CoR Who let the dogs out?

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Desmond, unlucky Desmond, started talking. Ziessel had never been so horrified in her life. Not even with Gabriel. She had been there when he died, she had said her goodbyes. She didn't want to believe the words coming out of this man's mouth. This stranger, turned reaper, who she would probably never be able to unsee as the bearer of catastrophe. She slowly leaned forward as he kept going, her hands resting on the table. Then they tensed up, then she had a full body shiver and shifted the tips of her fingers. It was easy, she did it often to have access to claws, even if her regular nails were already sharp. But Desmond just wouldn't shut up. Silently, she was begging for him to stop. To stop naming her friends as family. Her claws scraped against the table and she stood up, shrugging off Xandre's words. She had barely heard him. Their second hadn't been speaking loudly, but she just couldn't register anything else. The squeeze though? It eased some of the tension in the moment.

Oh, he was done. FUCKING FINALLY. He was done naming names, naming corpses they may never even see. She turned around sharply and grabbed the back of the chair, picking it up. Days after days shadowing Salem, from the moment she was a just turned puppy to decades later. He gave her a chance despite her departure. He trained her for this fatidic moment. But he didn't warn her about the emptiness she'd feel. No more afternoons reading at Starmugs, no more lapsang and gunpowder tea evenings while they worked, or tending to silly paper cuts. No more nights watching historically inaccurate movies on his couch while his cat, Witch, waged a never ending war against the TV's cable.

She smashed the chair against the floor and lifted it again. No more training with Thomas and Ginny, or watching them grow into fully fledged members. Or telling them stories at the bar. They had come visit them to the penitentiary, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Bringing gossip and news. Proud to have gotten away with most of the Nyx.

She smashed it down, and picked it up again. The legs of the chair made a crunching sound and part of one broke off. No more little sparring contests with Nieve or ANYONE ELSE at the Den. No more. She lifted the damn chair and threw it at the nearest wall. It's structure, the chairs', did not survive the crash.

"Fuck you... PleaSe, I'm going to ask this once, please tell me this isn't ... Fuck... You said so many names..." She whined, bringing her hands up to her face and then crouching where she stood and getting very very quiet. She didn't cry. But she did claw at the sides of her face to try and drown out the overwhelming everything all at once-ness with pain. It'd heal, she was fast at that. She wanted to go back to a cell and never come out. Wanted to unhear and unknow all of this. Please. She had never wanted anything more in her life. Not even with Gabriel. If there was a god, now was the time.
 
Names.

One, after another. Rhetta listened, her eyes not leaving Desmond for a moment. Sel was breaking down beside her, and Rhetta slipped an arm around her shoulder, brief, not too tight. She still didn't look away, tallying the fatalities, the places they'd held, thinking about the gaps this was going to leave in the Pack and how they were going to cover them. Callous, perhaps, but necessary. Her information outdated, as she was well aware - she'd have never considered Desmond for Second, but someone had. Maybe they were just that desperate. Xandre... no, Xandre would have turned it down. And if Ragenard was First and Baron was Second, no one would have followed Rage. Baron couldn't take it, not and push the pack to follow Ragenard. If that was what he wanted, so be it.

And Ragenard had killed Rowan. She could give him credit for that. Sel slipped away, taking her frustrations out on the chair, and Rhetta rubbed at her hand absentmindedly. Too many holes in the organization, not enough people to plug them. Kids taking guard positions, like the boy out front. Untrained kids. It wasn't the age - she'd probably been the same if not younger - but she'd known what she was doing. She wouldn't have fucking stuttered. The hair on the back of her neck rose, reactant more to Sel's shifting beside her than the thought itself, and she pushed it back down. It wasn't time to shift. Not here, not now. She could hold it off.

The chair crashed against the wall, Sel's wrath destroying it, and her friend crouched down. The scent of blood tinted the scent of smoke, and only then did Rhetta move, kneeling down as well, gently but firmly prying Ziessel's hands away and into her arms. She could take a few cuts too, if that was what was needed here. Her eyes stayed where they were, intense, calculating.

"Up, Sel." Her voice was gentle, even if the thought behind it was not. "They need us. Desperately. Don't they?" The last was for Desmond, more a challenge than a question, daring him to tell her she was wrong. He wouldn't, though. Xandre knew it, too. Ragenard should have been here, or Baron, or both. They weren't, because the Pack was stretched too thin.

