric to comment. She fell silent, glowering at the blood seeping sluggishly from the wound on her leg. Holly knew she had to let out the tourniquet, but didn’t relish the experience. With a sigh, she shifted back her human form - the damage done to her wings transferred to her back- and stretched the wounded leg out in front of her, to start tugging on the knot. It took some effort, but it loosened, and within moments pins and needles overtook her lower leg. The unpleasant sensation made her grimace, as did the increase in blood dripping from the injury.
Although it should have probably concerned her, the amount of blood she’d lost, all she could think was, by this point, it’s just a drop in the bucket. Or on the ground, as it were. It was dry, sardonic humor, but humor nonetheless.
It was difficult to muster any concern, when her head was so woozy. And she was so tired. She sprawled back against the ground gratefully, cold and unforgiving as it was. “I think it’s safe to say I screwed this mission up royally,” she said around a yawn. Maybe she should pass out again. Hopefully she wouldn’t get chewed out for her blunder if she was unconscious. Of course, even if she did, she wouldn’t be aware of it. Maybe that was the way to go. If they didn’t yell while she was out, they’d certainly do it when she woke up.
At least she was conscious. Lyric knelt a few yards ahead of the griffin, running his hands into the cold water. He stared at them curiously, looking at the deep cuts in his palms. Just more scars to add to the tally, eh? He’d have to stitch them later, he imagined, or find some Medic to heal the injuries. Maybe he could pester his brother. Or just heal them himself. Ly realized how absolutely pointless these thoughts were—then his eyes caught on the hem of his jacket. There was blood on it. Incredulity hit him. In all his time here, he’d managed to keep it relatively clean and free of stains. The jacket was one of the last remnants to remind him of a life he’d rather forget. And now he had blood running all the way up both the sleeves, soaked into the cuffs of it.
Well. He choked back a comment, and instead glared pointedly at nothing in particular. His unhappy gaze turned to Holly, irrationally part of his mind blamed her. Oh, yes, it was irrational, but the thought was still there. He stood up, water and blood dripping from his hands, which he held gingerly out to his sides, the sleeves of his ruined jacket pushed up to the crease of his elbow. Lyric stalked over to her, crouching besides her injured leg. “We aren’t going to go anywhere with your leg like this. You can’t play invincible forever, and I think you flying through those trees and then crash-landing did nothing to help.” Ly glanced down at her through narrowed, gleaming eyes.
The gingerly looked at the wound, feeling dispassion crawl up inside of him, and for a moment he thought it would come out in the form of harsh words. “I… should do something with it. Any ideas? I don’t carry around a needle and thread. I could always wrap it.” He leaned back on his heels, running a hand through his hair, brows still tucked into a fierce scowl. His voice did not give way to his thoughts, though—if anything, he lacked emotion at all, becoming monotone and repetitive. Ly was still upset over his jacket. It had sentimental value, he thought. But did it really?
“And yeah, you screwed it up pretty bad, sweetheart.” The ‘sweetheart’ rolled off of his tongue in a sort of abrasive, listing sarcasm. Lyric stood with his hands still stinging— this was when he smelt something astray. He was by no means a bloodhound shifter, but this odor slackened his jaw and made his gaze go bewildered. The anger evaporated, as quickly as it had formed. He’d become familiar with that scent, over his time in the Menagerie… but this was… different.
“Do… do you smell that?” he asked, glancing back down at her. “… it’s like… rotting meat.” and then he heard something. A sort of rustle at the edge of the clearing, the way they had come. He tensed, thinking it was another large cat, but what he saw surprised him. And it made his blood turn cold.
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