[Jason Sharpe]

[For Dane Wayland and Darcy Vance ]

Jason found himself panting and plastered again the side of the bus stop, panting, soaked in rain that was still falling from the midnight sky. Unfortunately, even this far outside the city, he wasn't alone.

On the other side of the little plexiglass stop stoop a tall man in a black rain slicker, tapping his fingers on the divider. “Nowhere to run, mutt. Bus ain't coming for another hour and I don't think you got a ticket,” the man teased.

Jason had only been in town a few days, but it was long enough to know he didn't have a tail. He'd worked hard to cover his tracks. But he also knew that the group that had picked him up before was still out there. Still knew his name and face. He could only guess this Hunter had gotten it from them.

His first goal had been to get away from anywhere close to Seth, running as far as he could to the nearest highway rest stop, praying it was abandoned enough. But even with his magic, he could only go so far and his lungs were gassed. So he’d camped here, let the Hunter catch up, and now, all he had to do was not get himself killed.

---

By the time the next bus rolled around, there was no more bus stop. Bits and pieces were scattered across the street like a storm had ripped through. There were a few bullet casings and blood that lead across the empty lot, further destruction of the buildings, the glass doors shattered and blown open, maps and flyers scattered everywhere to the wind. More tracks thread down the embankment, through the wild grass and into the treeline.

Jason had spent most of the night unconscious, with a new collection of metal in his back and extremely grateful that this Hunter wasn't Gifted himself. Nor was he very good at checking for a pulse.

The Hunter was nowhere in sight, having left after a job “well” done and having his own wounds to lick. Notably breathing, which, for anyone that knew the Airbender, meant he hadn't intended to kill him.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Rapport between Dane and another Guild member was typically rare. Among the organization's rank and file, he'd maintained the shining reputation of being someone impossible to work with. Frustratingly facetious, reckless, and untrustworthy to boot. Generally, he preferred to keep it that way. He liked to hear the rumors (which weren't always rumors) of killed partners or missions-gone-awry and never corrected misinformation or truths that'd become a little glamorized and twisted in its travel through the grapevine. [break][break]

It was amusing. And it made it more difficult for his father (or whoever else) to find someone willing to saddle themselves with him. So difficult that, over the years, it'd become somewhat of a "punishment" to be forced with him. It wasn't always the case and it wasn't ever stated... but... it didn't have to be. Someone's lot being thrown in with Dane's was almost always an undeniable and intended slight. A firm reprimand. Like a fledgling adult being sent back to the kiddie table when they said something a little too small or smart among the "grown-ups". A snide, unspoken little dig from someone who just knew better: "take a good long look at yourself and think on your behaviour". [break][break]

Which was also amusing. Dane always enjoyed it (except when he didn't).[break][break]

But, over the past year, he'd begun needling himself back into some good graces. Was acting "right" again. Reminding his father (and whoever else) that he was still quite capable of being competent. And he was allowed now to linger at the doorway into the grown-up's dining area. To be observed subtly from the corners of the adults' peripheries as they went on about their conversations, pretending they weren't aware of his presence and perhaps waiting for him to speak up — to state himself — as he fiddled with his sweaty, kiddie hands and kicked petulantly at the doorframe, unsure which direction he truly wanted to step.[break][break]

And, within the year, he'd established something... quite nearly mimicking friendship with an experienced cleaner. The man was older, had been doing the job for a long while, and he knew a lot more about Dane than Dane knew about him. Regularly assigned the aftermath of the younger Wayland's assignments (likely from the very beginning of them, or at least from the point when he started getting messy), he knew the types of dirty disorder he tended to make, the brutish fun he liked to have, and knew his proclivity for carelessness.[break][break]

And he hadn't given a shit. In fact, he'd been a little disappointed and put out when Dane began making less and less mess for him. It'd tickled him so silly when he'd received a pouty message about his "newfound cleanliness" and the pair had since then maintained a (rather entertaining) back-and-forth. [break][break]

It was why Dane was here... in the wee-hours of the morning... picking through the rubble of a completely demolished bus-stop and following blood. The cleaner's daughter was in town for some fancy-smancy recital of sorts — the kind that sold whole opera houses, apparently — and guy needed someone to fall in his place, should he happen to be called upon. Dane hadn't expected to be needed but... he actually did like the guy... so... he'd made sure to follow-through when beckoned. [break][break]

Two dogs paced in front of him, tongues lolling happily from their mouths as they scented the air and made for the forest lining the highway; criss-crossing paths and snapping lightly at one another when they swerved too close. The pair were two of the four summons that'd taken part in avenging his mother the year prior and, as a reward, they'd become regulars in his rotation. Been given names. Summoned for company instead of purpose. Allowed to grow, to develop personalities, and to become something more Snowcone than simple, tasked beast.[break][break]

He'd also worked on them a bit — put a little more time and effort into their creation and appearance. Where they'd once been simple, sleek-bodied hounds, effective and practical, they were now a little more muscle-bound, solid, and pretty. Resembled Beaucerons more than Shepherds. [break][break]

The dogs fled down an embankment and into the trees and Dane ambled after them at a leisurely, unperturbed pace, occasionally giving a whistle to call them back to him when he felt them stray too far. The hounds weren't really needed — even if Dane wasn't a proven tracker, the amount of blood and struggle left as a trail was easy enough to follow. And... judging by the state of things... he imagined he'd find someone quite dead at the end of it. But he still kept himself inwardly poised and wary. [break][break]

Hunters, especially seasoned ones like him, knew you never could count out a Gifted person near-death. Not completely. And, if the bus-stop across the road was anything to go off of, this Gifted individual was a force. [break][break]

At least... before he'd let all that blood out of him. [break][break]

The dogs started some announcing howls and Dane blew a command sharp and slicing through his teeth. They silenced and crashed back to him through the brush before leading him on to a very small, intimate clearing. Looking half-propped, half-fallen against a thick tree base, was his quarry — pale and still. The pretty, pre-dawn light that managed to filter through the thick forest made his skin look impossibly white and the mess of crimson around him a dark, serene blue. [break][break]

Dane watched him for a moment, looking for any sign of life. Finding none, he gave a suffering sigh and unslung the bulking pack of supplies from his back to drop unceremoniously to the forest floor. "Suppose me cleaning up after someone else is just some long, long overdue karma," he chuckled, crouching to unzip the bag and take a look over the supplies. Mostly tools to hack the body smaller. "Lucky, lucky me," he tipped his head, tone taking on a sing-songy edge as he turned his attention to the dogs and made a face. "Lucky, lucky us," he looked to the dead man. "And lucky, lucky you."

