[IC] Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

[fantasyfan28]

Dr Kinnon Blair- Immortal Druid

Completely oblivious to the conversations going on around him, Dr Blair was adrift in a sea of memories that had, for countless centuries, been locked away by his own choice.
Now, because of the sudden energy burst that had finally overwhelmed the weary druid, painful memories began to claw their way to the surface As exhausted as Kinnon was, he was unable to fight their relentless assault.

Kinn opened a sleep heavy eye, the sun was peeking in through a pair of threadbare curtains and the offending beam had struck Kinn full in the face.
He gave a small groan and shifted onto his side, nestling his head into the warm pillow, his small victory over the intrusive sunlight brought a small smile to his lips.
That smile widened as a woman's voice rose in a song from an adjoining room.

Early one morning, just as the sun was rising.
I heard a young maid sing in the valley below.
Oh, don't deceive , oh never leave me.
How could you use a poor maiden so?

Kinn sat up in bed, the voice, the song and surroundings were so familiar, so confusing and so real that he had to pinch himself to make sure he was not dreaming.
He pushed the bed covers aside, an unexpected eagerness overcoming his sleepiness, strangely, at least to his way of thinking, he was fully clothed It was not unusual back in the times before houses had central heating, running water or electricity for people to wear extra layers of clothing to bed. It was the strange attire that he wore that caused him to pause.

"What on earth is central heating or electricity."

Kinn mulled this over, he did not know the words or the meanings behind them, yet somehow he did.

A few minutes passed before he realized the singing had stopped, he walked out of the bedroom and into a warmly lit, yet sparsely furnished living area.
The small noise of a feminine laugh and the rustling of fabrics alerted him to the presence of the owner of the melodious voice. When he turned however, the room was empty.
He did notice the front door standing open and took a dew steps towards it, he stopped as his gaze took in a bowl filled with rose petals and lemon zest. Why this was important, Kinn did not know, it had caught his eye because of how brightly painted it was. The scent however, did elicit something from him, another memory, this one accompanied by the image of an auburn haired woman plaiting her waist length hair.
As he stood in the room another verse of the song reached his ears, once again it was teasingly close.

Remember the vows that you made to me truly.
Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me.
Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses.
I've culled from the garden, to bind over thee.

Kinn shook the song away, he walked out of the house that was strangely familiar. No sooner had his foot left the house than a strong gust of wind flew up at him, picking up fallen leaves and dirt as it did.
The small dust cloud caused Kinn to turn his head and close his eyes. Mere moments passed yet when he opened them again everything around him had changed.
The remains of a garden stood before him, the long abandoned vegetables dead at the vine or stalk, weeds choked once beautiful flowers and the insects and birds had taken care of what had been left.

A noise from behind Kinn, a small gasp or a quick intake of breath alerted him to the elusive woman. He turned once more, and once again found himself alone.
He stood in the doorway of the house which, moments ago, had stood behind him.
The woman's voice began to sing again, this time the melody was there but the voice had changed, it sounded older, tired somehow.

Here I now wander alone as I wonder
Why did you leave me to sigh and complain.
I ask of the roses, why should I be forsaken,
Why must I here in sorrow remain?

Kinn gingerly stepped back into the house. He had to watch his step due to how badly the wood beneath his feet had rotted.
He kept his arms out before him as he moved away from the only source of light, the song continued to guide him through the now desolate home.

Through yonder grove by the spring that is running.
There you and I have so merrily played.
Kissing and courting and gently sporting,
Oh, my innocent heart you've betrayed.

Kinn reached the door leading into the bedroom. Sudden apprehension and dread filled him. He did not understand why he felt like this, the home had once felt secure, offering protection from the predators and shelter from the elements.
Time, however had made sure that the house knew it would not stand forever, would not offer protection or shelter indefinately Time was ever present. Time could wait. Time had....time.
Kinn chuckled uneasily at his own little joke. The voice behind the door still sang on, the voice cracking occasionally and the melody had begun to get lost amidst the weariness now apparent in it's tone.

How could you slight so pretty a girl who loves you,
A pretty girl who loves you so dearly and warm?
Though love's folly is surely but a fancy,
Still it should prove to me sweeter than your scorn.

Opening the door Kinn walked in. The room had not changed as dramatically as the rest of the house. The bed still remained, as did the threadbare curtains.
The only differences that Kinn could see was the brightly painted bowl which had stood near the front door, a single lit candle and the owner of the singing voice.
Kinn began to speak, he opened his mouth to say something, no words however came out. The woman sat with her back to him, apparently unaware that there was anyone else in the room with her.

Soon you will meet with another pretty maiden,
Some pretty maiden, you'll court her for a while,
Thus ever ranging, turning and changing,
Always seeking for a girl that is new.

Kinn stepped around the bed, a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. The woman had finished singing, but was now wordlessly humming the tune, the song was one Kinn knew very well. As he came to stand in front of the woman who he had once known, the candle sputtered, causing a flickering light to cast over the face.
A startled gasp escaped Kinn's mouth, he stood staring at the face, skin withered and rotting, pallid and cold. It was the face of a corpse.
The corspe of a woman who he had loved, a woman he had married, a woman he had seen wither and die whilst he remained young, strong and vital.

He now understood the significance of the bowl, it's potent smell served as a filter through which he could breathe, the air was ripe with the rotten smell of death and decay.
His bowels clenched painfully, he feared he would vomit.

"Moira, my love, how is it possible for you to be here, I buried you centuries ago, what cruel god or goddess has brought you into this mockery of life, causing you such torment and anguish by making you relive such a twisted existence."

The corpse of his beloved wife turned to the light of the candle, hiding her face from him as if she understood how her appearance must be affecting him. She shook her head slowly, clumps of hair dropping to the bed with the motion. She took in a deep gulp of air, dragging it through a body which no longer needed it, into lungs that had not functioned in years and let it out in a sigh.

"Tis no god that did this to me my heart. Tis the doings of Duloch, the dark oak. The man you once knew as Keir."

Kinnon woke up screaming, he did not know he was being carried by Henry and his wild thrashing threw the man off balance. Kinn landed hard on the floor, he lay there trying to get air into his body. It was painful to do so past the lump in his throat.
Keir was still alive? He must have taken the same elixir he had tricked Kinnon into taking, but why torture someone from Kinn's past? and why had he been shown this vision now?

Kinn sat up and looked around at the group, they had been in the middle of discussing something important. He ran a hand through his hair and sheepishly spoke to the group.

"So uh, what did I miss?"