"I am fucking out of practice." Oh, she'd kept in shape - there wasn't much to do in a cell except calisthenics, especially in solitary, and she'd spent plenty of time there. That wasn't the same as fighting, though. The reactions weren't there, and that could get her killed - or get someone else killed. The Bloodstones couldn't afford either, right now.

"I'll take the kids, like the one you had out there. Whoever you've got. Get them used to scrapping, give me a chance to get used to things again." The best way to learn was to teach, wasn't it? Someone had told her that, once. Fuck, maybe it had been Jacques. She still had the memory, she just needed to bring it to the surface again, and she wasn't going to get that sitting around with her claws up her ass.

"And Baron... whatever he needs." A pause, notable, but if it ended begrudgingly, it did end. "And Ragenard."
 
Xandre stood back and let Ziessel work through her anger. He felt it too, primal rage channeled into breaking something. He tended to channel it into other people instead of things, and his devotion to the pack--sure, Ragenard key among them, but the pack as a whole--he would wait until he had a chance to break someone else. The pheromones of her quasi-shift did spur a reaction with him, as he involuntarily grew a couple of inches and his normally-dark eye took on a red tinge, but he suppressed it.

Did Sel need someone to break shit with? Yeah, probably. But with the Den destroyed this was the only real headquarters they had, and logic managed to win out over hormones, at least this once.

Rhetta, ever the pragmatist, was asking the important questions. "Aye, we need all hands on deck. Some pullin' double duty. Even with all that, as yeh saw young Liam out front, we even have to start givin' more responsibility to the untested. The Jackals are yippin' at our borders. They ain't tried nothin' overt yet, but it's comin'. We took down the Scions, but in our state even the Jackals would give us trouble." And then those fuckin' Pangolin fucks, he almost added, but knew that was for Rage and Baron to share, not himself.

"And if yeh hadn't noticed, this ain't 'xactly the Den. Gotta get 'er up n' runnin' again." Realizing he may have stepped on Desmond's toes there, he cut himself off and looked toward the Second.
 
Desmond gave a nod to Rhetta, acknowledging her words for later. Ziessel was the more immediate concern however. He crouched in front of her, looking at her intently. The others where speaking, but he suspected they would just be empty words. Empty words blown away in the wind against such raw pain.

Desmond held to an Iverian belief that a werewolf was comprised of two halves. Wolf and human. Only when at peace can those two halves make a whole.

The human side could be reasoned with. It had the ability to rationalize. The wolf though... the wolf was all instinct and raw emotion. It wouldn't want to be soothed with words of hope and support. It wouldn't want to let go of the hurt and the anger. He could feel it rolling off her and dancing across his skin. He could feel the quickening of his heart rate as his eyes bled to amber. She had her friends to support her human side, but the wolf side would respond better to a wolf. Something that shared a primal kindship with it.

"Don't 'ide from it," he said, his voice low and steady. "Everythin' you're feelin', let it wash over you, but don't be swept away."

Desmond had a knack for helping people learn to control their shifting, and he tapped into that to try and help Ziessel control her emotions.

He didn't touch her, but he focused on his own heartbeat and breathing. Strong and steady. He thought of the Iverian forests of his homeland, as he often did when he needed to calm the stirrings of the wolf that now lay just behind his eyes. He remained crouched there in front of her, watching her. His calm strength to help guide her through the crashing of the waves that where her world coming down around her.

"We will rebuild the Bloodstone's into a force to be reckoned with," Desmond promised them all. "And we will repay blood with blood to any who think to move against us."

As he spoke the words, he realized he meant every one of them. With Brendan safely back in Iveria, Desmond no longer had to balance the pack against his relationship with his brother who had long struggled with the harsher elements of urban pack life.
 
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When her friend took her hands, Ziessel stopped pressing down. She didn't actually want to hurt anyone else. Not Rhetta, nor Xandre, or Mr. Stranger with amber eyes. She held his gaze for a moment before she looked down, and she bared her teeth but didn't growl or sob. She didn't cry in public, out of principle, regardless of the news. Maybe it was stupid that she would break a chair instead, and she allowed herself a vulgar display of violence but not tears. She shuddered again, letting some fur grow over her skin, very lightly. Her teeth grew, her eyes changed shape. But she didn't change fully, and moments later she was back to human and just... wordlessly let go of Rhetta and got back to the table. Fuck. She could feel the incoming headache.

