CoR From the Ashes...

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Everyone wanted her gone. But for spellwork this powerful--strong enough for even non-magic folk to detect--the assault on her senses was one so obscene and grotesque that it was impossible to ignore. There were guns pointed every which way, and a couple at her even. Still, she ignored all of them except Desmond.

In Iverian, she responded to him. "Oi, I know your voice. Desmond, aye? I'm Margot. We chatted with Draaven on me first day 'ere. This wasn't natural. This is just wrong. I dunno who that is, but 'e shouldn't be 'ere." Even now that the spell had reached its end, the influence of the caster lingered, that same wrong-ness permeating the entire area. And even as the intensity waned, a new source stood out: the badger. It was the same essence, but the red wolf suspected that was some sort of residue from the magic that would fade over time.

In a blink, bolts of electricity guiding her footfalls with unnatural speed, she'd moved past the Bloodstones, standing between them and the interloper. "Go on, get yer folks outta 'ere!" she responded to Desmond. "I'm not as fragile as you may think, and this fella doesn't seem all that friendly. I'll hold 'im 'ere."

There was a crimson flash and her arms erupted in flames. Apparently whatever had enabled her to transmute her human form was still in effect. She suspected it was the source of the original spell, and as the spell's influence faded, her ability to likely would fade as well. A nearby sign, a red octagon with the word "STOP" written on it in bold, white Lutetian letters, beckoned to her. With a touch and a crimson flare she embrittled it, allowing her to break it off to a weaponized length, and then another flash undid that, instead making it as hard and strong as blade steel. She stared down the barbarian, brandishing her freshly-improvised axe. She would have preferred to wolf out, but she wasn't sure she'd have time for that. Her new friend here didn't seem particularly friendly.
 
Desmond didn't seem to know who the girl was, but didn't seem to think she was going to be an issue. Rhetta was prepared to keep an eye on her anyway, just because someone ought to - but before any more of that could get resolved, the situation shifted.

Magic, obviously, though a whole hell of a lot more magic than she'd ever seen. Sure, there was always a little magic around, but it didn't generally come in the splitting the heavens and earth variant. That was the sort of thing that came up in stories, usually the sort of stories that came out after most of a bottle of the really good whiskey - or at least the really strong stuff.

Mostly, she noticed the smell of it - death and decay, strong and saturating. Not something she was unfamiliar with, but it wasn't usually so much that it spilled out in waves. She'd almost take Sel's melted-candy vape scent over all of this. Almost.

There was undoubtedly a battle raging up there, something that could be seen in glimpses, or maybe in visions. It looked like fun... kind of made her want to jump in a little bit, but that wasn't what she was here for - so she'd hold the line, if she needed to, if it spilled over into the here and now and became her problem and not someone else's.

The portal closed, though, before it became an option - but it didn't close without leaving something behind, a man who looked quite a bit worse for the wear, and at the same time, looked like he'd be happy to keep going for a while, if he had to.

No idea who the hell he was, but that wasn't going to change anything. It didn't matter who he was, just who he wasn't - and he wasn't a Bloodstone, so that was that. What he was, that changed things. Werebadger - probably had pretty thick defense on the back, so that wasn't going to be much of an option. She'd have to take him head on, try to go in from the sides. Yanking someone's lungs out usually put a stop to their plans, she'd found, unless they could regenerate fast enough.

The axe was going to be an issue. It'd go right through bone, with a good swing - she wasn't going to be able to trap it in her flesh or something simple like that. Might have to sacrifice a limb and just hope to get the kill before he realized she wasn't a screaming mess or something. Possibilities, possibilities...

Her smile was lazy, almost insolent. Kind of a shame he was already half dead, otherwise it would have been more interesting. He could probably give her a serious ass-kicking, and fuck did she need that right now. Rage hadn't even tried. He'd pulled his hits or got wrapped up in whatever weird blue-eyed baby shit he had going on, and she'd walked away from that confrontation with a whole lot less than she'd wanted, and a fair bit less than she'd deserved.

Beside her, there was a shift of motion as magic stranger girl armed up, apparently having a bit in common with Rhetta's own mindset. Since the crazy magic weapon wasn't aimed in her direction, she was willing to take it. Might be good to have someone else around to deal with that axe, if that was the way this ended up going.

Snow and Sel called for the retreat, good. Desmond stayed, less good. Sure, if he could talk the newcomer around, that might be beneficial, but if he couldn't, it was going to make it harder to get him out of here unscathed. His call, she supposed. He was Second and all.

Baron had appointed him.