[tirgesfu]

Max had just caught his breath. To say he was settled down at all would be like waiting for a drone bee to take a nap. He couldn’t stop moving sure that if he did he would tumble down deeper into hell. This must be hell. But on his tree he could only climb and swing so far. In this wide open space of creepy fog and smelly swamp he felt caught up a tree. So he tucked the treasure in his pocket and began to climb and swing and move from branch to branch like a monkey in a zoo.

During one nicely straddled swing around a branch Max saw something flash to one side. Light? Like a crack in the mist a stream of something almost white shot through. Max got excited and stood up. He stretched to look. Something floated down, bright and white. Shit, that had to be something good right? All sparkly god like white.

He hung on and leaned forward. It was...a flower? A fucking flower!

Just as he was about to curse and sink back down to the monkey swings the entire tree began to shake. As if it was pulling out of its non existing roots the whole trunk rocked back and forth so hard Max sat down and wrapped his arms and legs around a branch.

“Get out the ankh!” Thad shouted from somewhere.

“The what?” Max knew the voice and hearing it made him realize something was really going on.”Where the hell have you been? Now you show up! Leave me here you dick head.”

“Shut up and think.” Now that sounded like Thad alright and Max had to smile realizing how much he missed that part of him. He reached into his pocket and the tree gave one big vibration. As if being carried away by a slow moving stream or caught in a breeze the whole tree began to move. Max stood up like a figurehead on the bow and thrusted the treasure he had fought for all around in the air. It was his flashlight with no light, key with no door.

He was beginning to enjoy the trip when from below the sounds of erie shrill cries began to snarl and howl as if they had caught a scent. They smelled the flower. Max didn’t have to turn around and look at all to know whatever the fuck was down there was coming.

“Faster! Faster!” Max waved the silly new age thing all around and above him. He tugged at the branch as if trying to pull it along. He kicked at the trunk. He swung up onto a higher branch. “Giddyup, Ya stiff assed piece of hard wood.”

Everything below was catching the same stream the same build up of flowering light and swarming to find that damn door and explode out. Max was coming first, damn straight with that. He climbed to the very top, the thinnest stick, the least support, holding the damn key crap thing over his head.

“Veti!” He screamed as the pace got quicker and flower spread open. “Come with me Babe!”

As if her name brought her to him through the pedals of the white flower he saw her, or thought he did, and didn't care if it was real or not. Since when didn’t he just jump at any chance of Veti. So he did. He sprang off the tree, ankh thingy in front of him, and flew from his safe spot out through the tree. Like a cannon, like a shot, there came Max.

He sprang onto Veti like a magnet to metal. His whole body drawn to her. He managed to hang on to the hell treasure as he let his arms wrap around her, falling into her and on top of her.

Max only thought of Veti. It was Thad the little guy with not near the power or the push who trickled behind him, looked to the others in a panic, and pointed to the tree. “Better quick close the door or all of hell will be here soon enough.” That was all he could say in his brief time before he melted into Max.

[Igraine]

Even if she honestly gave a damn at that moment, Veti couldn't have done a single thing to stem the rising tide of hell and death like some obscene afterbirth after Max was in her arms again. Her whole world had stopped, coalescing impossibly into a single pinpoint of blinding, hot light. He was here, her love, her beating heart, and she laughed with a joy so great it damn near broke her, painful and beautiful and perfect.

And he called her name and he leapt on top of her and knocked her off her feet, the very last thing she'd ever expected, ever imagined to be unlocked from that vault. Veti couldn't have cared less, because he was warm and laughing and solid and so blessedly alive, her beautiful, infuriating man. No, he would have never returned to his world in any other way, would he.

Veti laughed, and then she wept, and laughed all over again as streams of tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks and into her dampening hairline where she lay beneath him. Her shaking hands cradled the face she'd very nearly given up ever seeing again in this world. The man for whom she'd almost tossed aside breath and beating heart, just to find and join again - all too soon, of course. All too soon! She should have known, she should have believed and had faith in him, that between Max and the brilliant Thad, he'd survive even death, and find a way back...

"I love you baby," she managed to choke past the lump in her throat, sapphire blue eyes swimming with elated tears, smiling, laughing almost hysterically, peppering his face with kisses that finally ended in one long, warm embrace, lips and tongue and fingers and warm living flesh for long, precious seconds. "I love you," she whispered huskily as she pulled away, looking up into those dark eyes, smiling widely when she saw that flash there just behind. The golden man she loved, with those pale blue eyes just behind Max's deep mahogany brown.

"I see you," she whispered, even through the tears. "All of you, every last piece of you. I see you and I love you... Oh God how I've missed you... " And for once in all her life, perhaps for the very first time, Veti set aside all thought of responsibilities and need and danger, and let herself - just this once - savor the feeling of perfect happiness, fulfilled - simply, a woman in love.

No matter if that feeling couldn't have come at the worst possible moment, of course. Feelings are fickle things, after all.

[Clumsywordsmith]

I had the vague inclination to wonder whether Wight's really feel pain, and then a further inclination to steal a glance at the slowly unfolding bag of medical instruments... not, to be sure, that I am an absolute stranger to the art of sharp objects myself – though granted my own skills lie more in the capacity of dissassembly – but still I found a disturbingly pressing image in the back of my mind, of cloaked and sinister figures bearing lascivious smiles as they unveiled instruments of torture before the terrified eyes of watchful captives.

Nestor gives a faintly noncommital grunt at Semyon's first words, allowing the Wight to go to work with as little resistance as possible – though upon mention of 'stinging' the Demonspawn dryly remarks:

“Sting a little, hmm? The whole should... gah!... is on fire as it is...!” Perhaps the feeling is dull to Semyon's undead flesh, but the term 'fire' would appear quite at odds with the strangely chilly state of Nestor's lifesoure – human, or so he claimed – but his otherwise normal blood is not merely tepid, but quite cold to the touch; the majority of it evaporates within moments of being exposed to the sunlight, leaving a thin film of bluish tint on the surface of the Wight's tools. How his skin retains any semblance of warmth at all would appear a complete mystery.