"Sorry, I don't... usually do that." I don't normally claw at my own face, or lose control over my transformation, my beast. She was too old to be acting like this. Perhaps it was underwhelming that she calmed down so fast. But her stay in jail had to have affected her control. Over her wolf and over her emotions. Otherwise she would not have acted like this. She also wasn't sure what he had done, his words and his gaze had helped her. His smell too. But... she still didn't know him well enough. Her mind felt fuzzy and she grabbed another chair to sit on. Just kinda put it in between Xandre and Rhetta's, when they were sitting, and sat back down. These past five years she had felt a bit like a dog. Maybe she was still acting like it, for now. She had heard them both, if distantly, when they talked.

"Work then? Someone must have records, papers, for the past weeks."
 
Jackals, huh? Rhetta accepted the name from Xandre with a slight nod. It helped to know who was likely to be the problem - it meant a better chance at being prepared. Of course, five years out and Rhetta knew fuck-all about what the Jackals were up to, or anyone else, for that matter. She'd have to get filled in on that.

That, and the other thing. She'd seen it, in Xandre. Something on the tip of his tongue, held back. She knew the look. It meant there's more, but it ain't my place to tell you. Rhetta didn't hold a grudge against him for that. They all had to follow the rules, and she'd just have to get that one in time, too. Maybe it would be enough that he'd hinted at it, put her on her guard - just in case whatever it was hit them before the rest of the story came out.

Desmond had crouched down as well, and she regarded him with a still patience. Second he might be, but she hardly knew him. She had Xandre's word on it, and Bastien's. People she trusted, but she'd trusted Jacques, too. It'd be better if she heard it from Baron.

His pull was strong. She watched it, like watching a river run by from a distance. It'd take someone with them, if they were close enough. He wasn't close enough, though - not for her. Maybe for the others. Sel... Sel had always trusted easier. It wasn't that Rhetta didn't trust people, it was just that her hierarchy was a lot stricter. Baron came first, and everyone else... well, everyone else was where Baron told her they were. Not where Xandre told her they were. Not where Bastien told her they were.

Not where Desmond - Second or not - told her they were.

Sel took a seat again, a new one. Rhetta let her have it, standing beside her and leaning back on the table, bracing herself with one hand and twining the fingers of the other through her friend's hair, separating strands and twisting them over each other into a little braid, adding bits as she went. Slow-going, with only one hand, but she'd always been better at the fiddly bits left-handed anyway. The fact that Sel's hair wasn't the cleanest made it easier - it was less likely to fly away from itself, anyway. Mostly, it was just for the contact, something soothing, familiar. Something that wasn't being stuck in a fucking box for five years while half the people they cared about were murdered. Maybe it was for Ziessel. Maybe it wasn't.

Sel was back in control, back to figuring out where the Pack needed her. Good. Rhetta added another tiny strand to the growing braid, inquiring, in a casual tone that would have screamed danger! to anyone who knew her: "So, what happened, then, with Baron and Ragenard?"

Why the fuck is Rage the First now?
 
Desmond stood back up, and once it seemed clear that Ziessel had a handle on herself he turned his attention back to the group.

Ziessel's question drew out an awkward cough from Desmond.

"Ah, yeah, about that. I can get you up to speed on our records when we're done 'ere."

He didn't elaborate on why the sudden awkwardness at mention of the files and instead gave his attention to Rhetta.

"I'm sure Bastien would be grateful for the 'elp," Desmond said. "He 'as been tryin' to work with the prospects, but we're stretched thin an he's usually out on patrols. We 'ad some folks killed by a werewolf over in Shadewood Park a few days ago that he 'as been looking into also."

With the worst of the bad news over with, Desmond pulled a chair out and joined the others in sitting.

"Baron was 'urt bad," Desmond told Rhetta. "We weren't sure he was goin' to make it. Ragenard took point in the confusion. We 'ad to keep Baron under for a few weeks, to give him time to heal the worst of 'is injuries. He pulled through though. Tough son-of-a bitch that he is. Baron stepped aside after he woke. I couldn't tell you why, as I'm not sure anyone knows. You would need to ask 'im."
 
Xandre nodded in agreement with Desmond as he spoke, then offered his own take on it. "I could spec'late but I reckon Ragenard was what the pack needed right then. N' Desmon' filled the role of contester admirably. As fer why they ain't swapped back, well, like the Second says, yer guess is good as mine. That's fer the two of 'em to work out. What's fer yeh n' me is to follow orders, and fer right now Guiscard the younger's the one callin' those."