Tag: Jason Sharpe [break]
Notes: Quick and messy but YOLO! Give me a nudge for any changes, if something doesn't fit, or if you think I need to do more before Jason comes-to or whatever! c:

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

Had he been told he would be shot that night, Jason would have laughed. Bullets, like any projectiles, could be manipulated with enough precise control, either through a gust or through air pressure changes. Though admittedly, he would have also pulled one from the page of Clint Eastwood and scrounged up a makeshift bulletproof vest.

Unfortunately, this Hunter had at least been a little smart, if a lot messy. Taking a few bullets to the lower back at close range hadn't given him the time to entirely deflect them. But Jason had managed to ensure they missed the major artery. Still, it was a lot closer to faking death than he wanted to come.

He knew they would come for him eventually. Knew likely this time, it would be less about taking him alive. Knew the best way to throw off the scent for a while would be to get himself killed. But he had thought to pull some clever tricks woth his breathing rather thank actually die. Instead, he lay on his stomach across a broken tree, barely breathing and with a lot less blood in his body. Seth wasn't going to be happy about this.

Jason wasn't all there when he hear the sound of dogs. It could have been a dream. Probably was. He liked dogs, but didn't have one. Maybe he coukd convince Seth they could pick up a stray. Though feeding them and themselves would be a feat.

The footsteps when unnoticed as the man faded in and out. The dogs panting and pacing making up a static background music that was suddenly interrupted by a voice. He missed most of the words, but there was one that stuck with him. Karma.

It was rather fitting, considering what he had had to do to escape the last Hunter stronghold he had been trapped in. He deserved worse that to be left here, barely conscious, using his Gift to help him remain breathing. It would be some pretty good karma too, if this was the same Hunter come back to finish the job. He doubted that just as much as he doubted it was a good Samaritan calling 911 for emergency assistance. Or could at least provide some painkillers. Or a knife.

Well, there wasn't much else for it. Better to take a quick end if that's what was coming. Jason opened his eyes slowly, catching a fuzzy, sideways glimpse of some very authentic looking dogs. He would have said they tracked him here if not for how much of a trail he knew he left. He groaned softly, nerves too raw with pain to feel much of anything below his lower back. His fingers tensed on the log, knuckles white, unable to find purchase. As if he could push himself up. But he would try, if only to prove he wasn't entirely vulnerable.

Jason managed to turn just enough to see the speaker, a young man with a bag and a gloomy expression. He wasn't sure if he was relieved not to see a cop or disappointed. Another Hunter then, considering he didn't look like a hitchhiker. More like unlucky on all counts.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The dogs only blinked at him, continuing their panting as they looked away to cast their twin gazes around with squirrely interest. Dane clucked in disappointment, lids falling half over his eyes. Snowcone would have at least given him a suffering look; round, brown eyes somehow judging in that peculiar, unspoken way dogs had. She'd been with him forever and knew when he was joking around — knew that sing-songy tone and what look to meet him with when he aimed it at her. [break][break]

These dogs were a little less reliable company. [break][break]

And they proved it further when, a moment later, the guy at their paws shifted. He came to life — barely — and Dane fell back from the balls of his feet and onto his ass, fingers curling around the tool at the top of the bag so that he came down with a short bone-saw in-hand. The dogs flinched back too, before lunging forward with a series of snaps and snarls that Dane figured was a little overkill. Maybe they were embarrassed to be taken by surprise and overcompensating for it now. He shoved himself back to a crouch and waved the saw in front of their snouts, shushing the wild, loud show of teeth and gums to silence. [break][break]

Snowcone would have never. [break][break]

Still, as the dogs (somewhat reluctantly) settled restlessly on their haunches, Dane tossed an arm around the closest one and jostled it close to him. They whined in their throats, eager for something, as the trio watched their new friend before them.[break][break]

"Sorry, guy..." Dane started amusedly, voice not the least bit apologetic or alarmed. "They're not fully-trained yet," he beamed at the dying man, flashing all his teeth, and watched the weak flutter of his eyes and the struggle in his muscles as he pulled himself up to be more "presentable". It was a strength already considerably drained and visibly waning, but Dane could still respect it. He knew how that felt. He'd been there. Many, many times before. And, if nothing else, he could appreciate the attempt to look one's would-be murderer in the face. To greet Death head-on instead of face-down in the dirt. He tipped his head, eye dropping from the man's pale countenance to take a fascinated account of the rest of him. [break][break]

His clothes were in tatters, made dark and wet with blood, and the dirt and debris that stuck to him was largely concealing. But, just as Dane had a keen eye for tattoos, he also had a keen eye for scars. And beneath the moon-blue blood, building dust, and forest grime... mottling the skin of the man's throat and collar at the torn neck of his shirt... he could pick out the faint map of ruined and healed-again skin. His gaze skipped along, to whatever glimpses of skin were made bare by the man's fight and flight. Everywhere he seemed to look — hands, leg, side — his eye picked out the same, telling contours. All suggestions that the weeping wounds wrecked across his body might only be the most recent testimony of battles won and lost. [break][break]

Dane whistled low through his teeth. A noise neither encouraging nor discouraging. Not quite friendly but not exactly hostile either. Then he clicked his tongue and lifted his eye back to the man's face, gaze a little more severe than it was before as he warned in a low voice (void entirely of its previous, superficial cheer), "But they're trained enough. And can be plenty mean. They'll stay nice until I say so... and I'm only playing nice while you're playing nice..." keeping the saw in one hand, he lifted his other to move slowly through the air, toward the hem of the man's shirt. He raised a brow questioningly, letting his fingers hover; waiting for some acknowledgment before he plucked up the fabric's hem and tried to edge it upward. "Understand...? I just want to look."

Tag: Jason Sharpe [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes or if something doesn't fit!

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

Jason twitched at the flash of white teeth and pink gums, the motion sending a shudder of pain down his spine. He closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps to accept the inevitable, and then opened them again. The air around the foursome went still. If either dog stepped any closer to him acting like that-

The man shushed his charges and Jason relaxed slightly, though his grip on the air around them did not. The nuance of tone wasn't easy for the near dead man to pick out. He wasn't sure if it was an apology or a threat, but the beasts seemed trained enough to listen.