All right. She'd just have to trust he could talk fast - and if he couldn't do that, she'd have to trust he could run faster.

"I'll hold him."

Quietly. Just in case this went bad. Not I can take him, because while Rhetta was an arrogant shit when she wanted to be, there was a thing about accurate information and battle tactics and all. Her estimate said he could probably take her one on one, and the girl was a wildcard she wasn't willing to put into those calculations. But she'd hold him - for as long as she could, because she was a Bloodstone, and that was her job.

The one she should have been here to do, two weeks ago. The one that probably would have gotten her killed back then, so she wouldn't have to be standing here wondering, for the first time, what the fuck she was supposed to do if she outlived Baron.

She'd certainly never planned to.
 
The werebadger surveyed the group briefly, determining they posed no immediate threat. His attention then turned skyward, where the remnants of a dissipating spell shimmered faintly against the receding crimson backdrop. As the last traces of the spell vanished, the red hue faded into normal downcast grey. The werebadger’s focus returned to the group below, now appearing more formidable than before.

His gaze fixated on a smaller figure among them—a barefoot girl whose very presence exuded a magical energy. Fire and electricity danced around her, marking her as more of a threat with her own makeshift weapon in hand as well. With a grunt he dislodged his axe from the asphalt and began a slow, deliberate advance. His injuries were made more clear the closer he approached.

Arriving just outside striking distance, he leveled the axe at Margot with a guttural growl that reverberated like distant thunder. "You," he said, the intensity of his voice belying his quiet delivery. “I dunno wha’ ‘e ‘as on you an’ yours,” He gestured at the others behind Margot before continuing. “But you will reopen that portal you ‘ad for ‘im an’ send me through or I swear with the gods as my witness, I’ll end ye and yer friends before I find me own way back to ‘is fuckin’ castle and rip ‘is ‘ead off with me bare ‘ands.” There was no mistaking the gravity of his demand.

Desmond's question remained unanswered, the werebadger having no interest in conversation. It was clear he had only one thing in mind, only one mission. And in his mind, Margot was an obstacle to ensuring that mission’s completion.
 
Desmond didn't turn towards Margot's voice. Though they had reached the bikes, being pinned between two strangers had been an unwelcome development. He trusted Snow to watch their backs while he kept his eyes on Broch, but her words where reassuring that she wasn't a danger to them.

The speed at which she moved between them and the werebadger was impressive and it supported her words regarding her fragility, or lack of. She had effectively reassigned herself in his eyes as a possible asset rather than a potential liability.

Still, it wouldn't serve to let the strange girl fight their fights for them.

"Good te know," Desmond called out over the pounding of the rain. "But we can take care of ourselves just the same."

With their retreat now open again, Desmond had to make a decision. Stand their ground at the bikes, or fall back across the street. They couldn't ride in this. Well shouldn't anyways. Lark might have other thoughts.

He might have come to a decision a few seconds quicker if not for the confusion that his sense of familiarity towards the werebadger had brought upon him. That confusion abated the moment the stranger took a step towards Margot and the pack though. Even if she was as capable as she seemed, they couldn't fall back now without it being a blow to the pack's image that Ragenard was working to repair.

He widened his stance and raised his firearm to point at the imposing individual. He had an angled shot that would leave Margot out of danger of being struck if he pulled the trigger. His aim was steady, and he was fully prepared to fire the weapon if necessary to protect the girl.

"'ey, that's close enough," Desmond growled loudly. "I don't think the girl 'ad anythin' to do with this."

He trusted the shift in his stance would alert the others to his intentions. The werebadgers abrupt approach hadn't left much room for conversing, or translating for the others. He also wasn't sure what - if anything the werebadger or Margot had understood of his own words. How to diffuse the situation though?
 
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The same question from both sides. They both boiled down to her being the cause of this disturbance. She broke eye contact with the badger just long enough to meet Desmond's. Then, loud enough for both of them to hear, she replied in Iverian.

"Aye, Desmon'. Ye got it in one. I had nothin' tae do with this. I don' think I'm even capable of somethin' like that, even if I wanna. An' I don' wanna. This was sick. Perverse. Wrong." Margot shook her head, then addressed the badger directly, still loud enough for both fellows to hear.

"I dunno who ye pissed off, boyo, but I'm small taters by comparison. There is no way I could tear through space, time, reality, whatever. I don' even know where ye came from, if I'm honest." She clicked her tongue as she spoke. "My money's on Iveria somewhere, based on the way ye talk. But if ye just wanna teleport, there's easier ways to get 'er done. Nae, this was bigger. I'm catchin' a contact just from bein' 'ere."