The dwarf shifted his attention from Rhetta to Desmond. "I reckon these ladies have had a bit of a long day though. Per'aps we get them some rest to scrub off that prison smell," Xandre side-eyed Ziessel at that moment, "and a chance to absorb this... news, then hit the ground runnin' with books and the like t'morrow? I'm sure they're eager to get into it, but I'm sure they also didn't expect..." he pointed around at the deserted warehouse, imagining instead the raucous Den they should have been in, "all this."
 
'Baron was 'urt bad.'

"That so." It was not a question. A ghost of a smile touched her expression, very much a dead thing. She was too calm. She should have been angry - the pack was used to her being angry, used to her not mincing words. Anger was normal, for her - but the spark of it was trapped, buried underneath the ashes.

And he'd stepped aside, when he'd woken, and Desmond didn't know him well enough to know why. Xandre might have the right of it, she thought, but five years was a long time. "I'll ask him."

She would, too. There was a motion of her fingertips, as if wondering where the knife had gone, even though there wasn't anyone here to kill and Rowan was already a goner. This deadly calm wasn't going to do any good, though. Calm like that killed, and with no one to go after, the first person it was going to get killed was going to be her.

"I'll ask Ragenard too." There was a spark there, at least, something she could fan to a fire. "Arrogant shitpurse had one fucking job." Protect Baron. That was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it? Of course, now he was the First himself, and... well, with the exception of perhaps Desmond, everyone here was well aware that this was not going to stop her from saying exactly that, to his face.

She'd mean it well, though, and he'd know it. Better to get that sort of thing out in the open, deal with it and have it done with - not bury it and wait for it to explode on all of them. That was probably what'd happen with Jacques, wasn't it.

Fuck. Fuck him anyway. How dare he? He was one of theirs. She'd liked him. Respected him. That feeling should have been gone, but she still couldn't help missing him. Missing the person he should have been.

She pushed off the table. The empty room was stifling. Too closed-off. Maybe she'd get used to it, but right now, it was just another prison. Xandre had the right of it - they needed time to process.

"Where do you want us?"
 
They listened to Desmond, who wasn't very clear about the records. What was... Suspicious. They didn't let Ragenard keep them or something, did they?. While the second spoke and once Rhetta was done braiding, she leaned to the other side and rested her head on Xandre's shoulder. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but she wanted to be there. So she was.

"I need a shower and something else to wear. Anything. Then I can get to work. I don't... Want to stall on that." I don't want time to process, or to think, about everyone we lost.

"Wherever you can get me set up while we find somewhere more permanent to stay, should be... Fine. I guess." She said, talking about herself and where she'd be working. She didn't plan on sleeping that night unless she could get pills for it. So it wasn't a concern.
 
"There's plenty of spare clothes at the infirmary for now," Desmond answered. "All your own belongings are in storage. We would 'ave gotten more things ready for ye, but we're a bit short on vehicles and people to drive them. Lark 'as been takin' care of your bikes for ye though. The shower room is workin' finally, an' last I 'eard it had hot water."

He looked between the pair before continuing. "Why don't you two go get yourselves taken care of, an' when you're ready I'll go over the records wi' Sel. Xandre can show you around the train yard, Rhetta. There's a lot of empty space. We can get somethin' repurposed for trainin' the prospects. Just get me a list of everythin' you'll need an' I'll see what we 'ave, an' what we can get."
 
Yeah, Sel was feeling the same restlessness, Rhetta could tell. Desmond seemed like he was trying not to overwhelm them, but they'd both been sitting in a cage for the last five years. The urge to get up and do something was almost an itch at this point - and if getting up and doing something kept their mind off things, that was better.

"Shower would be great." Hot water. It wasn't really all they needed, but for a few minutes, it could be. "We'll check in with Lark after a bit. If you see him around, let him know I appreciate it. It'll be good to ride again." The freedom to go was calling, even if she didn't end up going far, just the idea that she could get on a bike and ride somewhere, anywhere - that meant something. It meant not being stuck in a box for five years, was what it meant.

"For now, you can just get me a list of who you want me to work with and how much they can take. I'll ask 'em, but you know how people are." Some of them overstated their regenerative abilities trying to act tough, and some of them didn't know how far they could stretch and needed a little push. An outside perspective would be a good gauge, and give her a place to start. "Other than that, we'll sort it out. I'll run it over with Xandre on that look-around. I think we can come up with something, free you up for other things." Seemed like he needed that. Too many jobs, not enough people.

"C'mon. Let's go get cleaned up. It's a place to start, anyway."
 
Xandre stood up at that, nodded at the Second, then turned to the jailbirds. "Alrigh', let's get y'all to a place you can rest, and I'll show yeh to a place yeh can get cleaned up. Wash the prison off, so t'speak."