He collpased on his stomach again, but with a bit better view. His brown hair was slick with sweat and stiff with blood. He'd had a jacket once. Now it was largely in tatters, leaving one arm bare but for the scraps and blood and the long sleeved blue shirt that was now soaked darked in crimson blood. He groaned softly, going limp once again, though his eyes found the man crouched beside him, searching his expression. Respect. Empathy. Not quite pity.

The scars that reached around his chest and dug their fingers in his check were visible, even in the dark were there were electrical burns and acid burns and a plethora of other marks left by the people who used his body as their playground. But he was breathing. And some of them weren't. Still, Jason was aware he had looked better. He wasn't quite sure if these would blend in to the rest or be the final straw.

He studied the onlooker in turn. A young man, likely his own age, but Jason had a haggardness to him that made him look older. This young man had a soft, but tired look about him, only accentuated in the moonlight. He was clean shaved, with nice clothes, and washed hair. His eyes bore a weight to them that he hid behind a facade of humor and something else.

Jason knew a threat when he heard one. His dark eyes never left the man's face, knowing in that moment that it wasn't the dogs he had to worry about. If he was stopping the breath in anyone's lungs, it was his. But he didn't. Wary as he was, he was too drained to lash out first. The man managed a single nod. He could accept a tenuous truce. Normally, he might have flourished with his Gift, shown off a threat or his own and, really as more of a courtesy, what it was he could do. But there was no energy for wasted effort. It was enough that he released his hold on the air, letting the faint natural breeze through.

His gaze flickered between the strangers hand on his shirt and his expression, watching him move his clothes to inspect his injury. His fingers twitched in pain as the movement of his shirt pulled it free of stiffening blood. There was a nice collection of three bullets in his lower back, grouped neatly together, all of them still lodged somewhere around his spine. He grit his teeth, but would let the man conduct whatever investigation he wanted, knowing he wasn't in any position to do anything but perhaps take the man with him if it came to that.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The sudden stiffening of the air around them... the tensing of the man before him... the subtle readiness about him despite his lack of strength... Dane noted it all with very little, visible acknowledgment. The man studied him back with a fixedness to his gaze that he met levelly and held steadily. He didn't seem afraid. Or sniveling. Or even hostile. He looked... almost... accepting. In not quite a "defeated" way but a simpler sort of... expectant way. [break][break]

The look matched the scars. It suggested steel. Survival. A refusal to beg and not quite a fervor to go down with a fight, but perhaps a preparedness to take another "one last stab" should the jaws start to close. [break][break]

Dane liked it.[break][break]

And, when the man nodded and the air around them loosened again, he scooted forward to lift his shirt and look. As he did so, one of the dogs pushed forward to swipe a tongue across the man's face and begin an insistent nudging under his jaw and chin — ears pinned back, tail swishing, and whine sounding a little more imploring now than antsy. Having decided Dane was acting "friendly" enough, the beast had leaned into one of the other few certainties that their little, battle-tested lives had so far afforded them — a hurt ally on the ground should not stay on the ground. They should be coaxed up and into movement before they couldn't anymore. Do not let them rest. Do not let their eyes close.[break][break]

Good girl, Dane thought fondly, letting his mouth pull at one corner before he turned his attention to the guy's back and the three glaring wounds it bore. Half-caked by dried blood and dirt but still oozing.[break][break]

Had it been his own body, Dane would've been able to surmise a general approximation of the internal damage. Be able to guess, by feel, the sort of severity and ruin that might be hiding within. He knew what types of pain meant what. Knew when sharp was more alarming than dull, how certain wounds bled, what heats were more damning than others, and when little pain was the worst sign of them all. [break][break]

Had the man been a dog, or some other beast he was thoroughly familiar with, he might be able to guess with a little more confidence, what exactly the worst worry was with the location of his entry wounds. Be able to say whether or not things were "looking a little grim".[break][break]

But human anatomy — though he was knowledgeable of it for obvious reasons and it didn't vary dramatically from other mammals — wasn't his forte. He did know... as he explored with confident, seeking fingers... that the lack of matching exit wounds was an issue.[break][break]

"The Gifted healers I know," Dane began quietly, voice sounding like a distracted aside while he continued to inspect. He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "At least the ones close enough to be of any use... they won't fix you up while that metal's in you. Nor will they take it out. And I know that," he paused to interject a chuckle. "Because they've refused to do it for me." The faint grin at the corners of his mouth deepened as he tipped his head and let his brow leap. "But hey, they might like you better than they like me."[break][break]

It was somewhat safe to presume this guy wasn't another Hunter. He couldn't rule it out completely but he felt fairly assured of the fact. He was Gifted... like the healers the Guild "employed"... and he wasn't someone they were forced to attend (and no doubt loathed on principle alone). Like most of them had been, he'd been hunted. Maybe they'd have a little more sympathy. Be willing to go the extra mile. Maybe. If they felt like risking it. "Still... probably a little close to the spine for their comfort." [break][break]

Dane fell back again, giving the man enough space so they could watch each other squarely. Redistributing his weight in the balls of his feet, he propped an elbow on his knee and dropped his chin into a cradling palm. He drummed at his jaw with long, neat fingers and hummed thoughtfully — the tone of it, once again refusing to be definitive; it wasn't truly sympathetic or concerned, but neither was it damning or mocking. His eyes, likewise, were hardly telling as they passed over him with brief consideration.[break][break]

If anything was to be done, then they'd probably need someone a little more "technically" practiced than the Gifted healers Dane was already acquainted with. As it so happened... he knew of such a person in Los Eurosia. Though he hadn't yet hobbled himself from the grave and to her stoop yet. "Lucky, lucky you..." he echoed his earlier words under his breath, sounding distantly amused. Largely at himself — when had helping this guy even become an option in his mind?[break][break]

He dropped his supporting arm and lifted his chin. "Well, guy..." he frowned, gaze traveling once more over the mess of him.[break][break]

He thought of those times he himself had brushed closest to death. Not the many more times he'd been grievously injured and broken, still snarling and snapping while blood dripped in his eyes and his body screamed, but the closer calls. When he'd fallen... truly fallen... and accepted there was little more to give. How disconnected he'd felt from himself and the eventual peace and serenity that'd come to him when he'd ebbed out the last of his strength. When the hurt stopped hurting altogether and the world simply quieted.[break][break]