She was, of course, talking about her befuddling magical prowess at the moment. She was maintaining two enchantments on her human form and one on the STOP axe. And every minute they continued, she felt her grasp on the spells waning, as though the dissipation of the spell's residue was also dissipating the efficacy of her own spells.

Margot broke eye contact again to shoot a side-eye to the gruff lady next to her. In Iverian, "What the hell part of get outta here didn' ye ken, grandma?" And then, realization struck. She'd been speaking in Iverian since she got here. She knew Desmond could understand her, and this berserker could as well. But everyone else probably spoke Lutetian.

So she switched. It was less fluid than her Iverian, but a far cry better than it was when she first spoke to Draaven in the rail yard compound. Chatting with Re and generally learning by immersion were both remarkable tools for improving her language skills. "He wants for me to open a portal back where he came from. I don't know where that is and I don't know how to do it. But for the moment I have his attention and you should leave while you have the opportunity." She sized up Rhetta briefly. "Or give me a hand, I suppose. Your body language looks a lot like his," she said, leveling the STOP sign at Broch.

Under normal circumstances, she'd have no chance against this being in martial prowess. But with her jacked up on magic and the badger looking like he could scarcely stand, she gave herself even odds.

Of course, that was assuming it couldn't be diffused with words. She wasn't gonna hold her breath on that though.
 
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The werebadger had a few words to say.

Unfortunately, they were in Iverian, and while Rhetta could competently recognize Iverian when she heard it, her grasp of the language was pretty much limited to a dozen or so words and phrases, none of which were likely to improve the current situation.

He'd said fuckin'. She recognized that one. The last sentence definitely sounded like it had some potential.

The girl also spoke Iverian, apparently, but since she seemed to be talking to Desmond, Rhetta would let him figure it out. She'd said something in Rhetta's direction, as well, starting with what the hell, which she also knew, but the rest of it not as much.

"Desmond, my Iverian's limited to I don't care how many nuts you put in your mouth, you fuckin' whore, you're not gonna shit out a squirrel and the like, I'm gonna need some help, here."

Oh, good, the girl had twigged on. Fabulous. She was talking about magic portals and leaving a fight, which were two more of the things that Rhetta had very little experience with.

At least Rhetta could answer the question. "Oh, you do know Lutetian. I'll stick around. That mystic bullshit's probably taking more out of you than you're letting on." It was a compliment, in its own way. At least now they knew what the werebadger wanted - but that meant they also knew there was no way he was going to get it, and he probably wasn't going to be particularly happy about that.

"I'm gonna poke him. You can kick his ass if he rips my limbs off or something."

Some people might have thought that she was joking about that. There were at least a couple here, though, who would know that she really, really was not. Rhetta flipped her knives closed, visibly, and walked up towards the werebadger, keeping her hands where he could see them and figuring out which of those arrows would be easiest to snap off and put through his eye if it came to it.

She stopped, though, just in front of him, making sure the magic user had a clean line of sight and a clean angle to hit him with the former stop sign, and put a fingertip on the edge of the werebadger's axe.

"Hi, cupcake. You look like a pincushion. You wanna put the axe down and have a chat, or we gonna throw down right here?"
 
Too much. This was all too much. And the werebadger was growing tired.

Desmond held a peculiar device towards him. It was a small, innocuous thing, lacking any obvious threat, yet Desmond’s stance and the sternness of his words painted a different picture. He was not to be trifled with.

The werebadger's eyes narrowed onto Margot. Could she truly be innocent? His mind raced, grappling with suspicion and weariness. The vampire said he had needed help to open the portal, and the beast had assumed he had meant another mage. Margot had been the only one here that fit the bill, but had he been wrong?

Then, another figure approached, sheathing her weapons and approaching with her hands raised. Her words were foreign to him, her tone did not aid to any concluding if they were friend or foe. He lowered his weapon slightly, though to move it away from her touch.

“I’m after the Vampiric Lord Nuadha. Do ye not work with ‘im? The fuck did ‘e send me?” His tone softened, skepticism now tinged with confusion. For the first time, he saw the world around him. Everything around him seemed alien—metallic steeds, towering structures unlike anything he’d known. His voice dropped to a whisper, his words still carried despite his exhaustion and uncertainty.

"... Where the fuck am I?" he murmured, bewildered by what he was finally seeing. He swayed, suddenly feeling the gravity of his wounds. He lowered his axe and planted the butt into the ground to lean against it slightly.
 