As soon as both of them were ready, he gave them a tour of the warehouse. The first room that they visited had a bunch of medical equipment in it, though it looked like it was all heavily used. "Jesse's usu'lly in here but looks like he's out n' about right now. Don' think y'all had met him yet. Good kid, patched me up a coupl'a times. Not much use in a fight, but pretty useful after." He shot a sheepish side-eye at Rhetta. "Got Baron back on 'is feet after a hell of a time."

He went to a cabinet and opened it. It wasn't anything extravagant, but inside were a few undershirts, tank tops, boxers, panties, shorts, and other such nondescript articles of clothing. "Grab whatcha need, don' know what fits yeh. After this we'll find yeh some rooms and then I'll point yeh in the direction of the showers. Rhetta, we can talk about the prospects after yeh get cleaned up."
 
Before they left, the soon to be Secretary corrected Desmond, growling softly at him. Just a little noise of warning, its volume barely over a whisper.

"My name is Ziessel, we aren't friends yet." She told the man, then followed Xandre and Rhetta in silence.

The whole place was pretty run down, but it wasn't a shithole. They both grabbed some sort of accurate sized clothes from the cabinet. They'd mostly wear them to sleep (Ha!) and then hopefully have access to their own clothes the following day. Which reminded Ziessel she had to get the utilities running back at her place. The tenants had left a month before this day or so.

Jesse sounded like a good kid, if awfully young to be taking on so much. But like Desmond, they both seemed perfectly capable of pulling their weight forward. The beast inside her wanted to growl and snap her teeth at the idea of so much new blood, maybe spill some, but that wouldn't help anybody. So she quietly continued to follow Xandre and Rhetta around. She'd find Desmond to see what had happened with the records later, or he'd find her. Either worked just fine.
 
Sel had a few words for Desmond, which Rhetta pretended she didn't hear. Hopefully he'd also pretend he hadn't heard, or at least pretend he didn't mind. It was a rough time for all of them, and none of them were at their best. She didn't add to the problem one way or another, instead just listening to what Xandre had to say for them - another new name, another unknown, another 'kid' mentioned. The whole place was puppies. She supposed that was the way it was going to be for a while, but it felt strange.

Xandre pointed out some stuff, clothes that weren't particularly inspired but at least hadn't been from prison. Neither she nor Sel was being particularly focused on style; Rhetta thought that they both were of the same mindset about just wanting something that didn't carry that prison smell with it.

"Thanks, Xandre." It was a response to his comment about talking about the prospects, but they'd all know it was for more than that. For giving them a chance to get cleaned up, get back to being themselves, giving them a chance to deal with everything that had just gotten dumped on them.

For being there.
 
"Of course, Rhetta." He felt the weight of the words, but chose to let them fall as she intended. Instead of making a scene about it, he turned on his heel. "Let's get y'all a place to sleep for the night."

Xandre continued to give a tour, pointing out things like the communal break area ("It's got aircon, yeh see, reckon that'll be nice in the summer months") on the way to a few offices that had been refitted into sleeping rooms for just this sort of situation. "They ain't much, but they'll do the job fer tonight. We'll figger out somethin' more permenant soon, promise. In the meantime, shower's down that hall, third door on the left." He gesticulated as he spoke, and then turned to leave. "I'll give y'all yer privacy fer that."

As he started down the hallway, he called behind him, "Welcome home, gals, such as it is. Rhetta, I'll be back in a bit to talk about them prospects."

As he was walking away, Ziessel spoke up. "Come see me later."

"Sure thing!" came the reply as he continued on his way.
 
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Desmond didn't seem riled by Ziessel's growl. He wasn't insecure enough to start throwing his weight around to try and prove a point. They were all hurting, and the abruptness of what had transpired had left them little time to adjust to all the changes. For Rhetta and Ziessel, that would be all worse he knew.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as the trio left.

"I 'ope ye know what you're doin' Ragenard," he said to himself.

He pulled his phone out as it buzzed. A message from Draaven had come in, and it had a single word.

'Julienne'

"For fucks sake," Desmond muttered.

As if it wasn't bad enough, that woman was starting to try everyone's patience. Some understanding was warranted. She had been there in the initial ambush, when Baron went down. She was young too, not as hardened to losing so many close to her. But she was taking that leeway far too generously as of late.

He headed off in the opposite direction from where the others had departed. He figured Ziessel would find him when she was ready.
 
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