He'd always been amused. Tickled that "it'd finally caught him this time". Quietly reflective as he thought of the celebrations that'd follow and then vaguely remorseful when he imagined his mother being told. It wouldn't have been surprising news, not in the slightest, and she'd been bracing for it most of his life, surely. Dino's dying would have prepared her, some. [break][break]

But his mother had beat him to the ground and, nowadays, Dane couldn't guess how he'd act, what he'd feel, or what he'd think of the "next time" death came knocking. [break][break]

Maybe this guy had a reason, though. Maybe. Something or someone worth his last thoughts. Maybe they were the reason he'd fought himself to exhaustion already. Survived whatever had given him the map of scars on his body. Drug himself through the forest and lived this long tonight. Maybe they were on his mind now. A reason, perhaps... that he couldn't give up and loosen his fists. [break][break]

It was interesting. Reasons were interesting. Mostly because Dane lacked any of his own most of the time.[break][break]

"Do you want to live?" he asked plainly, eye flitting back to and settling on the man's pale face. He scrunched his nose. "Can't promise you'll make it. Can promise it'll suck. But we can try?" He grinned, giving the saw in his hands a little shake before he continued. "Or I can just make it quick for you, if you don't feel up to the gamble." His casual tone made it clear he wasn't fussed either way. He could have added it was a rare offer. Something Dane wasn't known for. [break][break]

But he thought the admission was best left unspoken.

Tag: Jason Sharpe [break]
Notes: Sorry, it's long and a wreck lmao. ;v; Give me a nudge for any changes/tweaks!

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

The stranger’s level gaze made Jason wonder if this was a normal encounter for him. He played it off well if not, clearly projecting ease despite their uneasy truce. Like a less than maleficent mountain lion, still dangerous, his fate held in the man’something claws.

Jason could feel his edge slipping but he didn't break eye contract with his potential rescuer. Perhaps that was a bit too hopeful, but he had had ever opportunity to end it and he hadn't. Maybe cold blooded murder simply wasn't his thing. Jason could respect that, though he still wouldn't back down.

He hadn't come this far, lived through this much pain, found Seth again, just to die at an old rest stop. He knew any moment could be his last, but he didn't know how to lay down and simply take it.

His gaze was fixed on the man up until the dog stepped forward and gave him a kiss that was just as much nose as it was tongue. He blinked in surprise, momentarily distracted from the pain and his tiredness by the animal’s insistent nudging and whining. Maybe because he was a dog person, but there was something about the sad demanding tones that made him want to sooth the animal’s concern. To pick himself up and display just how fine he was. But while he shifted slightly, he couldn’t move to comply with the dog’s wishes. But it did help him stay awake.

The strangers exploration of his body wasn't gentle. He did his best not to tense, flinching slightly. But these were small, whispering pains. Reminders he was still alive and breathing. Better than the distant ache that had sunk in.

His dark brown eyes found the strangers as he spoke, closing for a moment. Gifted healers. He hadn't considered that. Had only ever met one himself, under the Hunter’s control, ordered to keep people alive but no more than that. Fix just enough to leave them alive and bleeding. Jason managed a breath. Yeah, that did make things difficult. He did return the brief grin with a wan smile of his own. He could be very charismatic if the moment called for it. Though much more likely the man meant it based on the fact he wasn't part of the organization holding any leash.

Jason was resigned to leaving the fate of his emergency medical care in the man with the bone saw’s hands. He seemed to know a thing or two about healers and doctors and, hopefully, being discreet. Whether he really cared or not wasn't a requirement. It wasn't his personal preference, but in this moment, the man was willing to rely on their shared comradiere and brotherhood. He hadn't quite pegged his Gift, but he would bet it was something to do with the dogs, considering the threat he had made about them.

Jason had closed his eyes again as the man mused over the options. There was a sort of peace, somewhere in all this. It would certainly be easier to simply let go. To enjoy the last few minutes of quiet and embrace whatever eternity or afterlife or lack thereof. But he couldn't. Wouldn't.

His eyes snapped open at the question, finding the stranger’s curious expression, his doubts clearly displayed. Jason nodded without any further prompting. He didn't care how much it would suck. Didn't care if he would only maybe make it. He wasn't going to make it laying here and he wasn't getting anywhere without help. Jason wasn't so proud or wary to not admit when he needed help. He'd rather take his chances.

The man grunted faintly at the suggestion he make it quick, entirely displeased with the option. Considering he was aware enough to know it wasn't a threat but an option, he didn't make any other move, though he could feel that wariness rising as he watched him wave the saw around.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The man's eyes had closed. Dane blinked at him with a neutral curiosity, wondering if it was too late. Maybe he was too far gone, or too far slipped into the forgiveness that came at the end, to want to try. Death could be nice. At the very, very end, at least... when all the physical pains and intellectual stresses began their more final fade. It was comforting. Merciful. Like a soothing embrace or tipping finally into a much-needed sleep. [break][break]

Maybe the guy had no reasons, after all. Nothing to keep awake for. [break][break]

But his eyes snapped open at the inquiry upon the matter, and Dane grinned wide — face brightening at the abrupt return to fight. That was more like it. "Great," he answered in a breathy chuckle, voice finally sounding genuinely pleased... before he drowned it with more jaunty, superficial humor. "At least now I won't have to hack you up. Karma misses me another day, phew. What a chore that was gonna be." He dropped the bone saw back in the bag of tools and zipped it up, then tipped his head as he considered more. "Though... not to be grim, but... still a chance of that, I suppose." That'd be just typical. Unsurprising, to say the least. Actually helping people didn't usually work out well for him. "It'd really suck though, if I go through all this additional trouble for you, and you still die." [break][break]

He leaned a little toward the guy, voice hushing. "So... try really hard, 'kay?" His lips tugged wide, he winked, and then he waited a beat. "'Kay. I'm going to get the car."[break][break]

He stood, stretching and cracking his back with a leisurely (perhaps insensitive) groan. He looked down at the man with refreshed consideration as he reclaimed his pack. "I'm gonna leave a dog with you, too," he decided out loud. Unless he had some sort of Gift-sensing ability, Dane couldn't imagine the guy had any clue he was Gifted himself. But... given the assumption he wasn't a Hunter... showing that hand didn't seem too terrible a risk. He liked to keep the trump card up his sleeve most of the time, but... where was the harm...? He also liked to show off, everything else aside.[break][break]