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Snow had stayed silent as the situation developed, only sharing a quick glance with Ziessel to affirm her frustration with his own after she put voice to his own thoughts. He kept his weapon trained on the werebadger, even as Desmond took a step up to try and start a dialogue. Their second always did like to talk, but he had his doubts over how receptive the new arrival would be to it.

He wasn't able to follow the conversation in Iverian, but there was enough context to get the gist. Questions directed at the young magic-wielding girl, who Desmond seemed to know. On the one hand, it was good that she wasn't a threat. On the other, that was one more person to keep alive if this turned ugly.

When Rhetta decided to step forward and confront the visitor-from-beyond, Snow tracked the werebadger's body language with a laser's focus, watching for the slightest twitch of aggression. But he read the same impression that Rhetta must have done, to approach him so boldly. The man wasn't hostile, so much as he was disoriented. Confused. Any violent intent he had was purely defensive.

And he was injured. Fading fast, if he had the measure of him. And ... there was something familiar about him. Snow had only ever encountered one other werebadger, and they'd hardly exchanged more than a few words. This man's fur was missing the silver patches that spoke of his age, but the axe... the axe was practically identical to what he remembered Broch wielding.

"Desmond..." Snow spoke quietly. "The axe."
 
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Ah fantastic, just what they needed in a second. Ragenard was after all, too far above them, and Desmond was supposed to meet them in the middle. Instead, he there was a huge lack of communication between whatever he knew and planned to do and the rest of them. She glared at him and growled, again, a bit louder but not enough to scare or anger their... What, enemy turned guest? Great. She already missed Baron, a wave of nostalgia madre her shudder almost imperceptibly. Though it could have been the rain.

From the way he was leaning on the axe, which Snow either really liked or had found something else of note that was escaping her, he was hurt bad. He looked like he could take plenty of beatings, but the damage he had already been dealt was astounding.


"For the love of- he's going to fall over any second now. This can continue somewhere else if he doesn't have a quarrel with us. ...Unless there's anything else you want to make known to us non Iverian speakers." She added, not lifting her weapon to point at the beastly badger.
 
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Desmond gave Rhetta a nod of acknowledgement. He didn't lower his weapon and covered her as she approached the werebadger. He liked her initiative and it was balanced with just the right amount of practicalism and a touch of humor.

He couldn't help the quirk of amusement in his expression as Rhetta boldly strolled right up to the werebadger. He didn't quite make out what she said, but the gamble payed off. The werebadger was speaking an unusual and unfamiliar dialect of Iverian, and Desmond only caught about half of what he was talking about, but he could visibly see the tension easing in his body language and Desmond partially lowered his gun in response.

He added ballsy and creative to his assessment of Rhetta. Even with the tension of the moment, Desmond found himself evaluating Rhetta and Ziessel's responses to the situation.

Speaking of Ziessel, he heard an audible growl from her and cast her a side-long glance while maintaining his primary focus on Rhetta and the werebadger. The sound of the rain had drowned out her earlier growl and it had gone unnoticed. He picked up on this one but couldn't ascertain the reason for the growl. She was harder to read then Rhetta.

He picked up on a few things though. While Rhetta had boldly strolled right up to the werebadger, she seemed to recognize the danger he posed even in his current state. That spoke well of her ability to read a situation and adapt.

Ziessel on the other hand appeared the more cautious one, but at the same time, she didn't seem to recognize that wounded or not, there was fight in that werebadger still. Her lowered weapon suggested to him that she had been unaware of how narrow of a knife's edge they had been perched upon, and how quickly things could have gone the other way.

Their strengths and weaknesses would balance each other out well if his assessment proved correct.

Meanwhile near at hand, Snow's chilling words reached him. He had scarcely caught it through the rain, but he had only to look to the axe to realize what Snow was trying to bring his attention to.

He felt a jolt run through him. Ziessel's words where lost on him entirely in that moment. His eyes remained transfixed on the axe and he offered her no reply. The last one to carry that axe had been Broch. But Broch was dead. Desmond had seen him fall with his own eyes.

"Who are ye', and where did ye' get that axe," he asked in Iverian.

There was a huskiness to his voice, like the words had been strained in an effort to keep them calm and measured.
 
Things were coming into focus. The feeling, perversion. It was necromantic, of a sort, perhaps in origin. But she felt the tinge of... nostalgia? No, not quite. But something to do with a different time. A different age.

Quieter now, especially with less need of bravado, she offered in Iverian so the badger could follow along: "Desmon'. I don't know of this Naduah the badger spoke of. But vampire? Aye, that feels right. The darkness I felt in that spell... Jus' sayin' it fits. But it weren't necromancy, in so many words. I... I have suspicions, but I think I need to confirm some things."

