(no subject)

[truth_is_cold]

Who:Gaheris Rhade and whoever helps him out...
What: Rhade is running from Candlelighters after he's been found out.
Where: Right on the outskirts of Dog Fenn, coming in from Syriac Well.
When: Late in the evening. Date flexible to mun necessity.
Warnings & Notes: Blood. Violence likely. Always with the angst warning. Until his boneblades grow back they won't be readily visible.

This section of Baedal has gotten cool and crisp at the late hour. The families in Syriac Well are probably enjoying their sleep, or their firelit night in one another's company. No doubt a couple of tired parents are interrupted by children disturbed by sounds outside, or the folks themselves are left to stare at the ceiling at the sound of thumping or a heavy impact. At least one block will have something to talk about the next day, unfortunate though it was they would probably have entirely the wrong idea later.

The source of these noises hits the pavement with a roll, before continuing up the sidewalk toward more busy, populated areas. Somewhere that might have more signs of night life and decent lighting. He fumbles with a blood soaked hand to try to send off a message from his CiD- not even of himself at that moment. Recordings of a few conversations he'd been privvy to, because no one suspects boyish expressions and demure natures (that were excruciatingly against his instincts to emulate) to be anything but honest. The screen lights up a smear of red from his thumb.

These shoes are impractical and too loud. He puts the device in the pocket of his overcoat and begins to sprint, realizing that he couldn't abandon the wingtips like some sort of bizarre pastiche on a Grimm fairytale. He'll be just asking for the militia to hunt him down on some manufactured charge.

He's so close to Dog Fenn. He can smell the restaurants closing down for the night, and still hear the buzz of a few more people out. He doesn't stop running. In fact, he throws himself into it. Faster than any normal human, but not like a vampire. He still has to strain, feel the pounding of blood in his chest and his head grow dizzy. As long as he stays ahead, as long as they don't stop the message from going through, he'll have accomplished something.

He hurks at the feeling of sharp metal in his shoulder-blade. He will have to commend the man for having impeccable aim with that crossbow. He's barely made it past the first shop and he had to slip into an alley and pull that one free of his body, too.

Few people here knew Gaheris Rhade before he "vanished". He'd not made a point to be personable, and when he'd discovered what was happening in the city it had filled him with a sense of resentment. A reminder of what drove his people to subjugation over the humans. A reminder that the lives of his people were simply offered to the Magog, that they weren't entitled to compensation after the planets they brought life to were obliterated by the horrors of their invaders.

And then he had gotten his mind stuck on Dylan, on Dylan's face, and that last question to him.

Gaheris. What have you done?

And he'd vanished, he'd become another person, a Mr. Emory Morris (a poor boy with a home education and a fear of the unfamiliar city, needing his new employer to show him around and all the kinds of people that he needed to be wary of). A poster-boy smile and a chipper tone for all the old hands he worked around and impressive to the haughty ladies. And he remained that person until the nasty moment that finished his recording, where someone grabbed his arm and realized that the boneblades he'd sanded down were still there. They'd asked him what sort of freak he was. He said the proper insult was Uber, and it was after that final word that it cut off. That's the final thing Hasi would recieve.

Rhade does his level best to keep from leaving more blood than necessary. A trail will defeat the purpose of losing the men following him. He hangs onto the bolt with slick fingers because he'll need something to make a last stand with.

Comments

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

Certainly training in four-inch high heels is a stupid idea on the outside, but to Cindy, it's a necessary adventure. One never knows how they'll be dressed in case of a sneak attack. Dressed in said shoes, tight jeans, and a plain t-shirt under a light jacket too thin for the actual weather, she's been jogging across Baedal and it's none too nice neighborhoods.

Cindy's barely breaking a sweat or out of breath due to her Fable nature and the only reason why she stops halfway down a block is the trail of red that begins at her feet. She smiles a little, in that knowing curious way, and begins following it with super-light almost inaudible steps. This'll be interesting.

[truth_is_cold]

The bolt isn't going to be enough, Rhade knows. There's a trash bin in the alley, and the lid from that will have to suffice as a shield. He grabs it in time to hear the two men coming (still at a distance, and is that a third? Is someone following them? Did something get a whiff of his injuries? Dog keen ears do not always help one's paranoia). Good thing? They won't want to come into one of the more well lit areas. Bad thing? The lighting pretty much shows the drips of blood, no matter what his efforts to keep from leaving a trail had been.

But there are only the two darkly dressed men chasing him, and Mr. Crossbow is out of bolts. He and his friend exchange glances, before the one with a knife starts down the alley as the other does a double check for ammunition, standing outside the alley with his back facing the way that Cindy would be coming.

He doesn't find any while there's sounds of scuffling, but his attention snaps up sharply. There's a metal clang and the fellow that braved the alley first is thrown out onto the street, moaning and holding his face with both hands. There is a ninety percent chance of a badly broken nose there.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

Cindy hears the clang of metal against flesh-covered bone and cringes just a little. It's a recognizable sound, once she's caused and had herself. Five points to whoever bashed the other right there, though.

The trail leads her down an alley where she walks up behind the man with the empty crossbow. It takes Cindy all of five seconds to realize this is an unfair fight and far be it from her to walk away from it. She isn't an superhero or a savior of humans on a regular basis, but even this former princess has a soft spot for those in need. Good thing she brought her custom designed knife that she slips from her jacket's pocket and shoves directly into Mr. Crossbow's right temple, quick and easy, hook end catching on the edge of skull. One sharp tug and it's out, flinging bits of whoever this guy was on the pavement below.

Now what to do about Mr. Broken Nose there...

[truth_is_cold]

As least the man with the broken nose isn't entirely dumb. There's light. It's getting noisy. Some dog somewhere is starting to bark. He scrambles to his feet and runs back the way he came generally.

Rhade creeps back to the front of the alley, giving a wary eye to the now dead man that shot him. He doesn't know Cindy, or what particularly to say to her. Just because she killed his attacker, he's not positive she won't come after him. That's some excellent paranoia.

He watches her carefully as he approaches the dead man and slooowly reaches for the crossbow. Meaning no threat by it. He doesn't want to us it. He just wants it. "Are you not human either?"

Rhade, at the moment, pretty much looks like he shouldn't still even be standing.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

She really should have finished off that guy before he got away. Oh well. If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep his mouth shut and his nose out of other people's business.

He can enjoy his paranoia. She's not here to kill him, though if he gets any closer to that crossbow, Cindy won't blink while slitting his throat. To save him his life and her the trouble, Cindy moves closer and sticks a foot out, catching the edge of the crossbow with her heel and dragging it towards her. There. That's better.

"In these shoes? Definitely a human." He won't know she's lying. Hopefully, she appears as a well-trained woman with a penchant for stilletos.

[truth_is_cold]

Damn. He decides not to mention who they were then. There's still a body there. He doesn't even know who to contact about getting rid of it.

He stays in that half hunched position while he tries to gather himself, giving up on reaching for the bow when she pulls it out of his reach. She's not killed him yet. She might be with the militia.

He'll just nod at her then. But he could name a good several Nietzschean women that would assassinate like winners in stilettos. Finally, he just asks, "What are you going to do?"

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

There's nothing here with her fingerprints on it so tracking who killed this Candlelighter will be hard. Good enough for Cindy. They don't know her and she doesn't know them. Let's keep it this way.

"To you? Nothing. Except I noticed your blood is all over my new shoes. Are you sure you have enough still in you to get up?" It's a hypothetical question. He looks a hot mess and there is no way Cindy is letting this guy walk all the way to the nearest help. "Unless you want to die here, that's fine with me althought that means I just wasted my time saving your ass."

She cocks her head to the side, waiting for him to reply in some fashion or another as she decides what the best mode of transportation is.

[truth_is_cold]

"No," he says strangely firmly. Even if he looks like he could keel over. "I'm not letting them win. They won't kill me."

And he stands back up with a shudder, setting his jaw. And he adds a little dizzily. "I apologize for your shoes. They seem to be important to being human. Perhaps." He closes his eyes tight. The warrior-philosopher was not in a good enough state of mind to be particularly poetic. He did seem very much like he was ready to wonder off to try and walk for help, now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He can be big and bad as he wants to, but it looks like a strong breeze at any moment can come and knock him right over. Cindy rolls her eyes as his strongman act and moves closer to him, slowly but purposely. "This'll hurt, by the way."

She pauses for a moment and then continues, "My bad." Her fist makes firm but not deadly contact with his head and hopefully it's enough to put Rhade down for naptime.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

It's a good thing that it's late at night as Cindy strolls through the streets with an unconscious Rhade thrown over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Granted, it'll look weird any time of the day, but right now, it'll look extra special and suspicious now if the streets weren't empty. His blood is now on more than just her shoes and it's pretty annoying, but Cindy considers this as no good deed going unpunished.

Finally at her point of destitination, Cindy stops in front of an unremarkable door that blends in with the rest of the doors surrounding it, knocking on it with her free hand. Hopefully, the resident behind it is still awake.

[asklepios]

Benevenuta's second floor flat isn't hard to find in the quiet neighbourhood and not only is she home but she's wide awake, having caught some of the dash through Syriac Well; maybe that's why she doesn't look entirely as surprised as she could when she answers the door, knotting a robe at her waist and stepping back so Cindy can haul him in.

"Down the hall on the left," she directs, because there are times when you screw around with explanations and times when you get to work first, "just let me lock this again and get a couple things. How bad is it?"