"Just... not this new blood." He motioned to the two dogs beside them before rubbing his palms together. "Someone a little more trustworthy." He held out his hands and pictured Snowcone — her thick bones and thicker muscle, her strong lungs and devastating jaw, and how every bit of her came and worked together to make an impressive beast of imposing strength. Summoning her was always quick. Practiced and expert. He knew her better than he knew anything. [break][break]

Almost as soon as she materialized and the light of her summoning faded, the Tibetan Mastiff snorted her displeasure. Having immediately felt that her strength wasn't complete — that she was sharing his summoning with others — she swiveled her massive head around to peer accusingly at the two dogs sat at the injured man's side, ignored the man completely, and then looked to Dane with a telling huff. [break][break]

She hadn't taken to having new "regulars" well. For as long as Dane could summon, Snowcone had been his constant. The oldest of his creations. The most developed, trusted, and beloved. She had enough personality now to seem almost human — the fact evidenced by the way she straightened and watched him, seeming almost like an unamused mother or irate girlfriend waiting (with crossed arms and a tapping foot) for an explanation (that they were wholly prepared to interrupt and dispute).[break][break]

Dane could have laughed, chest swelling with fondness as he tipped his head and offered a soft, apologizing croon. "Oh, don't be like that," he stepped forward to run his fingers through the fluffy fur of the dog's thick neck and jostled her against his hip. She wasn't having it, though, and ducked violently out of his hold with a low-throated growl and a performative curl of her lip. "Fine," he grumbled, with no true petulance in it, and a moment later the two, sleeker dogs at the man's side blinked away; disappearing into nothing with soft, protesting whines and another brief flash of light.[break][break]

Snowcone perked, shook herself, and offered a somewhat reluctant woof. But she (quite pointedly) didn't look back at him. He wasn't entirely forgiven. But she was improved now and looked over to the half-alive man with new, rapt attention. Dane rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "Stay, Snow," he commanded, feeling her eyes on his back. "Be good. I'll be back."[break][break]

As he started back through the forest, Snowcone settled on her haunches and watched him leave. And, when she couldn't see him anymore, she swiveled to appraise her ward with large, inherently doleful eyes. She leaned across to sniff at him and his various wounds, whined soft and low, then slowly lowered herself to rest her massive head upon him; eyes watching their surroundings while they waited.[break][break]

Making his way back up the embankment, Dane considered the contact he had in mind. Though he knew next to nothing about the woman, he was aware she'd been a part of the Guild for a while. She wasn't forced to hunt. She was Human. And, those sorts of connections — agreements made between civilians and the Guild — tended to afford a little more consideration than those made between would-be-victims and the Guild. [break][break]

Gifted healers like Rabbit were largely expendable. Not often treated kindly by the more "zealot, magic-loathing" of Guild hunters. It concerned no one too much when they were demanded for or even kicked around. They rarely ever complained or combated it too much because... who would listen? And what was their alternative? They'd been Hunted down, brought to their knees, and given the option of eradication or servitude. The leash they accepted over death was never too slack and the hand that held it wasn't often sympathetic toward them.[break][break]

But those more "legitimate" and "contract" agreements, with human lawyers and law enforcement and the like, they were generally a little more protected. Their services required a degree of overhead — they couldn't be directly contacted willy-nilly by the lowly rank-and-file. Their information and their identities... generally... were treated more sensitively. Probably so people — precisely the give-no-shit bastards like Dane — couldn't call them up whenever they wanted and cause problems for them. [break][break]

So, going through the motions, Dane called another number. He was connected with a middle-man of sorts, whose entire job was to arrange these things, and gave a brief, dispassionate account of his situation and immediate needs. There were a lot of inquiries and a little fibbing was required but... they were familiar in their dealings with him... so... when he eventually bellied an Oscar-worthy groan and snapped something short and caustic, the clinical conversation quieted. The man on the other line, after a long beat of weighted silence and then a suffering sigh, waived the rest of the questions, told him to wait for further instruction (or to be contacted by the woman herself, should she choose to be direct), and the line disconnected. [break][break]

Not before Dane could hear a grumble about his "being an insufferable prick" (which made him bark a short laugh). [break][break]

When he returned to the cleaner's car, he tossed his bag of disposal tools in the trunk, took quick stock of the emergency medical supplies on offer, and simultaneously sent an "anonymous tip" to a Sector contact. If he was no longer going to clean up the mess — and he didn't particularly feel like reaching out to another Guild cleaner (who might be suspicious, contentious, and have questions) — he might as well hand the bulk of it off for them to deal with. They were just as eager to keep things discreet as the Guild was and sometimes that could be convenient. He could claim they'd beat him to the scene and who could argue against that? [break][break]

Besides, who'd receive the brunt of the Guild's ire if things didn't bode well? The Hunter who'd made such a big mess in the first place. This time, that wasn't Dane, so he didn't care awfully much. Not that he ever cared awfully much.[break][break]

He moved the car, parked it off the road and at the edge of the trees, and made his way back to the man, slinging his new, exchanged pack across his back and grinning wide when he approached. "Still kicking, guy?" Snowcone lifted her head and drug herself to a sitting as he crouched before them. "I've got a call in. But first things first, let's get out of here before things get more complicated." He inwardly cringed, unsure how difficult it was going to be to limp the man back through the brush.

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: If I've done way too much, give me a nudge! Similarly, if the details/set-up for Darcy doesn't work, just let me know! c:

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

Jason didn't know anything about this man. It was hard to tell between the range of amusement, boredom and the sort of cautionary tone of his what his true intention was. Not to have to kill him seemed as close as he could get. At least the ‘Great’ seemed to hold real excitement. Before he smothered it in that chatty humor of his.

In the past, he got the feeling he would have quite enjoyed the other man's demeanor. He had a sort of graveness about him, buried down there. But what Jason liked was his humor. It wasn't exactly honest but then again, he wasn't sure any humor was honest. Still, even now, Jason wanted to be positive. Just…perhaps right now he was a bit pressed for the energy to do so. He'd enjoy the other man's cavalier attitude in the mean time, offering a soft snort as he confessed his pleasure not to have to cut him up. For now.

If he could have mustered it, this was the part where Jason would grin and flip him off. He too agreed it would really suck. He watched the man's dramatics carefully, wondering if this was the part where he got another ‘playful’ threat. But honestly, the entire tense situation was throat enough. One of them was very conscious, very alert, very physically capable and had some extra jaws to boot.

Jason was just struggling to stay conscious enough to even attempt to defend himself. Not that it would be hard to do, but he had to be alert enough for it.