As she spoke, and as the mystical equivalent of ozone after a lightning strike faded, so too did her enchantments. First, the speed, and then a bit later, the strength. She maintained her hold on the makeshift axe, both physically and magically. But the ability to enchant her human body seemed to have slipped her grasp once more. Still, it was clearly possible. Perhaps she was just not yet strong enough.

Still, she did stagger, visibly winded from overreaching in power. But as though a mirror to Broch, she planted the bottom of the sign to the ground to maintain her feet as well. With a side glance to Rhetta, she added. "Aye, ye may have been on about some o'that."

The she addressed the badger directly. "Ye've seen a lifetime of blood and battle today. What d'ye say we leave a little for t'morrow?" At that, she pushed her weight fully back onto her feet and released the weapon, which clattered to the ground as a mundane traffic sign.

The raindrops kicked up bits of ash and mud, which instead of obscuring them, somehow accentuated the white letters painted over the red octagon. "Let's stop, palaver, and if ye still want blood then I reckon most of it'll still be there on the morrow."
 
Things weren't going badly. Rhetta didn't trust it. Still, she could stick with it for a little while. The werebadger had lowered the axe - though she wasn't entirely sure if that was an act of acquiescence or just needing it as a crutch. Maybe a little of both, if she was reading him right.

He'd said something else, of which Rhetta caught a couple words - fine, the same word, but he'd said it a couple times, and that counted for something. If this situation ended up forcing her to learn Iverian, she was not going to be happy about it. His tone had softened on the last sentence, though, less prepared to throw down and more prepared to pass out.

She still didn't trust it, but that was why she was standing here, right in front of him - so that if he took the action to slice someone open, it'd be her and not someone less expendable. Desmond - or Sel, even, since it was looking like she was going to end up the next Secretary, though Rhetta wasn't entirely sure that Ziessel had worked through all the repercussions of that just yet.

The corpse-scent had faded, mostly with the sealing of the crevice, but the heavy rain was washing a lot of the rest of it away, leaving behind the earthy petrichor, tainted by damp ash from what had once been the Den. Maybe it'd have been a little more calming, if it weren't coming from the place having gotten burned down, but it was still an improvement. The rain was making it hard to hear, though, she could tell that just from the way everyone was acting. Their communication was off, and this group hadn't worked together quite enough yet to be able to know what they were all doing without talking about it.

Five years. Fuck.

Right. Well, if they weren't going to kill each other, they were probably taking him back. Hopefully Desmond had called for backup on that, because the rain was going to make it hard for the bikes even without the added issue of a giant fucking werebadger in the mix. Maybe she could persuade Ragenard to get the trains up and running at the railyard and they could just drive one of those flatbed train cars around for picking up stray shifters when they passed out.

Actually, she was not convinced that was a bad idea. Maybe she'd bring it up. Right now, well, right now they needed to mitigate the circumstances.

He'd be smaller if he shifted back, almost certainly. She'd just have to persuade him to do that, while not speaking Iverian. Magic girl had dropped her stop sign, making her less of a threat, but also less likely to be able to retaliate if the werebadger came after them. Hopefully Desmond could still get a shot off, though she didn't like relying on guns in rain this heavy.

All right, fine. Shifting suggestion time. Rhetta put on hand on the axe, under his, not trying to take it away, just keeping it there, ready to catch it in case he dropped the fucking thing.

"Hey."

Her voice was quiet, not the are we gonna have a go? tone she'd used earlier, but the one she'd heard countless times over the course of her life when she'd been injured, starting with her father. It wasn't exactly gentle, but it wasn't threatening. Firm but soft: You don't know what you're doing, but I do. So listen.

The rest of them - Ziessel had been in prison with her for five years, she was used to Rhetta's bullshit. She'd be fine. Baron wouldn't have put Desmond in as second if he couldn't control himself when people started shifting. Snow was the wildcard, but Rhetta had seen what Desmond could do already, he could pull Snow back easily enough. The Pack would be fine.

"You. Cupcake. Look at me." Her eyes shifted, brown to bronze, the very beginning of a shift. Rhetta pulled out of it again, only a second later, her eyes reverting once more. She wasn't trying to force him - she didn't think she could force him. Maybe Desmond would have a shot at it, but he probably didn't want to try for exactly that reason. No pressure, only a suggestion. The same voice, no demands, only grounding.

"I ain't haulin' your thousand-pound ass across the city. Lose the battle form, right?" Another second's shift-there-and-back, another suggestion without force, a steady stream of calm words that he wouldn't understand, but the words didn't matter. They almost never did. "You can go kick whoever's ass another day. I might even go with you. Fuck knows I could use a good ass-kicking. I don't think it's gonna be from you, though, at least, not until you rest up a bit. You look like you're gonna fall on your face. Really, I'm not catching you if you're that big. I might break a nail or some shit and then I'd have to regenerate and we'd be here all fucking day and the rest of them would get bored. You don't want people to get bored, do you? Of course you don't, we're assholes when we're bored. Not that we're not assholes the rest of the time, but you don't understand a fucking word I'm saying anyway, so it doesn't matter. Not like I know Iverian anyway."

Rhetta considered, then relented that actually, she did know a bit of Iverian, which perhaps she could deploy judiciously.

"Fuck."
 
Rain cascaded down in a relentless torrent, drumming against the street and the battle-weary badger as he struggled against his failing strength. The edges of his vision darkened, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. Each breath was a struggle against the cold and the pain.

Desmond’s voice cut through the storm, pulling the badger back momentarily from the brink. "My… My name is Broch Asvaldr," he rasped, “.. And this axe is mine.” He growled, his grip tightening on the shaft.

Further words and sounds faded in and out constantly, a soft ringing in his ears muting them further. The magic-wielding girl’s words were lost but as she dropped her weapon, his attention flickered toward her with a sudden jolt of focus. Weakness overcame him, and he sank to one knee with a heavy splash, clutching the axe for support.

Through the haze, he felt Rhetta’s grip on his weapon. Broch could not understand her words, but her intent was unmistakable. He saw her eyes shift amber and back again, and through the fog he felt, he slowly followed what she was asking of him.

With a groan of effort, Broch began to shrink, arrows and different broken weapons clattering onto the ground, though some remained as a testament of how deeply they penetrated. The gravity of his injuries became more apparent now that the fur was no longer hiding them. It was a wonder how he had been standing this entire time.

Broch’s steel-gray eyes met Rhetta’s once more, silently pleading that he could trust her. With a final, profound sigh, he collapsed in a heap, his world fading to black.

Fuck indeed.
 
Snow let out a breath, relaxing just a little now that the immediate potential threat had been quelled. He couldn't make out more than the odd word from what Rhetta had said to him, but whatever it was, it had worked.

What he had heard was what had come before it, in answer to Desmond. Broch. But how? And why? What bizarre magic had delivered him not only back to life, but back to youth? There was no mistaking that he had to be decades younger than the man he'd been when Snow had last seen him. None of it made any sense.

But then, magic seldom did.

He re-holstered his gun and slicked his hair back out of his face with a sigh, raising his voice to speak above the deluge. "We should move somewhere else to wait for the truck, so we don't have to deal with whoever and whatever else gets drawn here by the magic."
 
Broch's reply brought more questions than answers. Desmond frowned and lowered his weapon as the werebadger collapsed. Damnation, could this day get any stranger and more complicated he thought.

He nodded to Margot.

"You're a might bit more capable than Draaven painted ye," he said. "Yer welcome to come with us. We could use yer accountin' of things."

Ragenard was going to want a full rundown of what had transpired here, and the girl had been the closest to the werebadger and had gleaned the most information.

To the others he spoke up.

"We need to get 'im out of the rain," Desmond said.

To Ziessel had added. "If he is who he claims, then he's an ally. He's also dangerous. We need to get 'im back to the Rail Yard. Call Bastien and tell him to step it up on that truck."

He reached behind him and re-holstered his weapon before approaching and kneeling next to Broch. He rolled him over onto his side so he could get a better look at him. The man was 300lbs of dead weight. They couldn't do anything for him out here in this downpour though. And there was no telling when it would let up. The sky had darkened considerably, and there was another flash of lightning overhead.

The Den offered no shelter to the group with the roof collapsed into the rubble, and no doubt people in the nearby buildings had taken note of the strange storm. It was only a matter of time before questioned started flowing and people started venturing back outside. And to make matters worse, visibility was shit in this downpour. Snow was right, they didn't want be caught out in the open.

"Didn't that rec center near 'ere close down?" he asked. "That's just past the corner of Eaux street."

He grimaced and braced himself as he hoisted Broch up. The strain was evident as he planted his feet with the man slung over one shoulder. It took him a moment to get the weight settled in such a way that he would be able to walk.

"Snow, get that safe out of sight and then catch up with us," he instructed. "Rhetta you take point and lead the way."

Snow could easily carry it, but he would rather him have his hands free for the time being. They still didn't know what the fuck had happened, or if there was more to come or not.

"Ziessel, make sure Bastien knows where we are headin'," he added.
 
Ziessel had simply held Desmonds' gaze when he looked at her after her second growl, saying nothing. Even if she had, it was likely there would've been no answer, again. She was glad for Rhetta handling the Iverian stranger, relatively, but well enough that he hadn't gone out in a fit of rage. Sometimes she could be surprisingly soft. Like a blade before it pressed into the skin, in any case.

A dangerous ally spat out of the bowels of hell, and a magic user. She finally holstered her weapon and took out her phone out to do as she had been told without questioning, call Bastien to tell him to move faster and that they would be changing locations in a moment. The rec center had been working the time she had been in the area.

But that was how it worked now, she kept getting unpleasant updates about the people and places they had known, and how they weren't there anymore. She sent Bastien the location through a secure channel and then called him to relay Desmond's instructions, while staying with the group.
 
Margot raised an eyebrow at Snow's comment. A sideways comment regarding her unexpected appearance? Perhaps, but she was doubtful about that.

With the badger-now-man safely neutralized for the moment, she allowed herself to relax. She was coming down off the surge she'd experienced from the aftermath of the spell, the adrenaline, and the overall stress of the situation. The torrential downpour was splashing up off the mixture of mud and ash, staining the bottom of her white sundress with a dull grey stain. She surveyed the crew she found herself in the midst of. Bloodstones. She hadn't interacted with any of them, but she recognized the insignia on their vests from the one she saw on Draaven's days ago.

A pack. A family. She ran her finger over the scar on her face, a tangible reminder of the loss of her own family, and sighed. It seemed like Desmond was leading them, which tracked with the fact that Draaven called him when she showed up in what Re had revealed to be the Bloodstones headquarters. Re had taught her a lot about how things worked in the city, and in retrospect she realized how odd she must have appeared. She was broken out of her reverie by his comment. Compliment? Maybe. "I get by," she responded. Re would be working for a bit longer, so she agreed. "Sure, I'll come with ye. I wanna be helpful after all, so anythin' I can do to help."

She didn't pay a lot of attention to the orders he barked to everyone else. Safes and rec centers were not things she was particularly familiar with, nor which she cared about. But it sounded like they were gonna move to another location. She did pay attention to names, though. And now that she had a moment, she examined faces.

He had addressed a muscular woman about her height as Ziessel. She seemed to be frustrated with a lot of what just happened. Margot didn't know what to make of her yet, but even with her blue-black hair plastered against her pale skin, she was beautiful. Older than herself, sure, but lovely. She did what he asked, without question. A soldier? Were they all soldiers?

Bastien wasn't present, but she'd be meeting him soon. He was coming around with a truck, which she'd learned to be just a stronger version of a car, which she'd seen from afar on country roads even before leaving for the city.

Snow seemed dangerous. He was shorter than she was, but she could tell he had a tremendous strength to him by the way he moved. And whether feigned or real, the aura of confidence with which he carried himself inspired caution around him.

And then there was the other girl. Margot hadn't caught her name, but she seemed possibly the most dangerous of all of them. Despite her reasonably average build and height, she had charged the front line. Though, she supposed, who was she to judge? The red wolf of the Aedui clan, unable to even shift properly, the scholar among savages, the wizard of the wilds. She supposed she defied a lot of expectations, herself. Still, there seemed to be a mean streak in her a mile long, even if she kept it thinly veiled. She needed to make sure not to cross that one.

As she finished tracking the members present, she turned back to Desmond, who was hoisting up Broch. That seemed a monumental task she normally wouldn't be capable of. Perhaps in her wolf form, and definitely if she had her enchantment up. But as she was? That man was a big sack of meat, and he was pure deadweight. She was impressed.

However, the torrent couldn't be helping with anything, but that was something she could help. She had used a lot of energy today in a very short time, but the energy required for this would be negligible. She held up her hand, palm open to the sky, and slowly the water started to part around her, a faint shimmer of crimson indicating an inverted dish shape over her head. For anyone barely paying attention to her, people might think it was an umbrella, but it was a magical force shield. Her green eyes flashed red once more and the water wrung itself out of her dress, leaving her clean and dry. And then with effort, she expanded the dish to also cover Desmond and Broch.
 
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There he went. Rhetta had been wondering when he'd finally fall over. It seemed like the adrenaline had worn off enough once the werebadger shifted back that everything else caught up with him and he collapsed in a heap. No shame on him for that - she'd been there. A lot of them had been there. He'd shed a number of arrows that had been sticking out of him, which started the bleeding up more heavily. Rhetta kept a hand on the axe, because no one needed that falling over on someone when they had enough to deal with already. It was heavy, probably too heavy for her to wield effectively - maybe. Sharp, though, and if she could get a swing in when someone wasn't expecting it... hm. Well, she'd have to two-hand it, anyway, but if her opponent didn't expect her to let go of it and follow with a knife, maybe she could work with it.

She'd bring it along, anyway, mostly because the badger had seemed pretty attached to it, but also because Desmond had been looking at it funny, and that meant it was probably something important. Fuck, if this was another one of those magical weapon situations - Ragenard had that goddamn sword, didn't he? He'd never drawn it on her, which said a lot more about what he thought it could do than sticking her with it a couple times for experimentation would have done.

That could be a later problem. Right now, Desmond was absolutely right that they needed to get out of the fucking rain. The bikes would just have to stay for a little while. Ziessel was already on the phone, updating people on the situation. Snow had put his gun away and freed his hands up to do something more useful in the rain. Hopefully he had a knife somewhere, or two, or three, or several, or he could shift fast enough that it wouldn't matter. Shit. She didn't know. She didn't know, because it'd been five years and everything had changed and it was fucking raining.

The last one was not actually related to any of the others, she was just being pissy about it. Eh, fair enough. Desmond moved up to shoulder the fallen pincushion, who seemed like he was still going to be fairly huge even when he wasn't shifted. She didn't ask if he needed help - that would have been an insult. If he thought he had it, he had it, and if he wanted someone with hands free to deal with whatever came at them after all this - yeah, she did too. Snow had noticed it as well, hadn't he? You didn't get a giant magical spell going off without someone coming to investigate. She wasn't really happy about the bikes staying here as a flag that they'd been here, too, but getting the initial secure done had to come first, and the safe was more important, as was having him catch up as soon as he could.

She knelt long enough to pick up a couple of the fallen arrows as well, just in case they had some sort of identifying marks and Ragenard or someone would know what they meant. This arrow is the property of... - it probably wasn't that simple, but maybe it was. Lacking a quiver, Rhetta stuck them through the back of her shirt, for later - plus that way they really would be close enough to grab one and put someone's eye out with it, just in case that was a thing that needed to happen.

Rhetta took a step forward, keeping her eyes on the area and a hand on the fucking axe, seeing if she could get used to its weight a little bit. Probably wasn't going to be her thing. She liked knives better. Magical girl... made a magical umbrella, because that was definitely a good use of power. Her eyes had shifted red when she'd done it, noted. Information was important.

"Sel! Go stand by her, you'll be drier." The phone would work better and the call would be clearer, and if magical girl decided to be an issue, Ziessel could claw her face off. Rhetta didn't like putting her next to a potential threat, but the magic user probably had more range than Ziessel did, so it was less of a disadvantage, even if it wasn't as much of an advantage as she would have liked. Snow was busy, Desmond was occupied, and that meant either leaving Ziessel as the rear guard - not a good idea, if she was going to Secretary - or letting her and magical girl shoulder that together and see if that one worked out.

At least she knew the way to the rec center. When had it closed down, though?

Fuck. She didn't know anything any more.
 
"On it."

Snow's reply to Desmond was short and to the point, and he didn't hesitate in making his way back over to where he'd unearthed the safe from beneath the pile of rubble that had been the back office. While the others were still making their way clear of the scene, he shoved the safe back into the pile and positioned a few slabs of concrete to cover it over again. It would be easier to find than before, but the heavy rubble would keep anyone from extracting it before they could return for it.

With his task complete, he wiped some of the grime from his hands off on his jeans before turning to head after the others, but before he had taken more than a few steps, something caught his eye - a glint of metal half buried in the rubble where one of the concrete slabs he'd just moved had been. Opting to pause just for a moment to investigate, he crouched down to brush away the dirt, revealing a familiarly ornate blade.

It was unmistakably Aimee's knife. The feather-like design of the blade was immediately recognisable; Snow had always thought that it seemed impractical, with how the notches compromised the weapon's structural strength for the sake of aesthetics. She must have dropped it during the fighting here, before the others had shown up to help. The weapon was a little soot-stained, but otherwise looked undamaged. Aimee would likely appreciate having it back, so he tucked it away inside his jacket before straightening again and jogging to catch up with the group.

He rejoined them before they'd gotten more than a few buildings away, and fell into step silently with the rear guard.
 
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