She'll have questions; she just has priorities.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

With a nod, Cindy heads in the direction Benny (or Vanessza to her) points out and finds herself the makeshift triage room. The smell of antiseptic is strong, but that's the least important thing to Cindy right now. She hopes Benny's skill is as good as her word.

"An arrow and a couple stab wounds. At the very least." Cindy drops Rhade on the bed unceremoniously, but gently enough that he isn't jolted into having internal bleeding. "I don't think he's human."

[truth_is_cold]

He slowly comes to consciousness in a clean room, surrounded by the harsh scent of antisceptic. The side of his face has joined the rest of him in hurting, but the blood is clotting; he heals fast (not instantaneous regeneration, but fast).

He clumsily covers his nose with the back of his hand, eyes closing again almost as soon as they open. But he is doing his best to stay awake.

[asklepios]

"Easy," is from just above him, a woman's voice, working on him with gloved hands and the steadiness of experience; she slows what she's doing when he starts moving, but only to make sure he's not going to panic and jostle her and open up a wound worse. In smooth, accented English she's calm and almost lulling-- "My name is Dr Vanessza Bernát. Cynthia brought you to my apartment, and I'm patching you up. I need you to keep holding still for me, sir."

[truth_is_cold]

He grunts, and holds still. He can hear her, but everything is muddy and muffled in his head, and when it's not muddy and muffled it's buried under a white noise of aching parts.

It's another minute or so before he speaks again. "I need to make sure-" a breath, and another attempt "-I had a message to deliver. I need to make sure it made it. I need to get in contact with..."

Oh. Stab wounds. He did not miss you.

[asklepios]

"I understand." Benevenuta keeps her eyes on what she's doing, most concerned in the immediate with ensuring his safety and wellbeing; a secondary concern is whoever's after him tracing his steps here, but she's more than capable of taking care of herself. First things first. "How time sensitive is it? --I need you to be patient. Tell me if you need something for the pain."

[truth_is_cold]

"Extremely if they're following me." If they break in, and got his CiD while he was like that, he will be helpless to stop them. He needs to erase his message history (if the device will even allow him to).

He does slump more against the table though. "Nothing. Thank you." Polite, even in discomfort. "It heals quickly." But he wants to stay aware of how bad the injuries are, of his disadvantages.

some time after gaheris is secured at benny's!

[norea]

It took Hasibe a little time to extricate herself from the outing she was having with none other than Sandor Zendak, and she hasn't had time to change since. She turns up still in her leopard print pumps and red dress, knocking at Benny's front door. Her expression is inscrutably cordial, a little appropriate worry sneaking through.

[asklepios]

Benevenuta isn't anticipating a lot of sleep tonight, all things considered, and the prospect of a third arrival only concerns her so far as it might be someone less friendly than this. She presumes they wouldn't knock, but she's been wrong before and all the better that none of the people in this apartment capable of dying are actually answering the door. All things considered.

Her robe is pale grey, like much of her wardrobe, and slightly blood-stained in a way as to be not terribly reassuring when she does answer it-- "You must be Hasibe."

[norea]

"Guilty as charged. I don't think I know your name, though." Not her full one. Her gaze flicks to the blood, but it doesn't change her expression. Rhade assured her was okay, and although she tends to be a little dubious with people as stoic as he is, she doesn't think he would have been so coherent if it wee truly a life-threatening wound.

"Do you mind if I come in and see the patient, or is he resting?"

[asklepios]

"Dr Vanessza Bernát," she supplies as she moves out of the way to let Hasibe in (and lock the door solidly behind her; she's invested in a few extra than the apartment actually came with), "but under the circumstances I won't, ah, stand on ceremony. He should be resting, but I think we'll have more luck keeping him that way if you can discuss as you need now."

It's a compact apartment, for as much as she manages to fit inside it, so directing Hasibe down the hallway isn't complicated.

[norea]

"Thank you very much for all your help," Hasibe says, navigating the hallway in her towering heels--if she feels discomfited or overly formal in her red dress, there's no sign of it. (Okay, she doesn't. The diamonds at her throat and ears are a little much, but what can you do? She came from an engagement.)

[asklepios]

"De rien." At the door through to the guestroom, she stops to wave Hasi through-- "I'm in the middle of making coffee," she says. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything, if you'd like a cup, or if he takes a turn."

[norea]

Hasibe considers her options for a moment, and when her smile appears, it's with that softly wry edge she wears sometimes, a mask of unflappable self-awareness. One of those masks that's grown a little too real, possibly.

"I just might take you up on that."

But for now, she's heading in to see Rhade.

[truth_is_cold]

Rhade sits up just slightly as she enters. The wounds have settled to a vague throb, and it's not much of a bother. He suspects they'll be concerned anyway. And he... stares at her wardrobe.

One eyebrow climbs right up there. It takes effort to avoid a wisecrack. "I didn't intend to interrupt any occasions. But I wanted to make sure the message reached you and request that I be briefed on the current state of affairs."