Surprisingly though, it wasn't a threat, but rather a strange sort of encouragement that he leaned closer to impart.

Some of the man's musing were lost to Jason, having tuned out after something about a car and a dog. Until the change in air pressure around them suggested something appearing. He couldn't see the third animal, but from how the man spoke and the lack of reply, he guessed it was another dog, seemingly from nowhere. Which was strange, but he trusted his own Gift to know he wasn't seeing things. Especially when the two dogs beside him vanished in a similar but opposite rush of air pressure and light. He had guessed (or perhaps hoped) the other man was Gifted. And while he still wasn't entirely sure, he knew enough. Conjuring beasts to order around.

This new dog was a different breed and she studied him a lot more intently. She (he didn't know why he used the pronoun, it just felt right) whined and settled down next to him, her head on his shoulder, heavy as it was, made him groaned faintly, eyes watering.

Time slipped by as he waited. Jason couldn't have guessed if it was five minutes or five hours. The dog - Snow? - was both a pleasant distraction and an almost comforting weight on his shoulder and back as he got used to her. It was the removal of that weight more than the words or sound of footsteps that registered. Jason groaned again and tried to bring the man back into focus. Moving was going to be a bitch, no way around it. He wasn’t going to be walking this one off and if he was perfectly honest, the sooner he passed out, the better for both of them. If nothing else, dragging him to the car would likely be the most effective. He’d handle the pain the best he could.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Other than a low groan, the guy didn't have much else to say on the matter. So, after observing him for a couple, searching moments, Dane pursed his lips and sucked noisily at his teeth. "Hm, well..." he rolled his shoulders and sighed. He looked to Snowcone, who — despite her grudge-holding nature — couldn't help but perk under his attention. "Here comes the shitty part." [break][break]

There was nothing for it, truthfully. No matter what way they went about it, the trek was going to be a chore for him and hell for the other guy. Maybe the pain would help keep him awake and present. Spike some desperate, last-ditch adrenaline through his veins and shake the grog from his mind. Though... getting his heart pumping wouldn't do a whole lot of good, he supposed... if a pretty amount of that blood was pouring out of him. His wounds weren't gushing alarmingly now, laying on his stomach as he was, but Dane imagined the stress and movement of limping along might change that tune by the time they reached the car. And, holes being located where they were, he couldn't really ask the guy to hold a good amount of pressure on them while they made their way.[break][break]

Unless...[break][break]

"Alright, Guy — your Gift. Not certain about the particulars of it, but... I have my suspicions." He helped pull the man to a tentative sitting as he spoke, fingers curled in what remained of his tattered shirt. He gave his chest another "encouraging" pat and coolly watched his face. [break][break]

Despite what basically amounted to good (albeit not terribly invested) intentions tonight, a deeply-ingrained part of him was still unwilling to let any grimace of pain go unappreciated. Still hungered — in some quiet, pacing way — to observe every twitch of hurt and to hear every harsh hiss of air through tightly-grit teeth. "You can use that to help keep the blood in you while we go, yeah? Somewhat?"[break][break]

Not really waiting for an answer, Dane turned to cozy beside the guy, pulled one of his arms across his shoulders, and slowly worked the both of them to a precarious standing. Fortunately for his new friend, lugging along a considerable amount of deadweight wasn't anything new for Dane. He'd spent a couple of long, infuriating years saving and limping home his stupid, useless burden of a big brother, either from lethal battles he'd been aiming to lose or bathroom floors he'd curled up to whimper on. [break][break]

And this guy wasn't nearly as lumbering as Dino had been. [break][break]

Unfortunately for him, Dane had always been really fucking livid every time he had to haul his brother from whatever deep, dark hole he'd crawled into. And, as a (somewhat subconscious) result, he'd never adopted any gentle bedside manner when it came to the task. Simply... didn't have it in him to set an easy or considerate pace, to slow when asked, or to coo any sort of assurances as they moved. He forced them on, just as deaf to any protest that might have been made as he had his ears hungrily listening for them.

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for changes or if I should do more! And feel free to move them along as much as you'd like!

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

Jason braced himself for what the man described as 'the shitty part.' Part one at least. the car ride, plus whatever doctor lay at the end of said car ride. If there even was one. It wouldn't surprise him if 'doctor' was a loose term for a guy with a scalpel and an apron. Or a crematorium. Or maybe the man would cut him up somewhere else. But he'd deal with those scenarios as they came. Or he'd be unconscious and it wouldn't matter. Not point worrying.

The sitting position was the worst part. Being rolled over elicited a wheezing groan. If not for the stranger's support, he wasn't sure he could hold himself up. But while the pain flared, it wasn't nearly so sharp as it had been when it happened. Now, it was more of an uncomfortable warmth.

Jason closed his eyes, fingers on the arm around the stranger seeking out his shirt and gripping his clothes in return. The positives were that it did indeed 'wake him up' a bit. But it was also draining. Whatever adrenaline coursed through his veins was tempered by his lack of blood. It was enough for him to come to a bit more. But unfortunately for the stranger, he wouldn't be contributing verbally to his conversation still. But he did offer a forced "mhm" when he suggested his Gift might be helpful. 'Somewhat' was indeed the technical term.

He had certainly done his best while conscious to use his Gift to minimize the bleeding. While unconscious, not so much and by then it hadn't mattered. But now, being pulled upright, he did his best to gently but firmly shift the air against his back, increasing the air pressure there. If he could control water, he might have a better time of it, but alas, the only element he was master of was air. He couldn't prevent himself from bleeding all over the car's upholstery, but he could slow things down. The other man moving his arm around him would force him to reassess, but wouldn't be very noticeable, except that the air felt a bit 'heavier' to anyone paying attention to that sort of thing.

He was used to moving under pain, utter soft gasps and swallowing groans as he was helped up and shuffled to the car. Bedside manner wasn't exactly a topic on his mind so much as just getting where he needed to go as quickly as possible. While there was plenty of vocal outlets of pain, there was no swearing and no real protest. Unless one counted his legs not quite getting with the program Jason was honestly relieved he could feel his legs, though it was largely a tingling, numb sort of sensation. But he did his best to limp along with the man, managing some fraction of weight. As for the car, if he hadn't left the door open, he was resigned to slumping against the glossy side of it and once again using his Gift to subtly press himself against it. Getting in the vehicle wasn't a glamourous or graceful affair, but it once he found himself in a seat, front or back, Jason collapsed into the seat with a heavy groan.