He perks up a bit upon Semyon's return with the flask, taking a measured sip before eying the undead creature (man, thing, it – I still was uncertain what to think of him as; he seemed very much alive for something dead, though that in an of itself was no great miracle – souls have a life of their own, after all... I should know... a greater intrigue as to what held so much rotting flesh and bone together. I'd always thought of wights as nasty, disturbing creatures – lurking in bogs and barrows and graves, waiting to come forth late at night, to drink the blood of children and steal infants from cribs... etc., etc.), eventually remarking – perhaps having noticed his interest with the flask:

“A pretty trick, eh? Care for any? An Islay Single Malt – gotten direct from the source, so to speak... ungodly sums of money for hellishly good spirits; classless, I know – drinking it from a flask – but times are desperate good Sir, desperate indeed” He pauses here, extends the flask toward the wight before offering a wry quirk of his lips and adding: “Tastes a bit like a bog, really – peat and moss and -fire-...” A brief laugh follows, then the words continue once more:

“Ironic, in a sense – we call you a wight now, but in the past to be a Wight meant to be alive and hale – neither dead nor undead... but that's besides the point. The flask! There's a little place in a particularly decrepit shantytown in the purgatory caught just on the border of Hell and something a little ways beyond death... there's a dealer there – drives a hard bargain – I could get you in, mayhap... you're half dead as it is anyway!” Another long look at the wight, lips pursing, thoughts spinning: “But places like that are as unpredictable as they come. Getting in is easy. Getting out sometimes not so much.”

Gradually, Nestor rouses himself from the ground, managing to regain his feet just as the surroundings warp once again, leaving them now before the otherworldly tree. He has just time enough to tuck the flask away again, and take a few steps up behind Semyon, peering toward the thing from over the Wight's shoulder when Max bursts forth onto the scene. (Beautifully absurd, as usual) But whether he were concerned or no of the prospect of hell – or unlife, or death, or whatever lurked on the other side of the gateway coming through – the Demonspawn does not show, rather pursing his lips together, watching the reunited couple for a few lingering moments before remarking quietly – mostly to himself – “And what have the others been up to meantime, I wonder...”

[DotCom]

Daisy had seen Dumbo once. She couldn't remember where or when or how, or if she'd been dead at the time or not. But she could certainly remember watching it, in particular that creepy fucking 'pink elephants' scene. Mostly because it still made her shiver, which was impressive, seeing as how she was dead and all. The dealt with ghosts, spirits, and worst on the reg, but the shit that really stuck with her was a series of technicolor pachyderms tripping on a delicate mixture of booze and schadenfraude.

This was kind of just like that.

Candy-coated origins? Check. Mousy sidekick? Check. Dubious villiain? Close enough. One minute, you're coasting in a veritable paradise of magic flowers and rainbow bright chimaeras, just trying to mourn your mother-turned-circus-side-show (or Max, in this case. Same difference). The next -- BAM -- someone's tipping champagne into your trough, things are spiraling rapidly into a fever bright hellscape, and bullshit is on parade.

For a moment, Daisy could only gape. She'd offered up Artie's tracking skill in lieu of C3PO's fucking house keys...and had been swiftly passed over in favor of a piece of paper...and then a flower. A flower artfully placed atop a still more magical-er stump of sorts. Which was stupid for several reasons, chief among which Daisy had been living ("living", of course, being a relative term for both parties) with Veti for almost a year now, and she would have never called the gun-toting werewolf a decorator, or at least not of the floral variety. Daisy was about to say as much, when a blast of cold wind raised her borrowed skin to goosebumps.

That was enough to stop the words dead in her throat. Daisy was dead. Pain and injury were possible. Cold was another thing entirely. After dying, nothing felt cold anymore. Except Death.

She felt the portal coming before it had appeared, well before the others were even aware of what was happening. If there were more goings-on in this technicolor version of the living, Daisy was oblivious to it. Death was coming, and it wasn't by her hand, and that scared her just slightly less than the fact that she could feel it coming for Veti.

She didn't think. She'd almost forgotten about Artie, whose silken black body was curled around her neck, still uncomfortably quiet. Veti was not even half a step away -- the elf was nearly invisible to Daisy's eyes -- and it still felt too far. She reached out with one hand, the other going for the Scythe of it's own accord, and yet had hardly moved when the portal tore itself open with a piercing scream only Daisy could hear.

They were coming.

Daisy lunged to put herself between the door and Veti, the red-head's name dying on her lips. The Scythe was already out, ready, poised, and...Daisy might have killed Max a second time if he hadn't gotten to Veti before she did.

For some reason, that hurt.

But then he was through, and Daisy didn't trust him at all, but there were things much, much worse than maybe-Maxes on their way through, riding in his wake like some evil, deadly rip tide.

"Artie -- " Daisy said quietly, and Artie roused himself and leapt down from her shoulders, falling back in the black Saint Dane form that had become his Veti-default. He knew better than to actually attack the two reunited lovers -- something about not biting the hand that feeds -- but a growl rumbled deep in his chest as he watched patiently, playing a literal guard dog for the temporarily errant werewolf. Neither he nor Daisy could sense anything about Max was not Max, but Daisy wasn't about to leave that shit to chance.

Even if Max had gotten to Veti first.

She pushed the thought out of her mind, content that Artie was watching for signs of all more hell breaking loose, and turned her attention back to the portal. It still wailed at a pitch far above or below what any of the others would be able to hear -- save perhaps the Wight, but fuck him. And it was growing colder by the second. Whatever had been pursuing Max had caught on to Daisy's own Deathly aura of power, and that was more than enough. She had kept a low profile on the other side for over a year now, but she might have guessed her luck wouldn't hold.

The tang of fear was as familiar as it was bracing.

She shuddered, then ignored it, then when to work closing the portal. It was larger, and it had not been a clean tear. It seemed the 'key' had not been a 'key' so much as a 'motherfucking wreckingball', semi-nude Miley Cyrus and all. Daisy shivered again and swore under her breath before drawing forth the Scythe in its True form. On this side of Death, it was immaterial, but that mattered much less than closing the gate before Abacus lost half his party.

She held the Scythe out in front of her, forcing its reach out to either tattered side of the tear between life and Death. If she could sweat, she might have done so, even in the cold. Her hands were shaking well before the edges had even begun to draw close, and still she could hear Death's wail. She could sense now what was on the other side, coming for them, for these denizens of life that went far beyond their normal fare. Coming for her.

With a gasp, Daisy stumbled backwards, pulling the Scythe back into herself as neatly as one turned a key -- a real key this time, not some bullshit fucking flower -- just as the first washed over her feet. The screaming stopped abruptly, and her ears were filled with a dull buzzing. And the sound of Veti going all mushy over her prodigal beau.

It still seemed too quiet. Her hands were still shaking. And she was still cold. But the portal was closed. For now.

Daisy gave something suspiciously close to a sigh of relief and sat down hard, looking pointedly away from Veti and Max. There was an unfamiliar feeling scraping away at her insides, separate from the fatigue and the cold, and it was decidedly unpleasant. Artie gave Max a surreptitious sniff before trotting back to her side and licking her fingers. Daisy scowled. It would seem Max had passed the 'are you secretly a Death-Thing, yes or no?' test. But she'd sure as hell keep an eye on him, at least when he wasn't making out with Veti.

"Great," she muttered, absently running her fingers through Artie's fur. "Now all we need is a flock of secretly racist crows."

[Derren Krenshaw]

Semyon managed to quirk a slight smile, listening to Nestor speak and accepting the flask offered back to him. The Wight couldn't taste anymore, and if any liquid managed to make it down the remains of his throat, it would likely end up staining his shirt. But he took it anyways, bringing it to his mouth as he mimed drinking a shot, lowering it with a sharp shake of his head before carefully wiping the liquor from his lips. It was about what he'd seen numerous people do before over the years, and could vaguely recall doing himself long ago. Nestor was speaking quickly about the drink itself and where he got the flask, so Semyon hoped he wouldn't notice the fake, handing back the flask with a grateful nod.

"Leaving the living world isn't something I... like to do, but I know someone who would be very interested in finding this shantytown of yours." Following the man's gaze, Semyon turned to look over by the tree as well- eyes widening slightly at the sight of their new arrival.

"A good question, would that be the one we were trying to rescu-"

A sharp, keening wail assaulted Semyon from just beyond the embracing Tamarind-and-newcomer, coming from the torn air behind them. It dug into his essence as a thousand worrying needles, accompanied by a chilling wave that caused the Wight to shudder for the first time in a century. Wincing back, his hand snapped to draw his weapon again, ready to levy it at the offending portal and open fire. What would it do? Probably nothing, probably make things worse, but he would not lose his fight standing still in dumb surprise.

There was too much more to do. Even with more than two and a half centuries of toil, there was so much more to do...

Thankfully, the one he'd least expect leaped forwards to allay both the sudden pain and deep, paralyzing fear.

The young lady-reaper and her hound must have noticed the tear even before he did, her scythe now starkly visible to Semyon's eyes as he watched her work to close that wailing door. Not only working to bring someone back from the dead, but also to protect them from what might try to follow? He shouldn't have been surprised, but it came on anyways, backed by a lifetime of concerns. An agent of Death, yet she acted more the part of a comrade than anything else, it was a completely new experience.

"Ok, then..." Semyon stumbled to the side in relief, concealing the motion swiftly under the pretense of kneeling down to re-pack and retrieve his bag. Gloved hands slipped everything away neatly, closed them home, and rose with firm movements once more. His gaze swept across those gathered around him, ending with a shake of his pale head.

"That was... unexpected. Has our task been successful, then?"

[Lillian Thorne]

Siya watched, her expression guarded as Atticus, yet again, walked away from her. She dropped her eyes to the rough cave floor and stared at the ground while she collected herself. Feeding was always rather… stirring and if she could not indulge fully it always took her a moment to collect herself. Adding to that her own uncertainty about what it was that she was indulging in with Atticus, what her expectations were, her unvoiced hopes, meant that she was rather a mess. Despite mental confusion, physically she felt vital for the first time since that night so long ago. His blood was… intoxicating, invigorating, stirring and possibly the best thing she’d ever tasted.

Her small pink tongue flicked out past her still tingling fangs and swiped across her lips as if seeking out one last taste of him. She lifted her hand and held it stretched before her view. With a smile of satisfaction watched the strange dark shimmer that seems to take her skin. Its effect was like that of a black opal, the way it took in the light and gave it back with a soft glow. Not quite light but something akin to it. Like a dark corona around her in the dimness of the cave. She liked the way she looked just then, not vial and bright like Veti, but dark and shimmery. Something mysterious. She closed her eyes and breathed in slow though her nose and then out again. Calming, steadying as voices drifted back and the sound of movement.

Then a scream sounded and she opened her eyes in startlement, watching as Dr. Kinnon, who had been in Henry’s arms flailed and fell, clearly having woken from some nightmare. She let the others handle it, she was too far back to be of use and she did not know what had precipitated that. She would let Henry with his soothing ways tend to him.

She walked, her pace smooth and graceful even as she hurried to catch up with the others. Mr. Hoyle seemed to be in a hurry to leave the cave and she did not want to be left behind. The cold wind howled in through the small opening of the cave and even though cold wouldn’t damage her, she didn’t much care for it. She wrapped her arms around herself and wrinkled her nose. She really didn’t want to go out there.

That’s when Hoyle spoke up, explaining about the tooth, asking if someone had a way to get them to London. She turned her eyes to him when he mentioned Archibald Bain and watched him intently. She was still as only something undead could be as she considered. Something had happened to her when her line had been snuffed out in the scuffle last year when they’d lost Max. She’d been infused with a great deal of power, more than someone her age should have and she knew that the heads of the company had answers about what had happened, what it meant and they hadn’t been forthcoming.

She’d learned a few things on her own, tricks and abilities and had the sense of how much more was left to discover. But she’d had a few near misses too, some dangerous side effects that had, as much as her concern for Veti, slowed her down from experimenting more than she had. But one trick she’d learned, that could be used for what he wanted. With the demonic blood thrumming through her veins she knew she could get them where they wanted to go even though it was further than she’d dared before. The question was, did she want to accommodate them? It was dangerous but it would work. It would make them indebted to her, she might get some answers.

When the soft, nearly mad voice of Hoyle’s sister sounded that one word over and over she felt chills dance along her skin. The words had weight, all the weight of the universe for all their sing-song quality. One pale brow rose and her rosebud mouth tightened as she deliberated. Then stepping forward she stood before her employer and his mad sister. She was dwarfed by the man in his furred form but then she was used to that. She lifted her chin imperiously, her primadona nature on display as she stood before him.

“I can get us there and when the dust settles from this affair I want some answers.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. It rang with her certainty that she would be indulged. She might as well have used the royal We with the tone she used.
She nodded her head as if that finalized it and held out her hands.

“Take my hands, anyone wanting to come should grab on. A good grip. We will be moving fast and I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone who lets go.”

There were things in between, things that followed, things that grabbed. Normally she moved too fast for them to catch, but then she’d never taken anyone in with her. She didn’t know how fast she could move. She offered none of this, just waited until all who would come had taken hold of her or Atticus or Hoyle. When they had she offered a regal smile, confident and certain and then she took them between.

Everything seemed to vibrate as she pulled them in, the air, the darkness, themselves. They slipped between. Between what? she’d wondered even though, uneducated in this art, she’d been the one to coin the phrase for herself. But between had fit. Perhaps they were slipping between realities? She didn’t know and she’d never been one for such pondering. She could travel there and so she did. The where/why/when of it didn’t matter, not really.

Dark on dark shapes moved around them as they blurred past. Sporadic patches of dim grey light she hadn’t bothered to check out kept her eyes from fully adjusting to the dark. She felt the pull of weight from her passengers on her like wind tugging on clothing but it didn’t slow her down as much as she would have guessed. The Demon blood in her perhaps? Whatever it was it was a good thing because there were more shapes in the dark, more sensations of things reaching, chasing, wanting, than usual. She ducked her head down, as if to reduce her own drag and pushed herself, moving faster than she had ever done before and she felt the things left behind. She let herself be pulled, guided by memory and felt ahead of her a sense of familiar. She felt that strange change in the between, like expectation made physical that signaled that the journey was coming to an end. She slowed, or tried too but there was too much momentum and suddenly she burst through nothing out of between into the room in the London Chapter of Bain and Hoyle where she and Atticus had spent the night. She careened into the wall, having let go of her passengers a second before. She let out a little cry on impact and tumbled to the floor.

She lay there for a second, blinking away the image of dark on dark and let the lavish accommodations work their way in. She wasn’t sure if she was exhausted or invigorated by the journey.

“There we go.” She said casually. “London, as requested.”

[Hellis]

A friend of Henry once told him not to dwell on his past to much. The same person had been adamant when it came Henry being a good person, a force for good. Henry was thinking his old friend had been wrong in many regards. All he could do was to dwell on the past as he dragged the Druid with him out the cave after Hoyle. His eyes seemed crueler, a rage alien to his features was etched in to those deep blue retinas. He moved in silence until Atticus approached him. He stopped, took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He was being unfair, he realized that much. From the look of things, they were all in the dark.

“It's. I'ts allright” He spoke to his friend, his voice slowly growing calmer and more as they were used to hearing. He pondered what this all meant, the old ghost of his past was back, he knew it would come sooner or later. Ever since that day at the London HQ a year back, when he sold his blood to a river hag, he had not been able to sleep. He had been on the run for so long, the very aspect of finally being cought up by the Lady was mind numbing. But he kept his newfound calm. Instead he listened to Atticus, listened to Hoyle and their discussion regarding this whole deal. The Dryad seemed to have a cool and very sound mind. Henry found that he appreciated that a lot more then he would have originally guessed. It helped Henry clear his own mind as well. But just like that, a word was uttered that punched him like a ten ton freight train; Ragnarök.

“If they are desperate enough to team up with someone like the Lady of Ice. Well, something really have to be going down. Ragnarök certeinly fits the bill, and it ties into the Lady.” He gritted his teeth. “She is the General type. She has always been raising a army of her own.” Henry pondered, the Siren seemed somewhat restored to his senses, he was reasoning, he was trying to make sense of things and he was rationalizing rather then reacting for the first time in ages.

“I always thought it was simply a power play to fight the troll king back home, or perhaps to dethrone the Queen of the Forest. But, she isn't of this realm. Was she aiming for this from the start?” He wondered out loud. “Either way. If she got Nixies, then she is way stronger back when I first met her. And she was plenty powerfull back then.”


It was a about then the druid he was dragging along awoke, looking mighty starled and flailed out of the Sirens grip onto the ground. Henry studied him in surprised silence. That was one haggered looking face. He appears to have dreamed something dreadful and Henry decided it was time to go back to being the stable pillar of comfort he used to be back in the day.

“What did you miss? The reveal of a age old enemy of mine, the uttering of Norse armageddon. Oh, and you managed to save Hoyles sister. ” Henry has a little mirth in his voice, all soothing tones and nerve calming softness. It appears the Siren was now fully restored to his senses. He looked to the tiny vampire with interest in this apperent ability of hers. Where he never really evolved, never grew stronger then his river allowed him, the petite undead appears to have grown the past year.

“Vampire express hm?” He mused and nudged Atticus. “She certainly is full of surprises.” He said every word with a grin on his face, but there was something hollowed in his actions still. A mask to hold back the dread that hung around them all by now. This group was certeinly worst for wear. He hoped the others had succeeded in their task, they could use a little good news right about now. And, well, Max was certainly a person that could liven up even a funeral if he had to. So he hoped the over sized clown of a sorcerer had been brought back, brash and tactless as he may be.

The travel back was strange, He had never realized just how powerfull a vampire could be. The darkness was alien and terrible to him, he preffered the gates of death itself over this new found Vampire Express of theirs. But beggers can't be choosers.

“That... was quite something...” He muttered as they arrived. “But, I'll take a plane next time. No offence meant Siya, your powers mesh poorly with my own nature.”

[AmongHeroes]

Atticus sat up, trying to blink away the stars that swam before his eyes. He couldn’t tell what he had landed against, but it must have been a structure of the sturdiest construction, for the hardy demon felt like he had been bludgeoned with Mjölnir itself. His gaze drifted above him, and Atticus found himself gazing into the carved stone maw of a dragon. Puzzled by this, he squinted until the whole of the ornate granite hearth that he rested against came into view. He recognized the fireplace, just as Siya spoke, confirming that they had indeed arrived at Bain and Hoyle’s personal estate, and the headquarters of the entire company.

He looked over to the petite vampire who lay not far away. She seemed to glow with a dark energy, a kind of ethereal coloring that reminded Atticus of the last veins of twilight as the sun set. He wondered idly if that glow was the remnants of her recent and harrowing past with the Pieces of 8. Siya had borne the brunt of much during that time that led to Decima’s final destruction. Perhaps the vestiges of her bloodline were not as thin or diluted as Bain and Hoyle had led him to believe. It was evident she had questions of her own, her statement to Hoyle before their departure spoke to as much, and Atticus vowed to himself that he would help her find those answers. She certainly deserved that much.

Atticus shifted over to his hands and knees, and crawled over to where Siya lay. As he did he noticed Henry, as vibrant and handsome as ever, seemingly no worse the wear from the journey between. Atticus gave him a friendly scowl.

“You damn Sirens. You could be sent through the fucking Sun and come out the other side ready to shake the pants off some unsuspecting lass.”

He reached Siya, and plopped down beside her, his head resting against one of her tiny shoulders. Through eyes half-lidded with some unexplained exhaustion, he smiled to her.

“Thanks for the lift,” he said. “I may need some of that blood back though, I’m feeling a little vampiric jet lag.”

Atticus lifted his head slightly towards her. “Is my beard ok?”

He dropped his head once more to her shoulder, just as another voice called out. It was a voice rich with London gentrification, and a noise that brought another tired smile to Atticus’ face.

“Master Atticus? Miss Siya? Mr. Henry and more? My goodness, what a surprise, I was not expecting to receive any guests, especially not Sir Hoyle and his poor sister. Is everyone alright?”

Atticus didn’t move from his spot, though he lifted a brow towards the rubber-ducky man servant known as Cornelius.

“I think we’re all generally fine, Cornelius. What of Hoyle and his sister?”

Cornelius floated his rubber duck body over so he could see Atticus clearly. “They are in with Sir Bain in his private quarters as we speak. I believe they are discussing a matter of some urgency, as well as tending to Sir Hoyle’s sister.”

Atticus nodded slightly, still too content to get up. “Cornelius, I need you to do me a favor. It’s most important. Get on the Caduceus Phone, and call Veti. Tell her to meet us as soon as possible here. Tell her the shit is hitting the proverbial fan.”

Cornelius blinked his solid black eyes in bemusement, but he did not question Atticus.

“I shall do so at once.”

With that, Cornelius turned in midair before floating away. His destination was located in study on the other side of the great room, where the Caduceus Phone was located. The phone itself appeared to be nothing more than an old rotary phone. In truth however, it was a device fused with the power granted from the god Mercury’s fabled staff. It allowed the user to ‘call’ anyone almost anywhere, regardless of what world or dimension they just happened to be residing in at the time. It was a most useful device, and the only one of its kind. Naturally, it was owned by Archibald Bain.

As Cornelius floated away to complete his mission, Atticus once more looked at Siya. He smiled again, this time however pointing to his jaw.

“Seriously, the beard? Did it survive?”

---

The headquarters of the Bain & Hoyle Company is actually a large castle, located on a hidden island just inland where the Thames River meets the English Channel. It is connected to the mainland via a long stone causeway that is similarly magically disguised.

The interior is modernly outfitted for the daily operations of the company, and it holds the largest number of employees of any of the company’s many branches. In the tower of the main keep is the personal residence of Archibald Bain and Reginald Hoyle. It is a lavish and ornate space in the style of the Old World, outfitted with large guest rooms, an expansive kitchen, enough books to get a polite nod from the Library of Alexandria, and a massive half-circle window that offers a magnificent view of London beyond.

Each guest room contains magical wardrobes that offer any kind of clothing or garment imaginable, and the kitchen and bar are similarly magically stocked, allowing a boundless choice of food and drink. Bain and Hoyle’s rooms are located in a separate wing from the guest rooms.

[tirgesfu]

Max noticed the others like a bee might notice the unscented white dahlia flower in the middle of a field of strong sweet smelling honeysuckles. He noticed no one but Veti. He didn’t even try. He smelled her like that bee who needed pollen or die. And smell her he did, with his nose, with his hands, with his lips, with his whole body just taking in the scent of her. He had dreamed of this taste of sweetness for so long. Even more. If she was here, if he was here, than he was out. He was out. He wasn’t dead any longer.

Or was he? It was actually Max who after feeling Veti thought perhaps he might be dead. But what did that matter really as long as he wasn’t trapped in death.

Thad pushed the thought aside. He was taking in Veti as well. Even more so than Max because he heard her words and felt the weight of them. For so long Thad was sure if Max disappeared, if somehow Thad was able to reserve this spell, Veti would leave him. For good this time. It was Max she loved. He had made the guy just for her after all. Yet as time went by Thad was sure Veti caught sights of him, feels of Thad. She just said so. Right to him she had made it clear she saw all of him. She loved all of him. “You know I love you.” Thad answered nearly creaming his jeans in the thrill of that.

Ha, Max snorted, so Max like you are.

Thad pulled Max off in his own way keeping his hands, both of them around, Veti but giving her room to breath to get up to move back to this crowd. Max slowly growled at the retreating hound, or dog. It was Max’s that called to Daisy “You,” He grinned, “get the sewing badge girl scout.” Then he growled again “But shit, don’t ever take me back there again.”

He looked with surprise to Nestor, damn the dude was still hanging around this crowd? He gave the man a small nod as if that was all the appreciation he could muster. As he looked at him he wondered if the guy still had his flask. Shit, he could use a drink.

[Lillian Thorne]

Siya shrugged at Henry and his comment where she lay on the floor, her eyes half-lidded though the dark glow still apparent on her skin.

“No offense taken. I haven’t brought people with me before, nor have I traveled so far and so I did not know what to expect either. But very little time as passed and there is no charge for extra baggage…” she quipped smiling at the Siren and then she let loose a soft little pleased breath as Atticus crawled over to her, looking magnificent, like some exhausted predator who would eat her up once he had the chance to rest a little. She hoped he got that chance. She bit her lip in shy pleasure as he lay his head down on her shoulder, the gesture so proprietary, so sweet it just about broke her heart. She lay no claims, but that did not mean she didn’t wish to be claimed. She held herself very still as if afraid to break the spell, her expression one of almost painful hope.

“I cannot see how the blood will restore anything to you.” She mused, half I earnest, half in jest, her voice soft and thick with her accent. “But as it was yours in the first place I will of course give it back if you need it, or perhaps we can think of some other way to restore you.”

She lifted her own head to grin at him when she felt his head lift from her shoulder, her tiny fangs catching the light as her now normal eyes sparkled at him, pleased to have the ability to joke with him. Her eyes dipped to his beard when he made his inquiry, panic filling them as she wondered, just for a second if his beard had been damaged somehow. But before she could do more than see his beard a voice spoke up and pulled his attention from her. She smiled sweetly and let her eyes travel over his wonderful facial hair. It was a full and thick as ever, growing lushly along his very fine jaw, the mustache curling just so at the edges. It was none the worse for wear and she let her eyes feast upon it until he was turning back to her, asking again about its state.

She wasn’t sure if he was truly worried or just teasing her. It didn’t matter, it was an opening and one she was going to take. Her slender pale fingers lifted up and with great tenderness framed his face. The soft coolness of her flesh stroked lightly over the skin of his face above where his beard grew and then down across the silky hairs and finally along his jaw line. Her thumbs saw fit to skate lightly over his lips where they peeked out from under the dark hair, light enough to send tingles, not so light as to tickle. All the while her expression was of soft intensity and not a single other person existed in the tiny little moment they were in.

“Your beard seems perfect to me.” She said, her fingers still stroking it, framing his face. “Perfect as always. I would never endanger it.”

[Igraine]

Veti's brow knit curiously as she wiped the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, still smiling and now lifted to her feet, able to catch a breath though she was still firmly encircled by Max's arms. Or at least... Well, it seemed very like Max and yet... There were the smallest differences she could see, feel beneath her hands. That scent of her lover, that unmistakable, irreplaceable musk - all was the same as ever, blessedly warm and amber-rich, yet somehow... More. Something golden, lighter, and it shone through in everything about him, now that she could actually see him head to toe.

The muscles beneath her hands felt more lithe, less corded and thick yet still quite strong - more than strong enough to lift her easily from the ground thrown her to, as if she weighed no more than a tiny babe. Taller than she, yes, but she could meet that the gaze of his dark brown eyes far easier now, eyes that seemed... Faded? No, not faded, simply lighter somehow, a ring of pale blue about the dark irises she was sure hadn't been there before. Veti reached to touch the face she'd only seen in her very best dreams for nearly a year now, the tips of her fingers running tenderly along his jaw line, twining a tendril of his hair between thumb and forefinger.

Hadn't his hair once been a deep, midnight black... Curlier?

The werewolf gazed in silent awe at that tendril of hair, a soft wave of golden brown in her hand. But she knew him, her love. She could feel him, sense him, breathe his scent and his essence - he was himself, her Max. Perhaps more himself than he had ever been in this life or the next, and the way he looked at her now? Her heart thrilled in her chest, her breaths coming faster. She could feel the hardness of him pressing against her... God above...

Wrong place, wrong time for all these delicious thoughts running through her head. The werewolf grinned and shook herself head to toe, sapphire eyes wide with laughter, the crimson-lipped smile about ready to split her face. One hand slipped slowly downward as she stood to her tiptoes, the other hand wrapping about the back of his neck, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. The tip of her tongue ran tantalizing and slow along the tender edge of his lobe.

"Later, love... So much to catch up on, but not here - "

Veti's eyes opened wide, startled, as she stepped back a pace. What she'd wrapped her hand around was most certainly long and hard - but what she hadn't expected was the crossbar with the thick ring perched atop that had absolutely no correlation to her lover's anatomy whatsoever.

"OH! Well... damn! Holy shit, Max!" Veti burst out in raucous laughter, lifting up the Ankh in her own hand now, stunned, tickled beyond all measure. Of course, of course this would be the answer, the way back and -

Maria Brink's voice screamed from inside her leather jacket, startling the werewolf all over again as she leapt from Max's grip, her free hand slipping into one of the inner pockets.

"Blood blood blood, pump mud through my veins,
Shut your dirty, dirty mouth, I'm not that easy."

Today it seemed unlikely she'd ever cease being shocked, stunned, surprised - but at least she wasn't immobile. Veti tucked the Ankh under one arm as she plucked the smartphone from her jacket, staring incredulously at the caller ID, at a number she couldn't immediately place at all.

"Blood blood blood, pump mud through my veins,
I'm a dirty, dirty girl, I want it fil- "

"Yeah, this is Veti." The words were more question than statement really, but she was still reeling with the realization somehow she'd gotten cell phone reception and service in the legendary Vaults - five bars at that!

Veti grinned up at Max with a wink - hell, he just had to understand, there was no way she could refuse taking this call, no matter the monstrous roaming charges. The werewolf nodded meaningfully toward where her lover's own gaze had gone last, toward Nestor and Semyon, then pointing to the flask the demonspawn had dropped. To Semyon's question, Veti could only catch his eye with a smile, point to the shape of the Ankh still tucked under her arm, to Max, and give him a grin and a silent thumbs up.

"This is... Wait... Seriously? Cornelius!? London Office Cornelius?"

Veti remained incredulous, but she was chuckling nonetheless at the response she got. The werewolf glanced up at Adam who, she felt strangely sure, just might enjoy the company of the rubber ducky Anima - but not nearly so much as someone else she knew.

Veti strode to Daisy and Artie, again an enormous ebony dog-like, and sat down easily, cross-legged and wedging herself right up close to the pouting Reaper, whether she liked it or not. Holding the phone just a little further from her ear, she leaned against the hellhound, holding the speaker near his ear too so he might hear the voice on the other end.

"Atticus is there in London, Henry and Mr. Hoyle... What about Siya? Siya's all right, yes?" She didn't let the breath go from her lips until she heard the response to that all important question on the other end. Veti sighed softly, a weight she hadn't even realized was there shed from her chest.

"Good... Right... HA! Did you just say 'shit' Cornelius? Really?"

"All right, all right I know that wasn't the point of course, but yes... "

"Yes... Understood... "

The werewolf couldn't resist whispering softly to Artie, scratching him neatly under those thick jowls. "It's Cornelius! Oh yes he is, you good boy, yes he is! Your most favorite squeaky toy ever! And he's got a potty mouth, oh my goodness yes he does... "

"You tell Atticus for me, Cornelius: we've got an Ankh, and a beautiful, brilliant dead man brought back to life. Everyone is... " Her eyes traveled over their group, searching for words as truthful as she could make them without worrying their boss unnecessarily. "Everyone's mostly whole, definitely still breathing, and we'll be in London ASAP."

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Daisy was feeling...a little conflicted. Or a lot conflicted. Or just pissed...maybe jealous. Definitely one or two or all of those things.

On one hand, watching Veti step away from good ol' SchizoLock...Daisy could have sworn a physical weight lifted from her shoulders. There'd been an almost tangible pallor around the werewolf for the better part of of a year, something most people would probably just refer to as depression. But Daisy was not most people. She could see the clock ticking down over Veti's head, knew even if her heart was beating, she belonged more to the realm of Death than anything on this side of the line. Daisy had never really understood it. Ghost Bitch and her more human counterpart...they were one thing. There was some intrinsic tie there that meant one couldn't exist without the other. It put them both cleanly out of whatever realm Daisy was supposed to have a handle on, so she generally tried to ignore it, but at least that shit made sense.

But Veti and Max? Thad? Whatever the fuck his name was...they were both just people. Well. Sort of. One turned into a near-feral beast far too often for Daisy's liking, and the other was a werewolf. But they both had souls. Both were -- had been -- very cleanly alive, and some day, would be very cleanly dead. And while she'd seen Max die with her own eyes, she'd been watching Veti untouched, but still somehow starving, die every day for eleven months. Try as she might, she couldn't wrap her head around that kind of dependence. Quite frankly, it scared the shit out of her.

But anyway. Max was back, so Veti was back, and Daisy could take half a breath and stop trying to figure out what'd be like to take Veti to the other side. She was pretty sure she wouldn't have been able to do it. They might have asked her to. It might even have been her job. But she'd have fought tooth and nail. She'd have run.

Still. She wouldn't have died without Veti. Not many things could kill a Reaper. Losing a friend didn't even leave a dent.

And yet watching Veti haul off on Max -- ew, by the way -- she felt her jaw tighten until it ached, and she made herself look away, thinking if she'd had to breathe in order to live, it might have been just the teensiest bit difficult in that moment.

She meant to stare at the sky, or the weird tree, or something or anything, but her eyes fell on the Wight first, and her previously shitty mood plummeted to mess-with-me-and-lose-a-limb.

She thought there was something in his face she hadn't seen before, something she might have called fear if she didn't know fucking zombies didn't have feelings. But she ignored it in favor of scowling at his stupid question.

"That was... unexpected. Has our task been successful, then?"

"No, she's just dry-humping some other half dead freak. What the fuck do you think? Did they forget to bring you back without a brain?"

It was a hostile greeting even by Daisy standards, but closing the portal had left her fatigued and anxious, and she just wanted to get back to planet Earth. And away from everyone here.

When at last the two star-crossed lovers decided to at last detach from each other, Daisy was surprised and annoyed that it was Max who was the first to approach.

Then she just sort of wanted to hit him. But she figured that was normal.

She gaped at him, then C3PO, then Max again, incredulous.

"Are you -- how -- he just -- oh, for Pete's sake, I'm not. A fucking. Girl Scout."

Artie saw Veti coming before Daisy did, and immediately commenced acting like a dog. Which was only endearing until you had to endure his not so dog-like tendencies...or even worse, when to 'play the part' minus his cuddly dog-like features. He stood up, abandoning the spot next to Daisy, where Veti casually slid in, and Daisy looked stubbornly in the other direction, fearing Artie might actually shake himself to pieces at the mention of that stupid duck back in London. The hellhound -- that unholy beast crafted of sulphur, smoke, and sin -- was nearly in Veti's lap, playing completely into her hand, and all the while Daisy said nothing, trying to ignore the feeling of complete and utter betrayal.

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[Clumsywordsmith]

For the present, Nestor seems quite content to leave the happily reunited pair to themselves; in fact, had it not been for Max's brief – and almost cursory – nod, he might have said next to nothing at all. (But anyone who knew me knew this would be my way, and for me perhaps the better of most options – nothing worse, really, than being hounded by 'Welcome Backs' and smiles. I think I'd just as well have walked up to Max -- in front of them all -- and shaken his hand, as I might have turned to Bratty Death Girl and proffered up a diamond ring replete with promises of undying love...) But something unexpected seems to cause him to bite back a laugh; both eyes dart toward the Reaper. The right corner of the Demonspawn's lip quirks upwards. Something like a smile breaks across his face... (And then I quite unaccountably lost control, and felt my heart falter a beat as she slipped away...)

And with that came the Demoness, now as humanlike as ever – shorter, maybe, than in her more uncouth moments. Pleasanter to the eye. And with a broad and seeming genuine smile borne upon her features, she goes trooping straight through the lot of them, something large and dark clutched tight to her chest. Offering Veti an oddly sisterly smile as she brushes past, the icy creature extends both hands, holding aloft before the Warlock a pair of mud and sand-spattered boots as she exclaims with no small degree of glee:

“I bet you didn't miss these bastards one -bit-; but I saved them for you, all the same. I'm thoughtful like that.” With that, she dumps the boots unceremoniously before Max's feet, straightens – offers Veti another smile -- before vanishing without a further word as Nestor breaks his moment of solitude and approaches. He at first makes an effort to extend his right hand toward the man – winces, offers an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. Winces marginally again before announcing (as my left hand slips into my breast pocket)

“Well, well – it does me some good to see you again, Werewolf Max.” (She was right – she was usually... no, always right – there was always something uniquely and markedly different about him; the throbbing hum of something unspeakably powerful hidden beneath the skin of something otherwise terribly unremarkable... well, excepting size, that is.) Offering his flask, Nestor adds – while sparing a glance toward the pair of boots sitting on the ground between them – “She, it would seem, agrees. Death is a tough business. Feel free to have a drink, on me. And then do me a favour and ask your most wonderful paramour here whether she's any tricks on tap to get us back to London.”

[andastra]

Anastasia tried to soak in all the information just given to her by Veti. Perhaps what Anastasia saw when she peered into Nestor's mind was that human part of him. It was if she could see past the exterior of his frame and see what truly lied behind the mysterious man. She was pulled from her thoughts before she could even respond as the world around them dissolved into another. Veti helping her crippled ass up as she tried to catch her balance. She smiled and nodded a small gesture to thank her for her words.
<"But the truth of Nestor is, that he does still have his human heart. He is a man - an extraordinary man, true, who can wield a great deal of power when he chooses. But a man nonetheless, who is also in a great deal of pain."> The comment rang through her mind. A man in a great deal of pain... She was not sure of really what that would entail. She contemplated emotional pain, or maybe even physical...or perhaps both.

She looked over at nestor to see him on the ground still watching the commotion going on around them. She didn't want to come off as rude by staring but this man sitting just adjacent to where she stood now drew her attention more then she really knew why. Granted he was the first to speak with her, the first to really acknowledge her existence. She watched him now get up obviously in pain from his injuries. She looked down at her own leg that was now matte with blood. She wanted badly to go over and help him but sadly her leg would not allow her the pleasure of such company.

She hobbled over to a rock and sat back down on it. She opened up her bag that was tied to her hip and reached down so far she was elbow deep. Swishing her hand around the bottomless bag she finally felt what she wanted. Pulling two glass vials she looked at them in her hand. One was a pain suppressant she had brewed up before she left, it was a tricky thing to brew but it was quite powerful when drank. She put the other one away, it was nothing more then a simple potion she could use against an enemy if time needed but the one in her hand was the one she needed the most.

So many things went on unnoticed to her she hadn't realized that the man they had come here for had arrived already. She could see why the Wolf girl wished for him so..just the look on her face explained her love for the man and his showed the return. She smiled lightly at the sight, she never knew love of the feeling of it but watching humans gave her an idea. However this was different, this was not like any form of human love...no this was greater. The powerful display of affection they had for each other could be felt by all. It made her feel a bit warm inside. She saw from the corner of her eye Nestor joining them as his bod language showed his pain. She looked down at the vile in her hand and without even thinking got up and began to walk towards the group.

When she reached them she heard Nestor finish his greetings of his friend, she had no idea what was the thing with the boots but she saw it as sweet that the demon wanted to return his property. " mm i'm sorry to interrupt but Semyon ask me to give this to you... its for the pain. He said it should rid it all together so you can heal better... " she offered him a smile while giving him the smile vile. Although she was in a lot of pain, she worried for her friend and worried more that if the offer came from her directly he might not take it. Assuming he takes the vile she looks over at max and nods slightly. " you are a hard man to find, but i am glad your safe... I'm Anastasia.." she offered him a smile.