He wasn't liable to move during the drive, but he surprisingly managed to stay more or less awake.

[Darcy Vance]

After helping clean up from dinner and getting kids situated with their homework or projects for the evening; Darcy had decided now was as good a time as any to tackle ’a few work emails’. At least, that’s what she told herself when she sat down at the kitchen table and plugged in her MacBook Pro. Despite still being on leave, Darcy knew it wouldn’t be wise to neglect emails, especially in her line of work. After all, she did have a few patients awaiting important calls for their surgeries. But, so long as information was properly handled and the patient agreed to let another doctor take the lead; Darcy wasn’t really expected to be back until Ferris was at least cleared for driving again.

With a few minor interruptions from the kids -Ellis was trying to chase Beckett through the house because she took her phone charging cord and said it was the leash for her stuffed dog, and Rhys had needed help going over his report but had asked for Ferris’ help- Darcy was able to stay mostly on task, and had most the emails finished before she would be ready to pause and help Ferris get the kids ready for bed… only, she got a touch hyper focused and was pulled away to simply give good night hugs and kisses.

Despite most of her work being finished, she wasn’t ready to head to bed and finished another few emails before her phone buzzed with a few incoming texts. She looked confused at first, brown eyes finding the clock in the bottom corner of her screen and frowning when she saw it. Was it already after two AM? When she got focused on something, she truly did lose track of time. Ferris must have gone up to bed without her, as he was not anywhere in sight downstairs. Darcy reached for the phone and an iciness crept through her veins at the texts.

The messages were from her point of contact with The Guild, her eyes falling to the tattoo on her inner right forearm; an everyday reminder of her contract with this ‘organization’. Opening the messages, Darcy couldn’t help but frown. So much for her being ‘on leave’.

She sighed, closing the screen of her MacBook Pro and sending a few words back in response before typing in the number given to her for the Guild member she was supposed to be meeting up to help.

Give me about ten minutes, would you prefer a Guild safe house, or my private office?

She pressed ‘send’ and set the phone down on the table while she made her way up the stairs with a slow exhale. She pushed the door to their bedroom open, unable to help but smile softly at the sight of Ferris, sleeping quite soundly in their big bed. A bed that was gentle calling her name and enticing her to join, but that would have to wait. Her contract stated she would answer to any and all emergencies sent her way from The Guild, unless she was in the middle of something inescapable, like surgery. At least, that would be the reasoning given to Ferris. She hated lying to him, but she still hadn’t figured out exactly how to explain it all without sounding crazy. Or without him feeling like he couldn’t trust her… nearly ten years of being together, and she still didn’t know how to talk about that one thing.

Darcy changed into a pair of navy blue scrubs, putting all the necessary items -her badge, pager, favorite pen, etc.- into her pockets to suggest she was about to be at the hospital, even pulling her curls up into a messy bun before gently sitting beside Ferris to stir him. “Hey, Ferris… come on baby.” She gently coaxed him from sleep, which earned her a sleepy mumble of “Good morning.” As he shifted toward her, clearly not trying to completely wake up. This of course made her grin and she couldn’t help but wish she was joining him in their comfortable bed instead of driving to her ‘office’.

“I got called in for an emergency, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll try to be home before the kids get sent off for school.” Which was an optimistic thought on her end, as she wouldn’t know the extents of the work needed until she saw the victim. When Ferris didn’t quite move after her words, she ran a hand up his chest and leaned in to kiss his cheek. To which he stirred a bit more and it took all her self control not to pounce on the man. Especially when he offered a sleepy nod and managed out; “Good luck saving the world… I’ll handle the kids.”

Yeah, she absolutely adored this man.

“Je t'aime.” Darcy whispered softly against his neck before kissing him gently and pulling herself away. If she didn’t go no, she might not be able to drag herself away. She pulled the bedroom door closed behind her and slowly took to the stairs, not trying to make noise that might wake the kids. Darcy rounded the banister and headed for the laundry room, pulling a clean pair of socks from the basket she had neglected last night. She pulled the socks on and slipped on her shoes, scooping up her purse and pulling out her keys before nearly forgetting her phone on the dining room table.

Picking it up, she didn’t have a response yet, so she’d head to her office. A nice little medical facility that was ‘by appointment only’ and through the Guild. The space was specifically for Darcy to have a private space to work, and had been listed under the alias “Dr. Darcy Lupus”, it was a play on her wolf tattoo and gave her a touch of anonymity with the Guild members she aided. In the event that this one preferred a safe house, she would still need to go and take one of the vehicles prepared with supplies for emergency situations, parked and stored at her private facility.

Darcy locked the front door behind her as she slipped into her silver SUV and headed toward her office downtown, already trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mess she was about to be cleaning up.

---

Tag: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: Hope that works for y’all! Give me a nudge otherwise

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

It was far from a pleasant stroll, but the pair managed a difficult limp back to the car. The man's utterances and sharply-hitched inhales of pain were only amusing for a short while — until Dane started to feel sweat in his hairline and the promise of future ache in his neck and shoulders. Then he was just annoyed (at himself) for starting this whole effort at all. What was the reason, again? Harder to remember, now that he was damp under his clothes. [break][break]

Still, he helped the man in the backseat, opened the passenger door so Snowcone could hop shotgun, then moved around to settle himself in the driver's seat and start the car. "No worries about bleeding everywhere, by the way," Dane chirped with emphasized cheer, trying to plant himself securely in an "optimistic" mood once more. "The car's not mine, so... just have at it, heh." He pulled out his phone to check the message he'd felt his pocket buzz with during their laborious journey. [break][break]

From the doctor herself. So, she'd chosen to be direct, then. All the better. He liked that. Far preferable. Most middle men didn't transcribe his tone well. They cut out the unprofessional bits. Only said what needed to be said. And how fun was that, really? Where was the personality? The rapport?[break][break]

Dane chortled, reading her message over again with a sneaking curl at one corner of his mouth. "Your doctor asked about your preference in medical facility," he explained (voice pitched warm with obvious bemusement) and lifted a level gaze to his rearview mirror. "Should I tell her whichever one is more likely to keep you alive?" [break][break]

He wasn't expecting a response. There hadn't been too many of those thus far in their interaction. But still, it was simply good manners to let the guy in on the "joke". And Dane was (obviously) very big on manners.[break][break]

As he buckled himself into his seat, he typed back a blasé response, 'I asked the half-alive guy in my backseat which place he preferred. He was pretty quiet so I assume he doesn't care much either way.' With a low (begrudgingly more resigned) hum, he followed it up with another. 'You're the important one here, your preference is obv priority. Just tell me where to go.'[break][break]

As he waited for an address or some other instruction, he put the car into gear and pulled on the road; starting them toward the city and putting some distance between them and the crime scene. When he was on a comfortable stretch of road — and after he pulled obediently (and inconspicuously) aside when a parade of sirens and lights barreled by — he lifted the phone again and sent some details he felt might help the surgeon prepare. [break][break]

'Three bullets. Assuming JHP and close range. 9mm or smaller. Lower back, very near spine. Can still walk. Hours of bleeding by looks of it but still conscious (for now). No exit wounds.'[break][break]

He'd only dropped his phone into the console's cup holder for a single, stretching moment before he plucked it out again and held it open in front of his chest; a thumbnail working absently at its edge while he sucked his lip against his teeth and considered. [break][break]

He really didn't know this woman. He couldn't assume her reasons for joining the Guild. Was she with them for the money? Family ties, like him, perhaps? Or maybe... she'd joined for the reason most people joined. If that was the case, Dane couldn't be certain whether her precious "Hippocratic Oath" extended to the likes of them.[break][break]

His eye flickered slowly to the rearview mirror again, to watch the half-slumped man in his backseat cling to consciousness. He supposed he could simply advise the guy to keep his Gift under wraps. Not mention the dogs. Pretend to be a Hunter himself, even. He obviously wouldn't need to explain any further how delicate the situation might be. His current state — and Dane suspected his scars, too — was proof enough.[break][break]

But, deciding to throw caution to the wind (those sort of nimble dance-arounds could grow exhausting annoyingly quick, after all), he lowered his gaze and typed up one last message. 'He's not one of ours. And he's Gifted. Not sure how much thst matters to you. But professional courtesy to let you know. Plus... it'll save me a drive if you're just gonna shut the door in our face when we g et there.'

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge if I need to change anything! Or if I did too much, not enough, or if you'd rather Dane not disclose Jason's Gifted status. Whatever, dawg! Feel free to let time pass and have them arrive if you want or really anything! I'm not fussed! c:

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Jason Sharpe]

Jason did his best to slump as comfortably as physically possible in the back seat. If the man drove at all like he helped him stumble to the car, he didn't have high hopes. Still, anywhere, anyhow, was better than here, so he would happily take the man up on the offer to bleed all over the backseat. It was at least a marginally more comfortable space to spend his final moments, should it come to that. But he hadn't been mostly dragged here just to die.

He met the man's eyes in the mirror, uncomprehending for the first moment. He didn't have a doctor and even if he did, he really didn't... Right. Jason's lip quirked at the corner in faint, fleeting amusement. Moreso because of the man's serious delivery of the joke. He grunted in agreement. Wherever was more likely to keep him alive. Probably closer. But he knew he was in a bad way and no mere scalpel was going to fix this. Otherwise, the stranger might as well have tried to use that bone saw to pry the bullets out of his back. Or stomach, or liver or wherever they had ended up. It was hard to tell. The more he wheezed and grunted, the more he expected to start coughing up blood. that he had made it this far was a good sign. Probably.

His dark gaze traveled from the rearview mirror, to the massive dog riding shotgun, to the seatbelt that he wasn't ever going to reach. That was fine., he wasn't convinced he would make it very far sitting up anyway. Easier to lay back and ride it out. The passing cop cars, (although something he knew had to show up eventually) went entirely missed by the man as he struggled to hold onto that spark of slightly higher awareness. Just for a little longer. He had to keep going for Seth. He had to see her again.

Jason faded in and out on the drive over, sometimes catching the driver's eyes in the mirror and trying his best to affirm that he wasn't dead yet. Other times, it was all he could do to close his eyes, push down the pain, and breathe. Especially any time they took a corner, tight or not. He noticed a few brighter lights, a Taco Bell, a park, a big warehouse, but time was starting to feel disconnected and jumbled and he couldn't have said how far or for how long they drove. Only that he was relieved when the car came to a stop. Next would come another shitty part. And he wasn't so sure he'd keep it together this time.

[Darcy Vance]

As Darcy’s SUV moved swiftly down the quiet street toward her private office, her mind worked on autopilot.
The cold night air bit at her cheeks as she kept her drove, her hand instinctively brushing her forearm, where the geometric wolf and moon tattoo was hidden under her sleeve. This wasn’t the first time The Guild had called her in the dead of night, but tonight felt different—rushed, tense. It was at times like this that she appreciate her preference for work in Trauma, it helped her handle these impromptu surgeries and cases with much more ease than one might typically possessive under these circumstances.

As she pulled into her parking lot , her phone buzzed again. The Guild member’s reply lit up her screen.

“I asked the half-alive guy in my backseat which place he preferred. He was pretty quiet so I assume he doesn’t care much either way.”

Darcy’s lips pressed into a tight line. She appreciated the humor, but the gravity of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She typed back quickly.

I’m not picky, just bring him to me intact. My private office is already prepped for handling emergency situations, bring home here.

His longer message, sharing this individual was gifted and not a guild member, made her pause. Most of the time she didn’t ask questions, and they didn’t give her more than enough information to go her job. But her ‘job’ with them, was to work on guild members. Why he was bringing her some random gifted individual, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t about to turn them away. She’d taken an oath, to ‘do no harm’ and that applied to everyone.

Just don’t be making it a habit of me dragging my ass out of the house as 2am.

Darcy texted, and the following text was a pin drop of her location. She jumped out of her SUV, pulling her bag up on her shoulder and locking the car as she headed toward the entrance to her office. Unlocking the doors and disabling the alarm system. Flipping on the lights and making her way toward the back door, she would unlock it to give the man an easier point of entry with the victim.

Next, Darcy went to her operating room and began prepping her tools. This was her world now, detached from the sanitized hallways of her hospital life. Here, things were quieter, darker—no questions, no records, just results. She wasn’t Dr. Vance, Trauma surgeon. No, here she was Dr. Lupus, Guild contracted doctor. Darcy grabbed a hair tied and quickly pulled up her hair. Three GSWs to the lower back near the spine, just a typical case if she didn’t consider her lack of assistance or the fact that it was now after 3 am and very much not in an actual hospital.

She could do this.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes!