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Dare you to Move; Patch/Nic one on one R (violence)
Topic Started: Dec 28 2009, 06:13 PM (2,620 Views)
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She had no idea what was going through the guy's mind, perhaps something along the lines of 'damn she's a bitch' but nothing as perverse as what was really passing through the male's mind. Even when he bumped her she didn't budge, her smile did falter but that was it. And when he finally gave in she took her rightful place. Not minding the way he clung to her, more interested in the feel of the engine beneath her. The raw power under her hands...Controlling herself she kicked up the stand, patting his arm to give him warning when she took off out of the parking garage.

She had no place in mind really, simply enjoying the ride while she glanced about idly to see if she saw a pancake house or something along those lines. Topping speeds, making sharp turns. She was reckless, basically leaving it up to Patch to be the lookout.
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He clung to her, as she put the bike into gear, the tires spun out laying down rubber on the garage floor. The engine screamed as they shot out of the garage and onto the street. She was quite good, and as she banked the turns she took them with skill. Although if she intended to scare him, it wasn't working. Instead, he found himself being more turned on by her than before. His heart raced as they sped along the streets of the city. She took the bike to its limit and pushed it. His breath fogged up the visor, but he dared not let go of her. Hips locked, arms tight, he held on.

They rode through the upscale district, ironically past his brother's home. Then up the well manicured street that led to the castle. They banked off and sped down towards the departments of defense and the hospital. Finally, after what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes she slowed the bike down enough for him to speak to her.

"Where do you want to eat?" He asked rather breathlessly.


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To enthralled in the pure thrill of the moment she had completely forgotten about the coyote behind her. It wasn't until he began to grip her tighter that she fianlly rmembered why she was driving the thing in the first place. Cracking him a slight smile, thankfully she was forced to slow down due to all the cops around the area, it was only then she heard him. Turning her attention back on the road she gave a slight shrug. "Any place is good, keep an eye out." Completely unaware of any cracks she may have made in his expense. Speeding past a quaint little dinner Nic pulled a quick U-turn and swung back around. A blare of horns and screeching of tires and she was heading back.

Pulling them both over for a quick, sudden stop that would have Patch crashing into her back, bodies jarred. "Well, that was hella fun! Maybe we can try fer a quick road trip afterward, eh?" Joking, but not quite. Kicking the stand back into place she killed the engine. Remaining seated for a few moments, almost reluctant to part with the magnificent piece of machinery.
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Patch shuddered thanking whoever made body armor. That it was for these moments. When they finally stopped, he took his helmet off and looked at her. Yet, he remained quiet. At her suggestion of going on a road trip he remarked, "we only just met."

He took the keys from her and put them in his jacket pocket. Then he held the door open for her, following her into the diner. It was quaint, and out of the way. For good reason, considering the streets were already swarming with cops.

A waitress came over, she dropped two menus in front of them along with two cups of coffee.
"What'll you have kids?" She asked smugly.

Patch glanced at the menu, ordered a steak and eggs, with bacon. He was hungry for protein. Meat any kind, any way, sounded good to him. He watched her as she sat across from him. He noted how the sun shimmered off her fur. How she held her head a certain way, and how her bangs fell across her forehead. He reached over to get a packet of sugar. His hand touched hers. He looked up. Did she notice? Probably not. It did not matter anyway right? Just a packet of sugar.

He felt awkward around her, tongue tied. He wanted to be confidant, strong, and assertive. The fact was, he was just a scared fugitive who was biding his time in a deadman's house.


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Nic was still too attachted to the bike to want to give up the seat so soon. Looking rather forlurn when Patch turned down her offer. What did it matter to know someone to go on a simple road trip? Hell if she hadn't handed him the keys, fatal flaw of her kinder character, she would have took off and left him there. She'd bring it back. Eventually. Following him inside she plopped herself in the seat, pushing the coffee off to the side. She was more of a tea kinda gal. She wasn't sure what to have, but meat did sound good. For the sake of trying not to sound like a copy cat she went for the "Country fried steak and eggs." Nothing better then starting the day with something deep fried.

Had she noticed Patch brushing his hand against hers she showed no clue. Returning the menu to the waitress and let silence fall between them till her ice tea came. When the woman left she retrieved a flash from her vest, opening the top she emptied the contents into her glass and casually stirred. "So, I usually dun ask this of my clients, but why do ya need...what ya need?"
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Patch watched her for a moment. Then replied calmly, "I wish to return home."

He stirred the sugar in his coffee, added something that could be considered milk, then drank it. He stared into the cup for a moment watching the swirling whirls of cream blend into the dark drink. Light and Darkness, day and night... blended together to form grey. Just an indistinct area where absolutes do not exist. If he was younger, if he had never known any other way. If he was dumber, then he may have coped with the grey in a more rudimentary way, by destroying it.

There are no absolutes. If there was, then why was this world so difficult to understand?

Perhaps he was a coward. Perhaps he had more in common with his brother than he cared or wanted to admit. He clenched his jaw, when he looked down to see he was gripping the spoon so tightly it bent under the force of his hand. He felt something hot and wet, blood, his claws had gouged small holes into the palm of his hand. Frowning he picked up a napkin and blotted it against his hand.

The waitress returned. She brought their food along with two glasses of water and refilled the weasel's glass. She didn't say much. Seeing he wasn't one for small talk anyway, she hurriedly set down the plates and left the them. The lady paled when he looked at her. He had that effect on people. Sometimes, when he thought back into the darkness of his mind, he would only stare at someone, and they knew his thoughts. He also knew theirs. He no longer was a Mobian, he was a coyote. A coyote who loped under star filled skies. A natural born killer, a predator with all the gifts Mother Nature had graciously bestowed upon him, who bit into the necks of living prey. A coyote who was more than capable of rendering flesh from bone, gutting and drinking the hot vitality of his prey without fear or remorse.

There were few Mobians who understood him.

Fewer still who knew who or what he was.

At times, he wondered himself.




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Nic raised a brow at his answer, but she didn't push the question any further, even if she itched to learn more. Know more. Her tail twitched beneath the table, her fingers idle on her glass. He was such an interesting creature, one she just couldn't understand, couldn't predict. God how she loved it. It was the thrill of danger, of being completely at the mercy of a monster. He was so enthralled by his drink she could stare at him all she wanted and he wouldn't even turn his gaze up to her. What could be passing through his mind?

Taking a slow sip of her drink, letting the strong liquor burn her throat and clear her senses. The only dulling reaction was strictly on an emotional level. No need to care when under the influence. Her savor and her bane. Eyes averted to gaze down at her own drink. What had she been thinking? Trying to enjoy a quite moment with a client! Her next sip nearly cleaned out her glass.

The sudden presence of a familiar metallic tinge had her attention turned to his hand, unable to catch the red of his blood as he quickly cleaned it up. It was never a good sign when someone was physically self destructive. The waitress' return was just a simple and quick distraction but once she was out of ear shot Nic opened her mouth. "Somethin on yer mind, how stuff? I hope my company aint drivin ya close to insanity." No humor in her voice, steadily loosing any real show of emotion. Picking up her fork she moved the meat around the plate before putting it back down, any hunger she felt fading.

Leaning back against the booth seat, her attention set on what was outside the window. Passerby's who were too raveled in their own meek little lives. Watching there joy only made her reach for her flask again.
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"I wanted the posts, to use them. To go home." He repeated cooly.

He saw her spike her drink with the booze from her hip flask. He did not frown on it, but he did not relish the idea of her getting behind the handlebars of the bike while under the influence.

He ate, ravenously he ate. He had not forgotten the taste of meat. Although it wasn't fresh, it was still meat. His body ached for it. He cursed the thought of letting Mr. James Johnson rot in a dumpster. "What a waste, of several meals." He thought to himself. Then another side gnawed at him. Something like a conscience reminded him that he was not a cannibal. He was a coyote, but not a cannibal or a scavenger, at least, not yet.

He looked at her, his gaze locked with hers. He was not sure if she took him seriously or not. He did not care, as long as she kept her side of the bargain.

"I will pay you the first installment now, the second upon the receipt of working Star Posts." He said, his voice high enough to be heard by her, but low enough not to be overheard by the other patrons. The last thing he wanted was for Nicole or any other do gooder to come sniffing down his trail. He couldn't destroy the computer, at least not easily. It was hard enough for Boomer to crack it the first time they invaded Freedom HQ with Scourge. He doubted that she would be so vulnerable for a second attack. No, he did not want to bring down the system... not yet.

He saw how the sunlight reflected off her fur. He watched her eyes move as she looked at the pedestrians passing by. Occasionally, she smiled, he found the fullness of her lips attractive. Seductive. Yet, he could not take her. Not the way he wanted to. There was too much to lose, too much at stake. He turned his attention to the food. He finished the meal off, still hungry, but the beast within had been momentarily sated.

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A icy, biting gale howled up the embankments of the rocky cliff that overlooked the northern sea. The land was wild, the terrain rugged, so much that only the heartiest of Mobians and few Overlanders dared to dwell there. For the most part, the land was covered by a thick forest. Aptly named the Feral Forest, and for good reason, those that lived there and made their livelihood off of it were of a nature so robust and wild that feral seemed to be the best word to describe them.

Veratus was of such blood.

He had lived in the forest all his life, and grew into a fine silver wolf, whose mane was long and arms scarred from battles to earn his position as Alpha Wolf. He stood a head taller among his pack, his golden gaze steeled with hard won yet assertive leadership. He was the pack leader, and the pack respected it. He kept order in this wild place. The Overlanders who dared to venture into the Feral Forest had one rule, and one rule only. Do not question and do not disobey Veratus. Those that did, were quickly culled, their bones left to be bleached in the cold wind as reminders to any who dared to break The Rule.

Veratus hated Overlanders. He saw them as nothing more than meat. Perhaps, that was why he tolerated them in the first place. He knew that under normal circumstances his pack had to eat. As the old saying goes, the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack, but that is partially true. The strength of the wolf is also the leader. It is the leader who starts the hunt, it is the leader who brings the food, and food unites them all.

The small settlements regarded the mobians with revered fear and respect. The leaders even created shrines to them, in some strange way they hearkened back to something older than Mobius itself. As if the human like things were trying to understand the forgotten. Veratus found the entire charade amusing at best, annoying at worst. Yet, he would order the occasional cull of the Overlanders when he deemed the population had grown too much. It was a good training for the pups, during such times he would capture Overlander children and let them loose for the pups to hunt and kill. Those that did, were rewarded with pack membership, and those that failed were cast down or cut off from the pack. They were left to Mother Nature, to decide a fate. Usually, it was death.

That was the order of things.

It was the law of the wild.



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She listened to him, though his voice to her seemed so much more distant. Mind drifting off to other things. Pulling her hat further over her eyes when their gaze met. There was something primal in his eyes that made her stomach turn in just the right way. Animalistic. That's what she could call it. Done singling out pedestrians and mocking their existence she turned her attention to her cooling plate. What appetite she had was gone and what appeal the plate had before meant nothing to her now. Taking note on how he wolfed down his food she gently slid it in his direction. She could stand to loose a few pounds anyway.

When he didn't answer her second question. Perhaps that was the best thing. Her finger tracing the rim of her glass, now half empty again, a question playing at the tip of her tongue. And it didn't involve her payment. "S'all fine with me." Tension. That's what she felt built between herself and him, or maybe it was all her? "Home, sounds nice." She had only heard small stories, rumors of the place called Moebius. The anti world of this one. There all had a duplicate, the anti version of themselves. How would it be to meet herself, but not. And if that world was the opposite of this one did that mean more chaos, more to be had, opportunity for more work?

Despite the anger boiling behind the haze of crystal green eyes she spoke calmly, asking simply. "Is it worth goin' back?"
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Her question hung in the greasy air of the restaurant. It broke through his thoughts, grounded him back to the present.

"Is it worth going back?"

Why would she care what happened to him? Her job was to provide the means, not ask questions as to why. He felt the darkness welling up within. She was an arrogant, aggressive bitch. Usually the kind that got knocked down a few pegs, and learned their place. Problem was, he needed her. He stared at her, as he pushed back the darkness. She would not want to be with him, when she saw what he was. The monster he is, the demon he could become.


"Is it worth going back?"

Is anything worth going back? What worth was it to stay? What good would it be to stay? It was a partial truth to say he was going home. He did not have a home in Moebius either. He was condemned to wander, as the stereotypical lone coyote.

He smiled.

"I do not belong here." He replied. A partial truth, not quite a full fledged lie. He did not imagine she was interested in anything other than her own gain from the ordeal. "Fair enough," he thought. On that level, the feeling was mutual.


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The wolf threw his head back and howled. His hands steaming and drenched with the hot blood of a fresh kill. His call was echoed by others as they moved in from all corners. They circled around giving way for Veratus. The Alpha always ate first.

The Alpha ate best.

Once Veratus had feasted on the heart, and gut, he left the kill for the others. They swarmed upon it, ripping it, shredding it until only the bones remained. They gorged themselves on muscle and fat, cracking bones, sucking marrow. All was used, all was beneficial. They were one with the kill, and the kill was one with them. The act of eating became almost a sacred ritual, a bonding, and strengthening of the pack.

Veratus picked up a handful of snow and cleaned his muzzle and the blood from his fur. He moved towards the encampment. The place looked like something from a strange story. Tents were scattered about, the colors long faded, they were covered with hides some trailing fine wisps of smoke from internal fires. If one did not know better it looked like a Roman encampment upon the snowy banks of the Rhine in some long forgotten past before Mobius became... Mobius.

A stockade had been made, although it wasn't needed. Veratus did not want to take any risks, the chances of a rogue robot running into them ment that he had to be careful. The stockade served another purpose. It acted as a display for the rotting heads of those who defied the One Rule. All who entered had to walk under the empty stares, and remember the consequences for breaking the One Rule. To the mobians the deterrent was not necessarily needed. They understood the way of things, and were eager to comply to his leadership. On the other hand, the Overlanders proved more difficult. Thus, many of the heads were humanoid. Specifically, Overlander.


There was one mobian.

He reached up and touched the scar across his dead eye. One mobian who defied him. This one proved to be difficult, and haunted his dreams. He was elusive, and had long left the Feral Forest. He took his family with him. Took them to the safety of the south lands.

Veratus would find him.

He would make him pay.

He would kill him.

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He showed no emotion, in fact it seemed like his expression possibly darkened. Something didn't sit right with her. The knot in her stomach tightened to a degree she began to shift uncomfortably in her seat. 'Too much to handle,' she thought to herself. Something was boiling under his fur, she could feel it. When he cracked a smile and answered her question she nodded. But there was something empty in his words.

How deep were the wounds one couldn't see?

"When do we ever belong? My kind, we have no home. Must be nice." She was utterly sincere, leaning forward on the table, elbow on the table top and hand in her palm. Chewing on her lip, her tongue quickly tracing over her large canine. A family trait shared between herself and her brother. The sign she was simply a mutt. "I'll get ya what ya need. Just be patient." Turning her gaze to him, raping her fingers against the fake wood of their table. "I suppose we should be ending this soon. Their gettin rather antsy over there." She motioned with a slight incline of her head toward the other Mobians within the dinner. It seemed she wasn't the only one picking up on his predatory attitude.

As much as she wanted to linger, her fascination with him only spurred on further by his quiet and vicious appearance, she knew she had gained no ground with him. Seemed like a lost cause. Now all she waited on was receiving her payment.
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He placed a small satchel on the table. From within there was a glint of gold.

"You'll get the rest upon the receipt of working posts." He said cooly.

He got up from the table and made his way to the door, not before looking at the waitress and snarling a wicked grin. He flashed his canines and made a biting gesture to her which sent her screaming to the back. He left barking a laugh as the bell jingled on the door.

He started the bike.

He wanted to ride, to cause hell, to fuck a girl, and shake this place up. He knew where he'd start too. Throwing the bike into gear he peeled out laying down rubber on the asphalt of the parking lot. He was heading past the military buildings. He needed to get to a liquor store... then some rags would work nicely.


********

That night, there was a series of explosions that rocked through the military defense building, and one particular house. It was a good thing that Antoine and Bunnie were at the castle. Elias had called an emergency meeting of the Freedom Fighters in response to an SOS from the Northern Marches, a call came in from the small lumber village within the Feral Forest.

A plea for help, for reinforcements as the voice crackled over the radio. Rotor tried the dials again, but to no avail. The signal was weak. Then, a roar of static and silence. Rotor raced through the frequencies but there was nothing.

Then a voice came over the radio.

"Elias, I'm coming for you. "

Meghan gasped as she covered her face, falling onto the floor whimpering. The others turned suddenly at this, as Elias rushed over holding his wife in his arms, his expression pale as if he had seen, or heard a ghost. It was Sally who broke the silence.

"What on Mobius?" She started...

Elias whispered, his voice trembling. "It is Veratus."

"Ver.. who?" Rotor began.

"Veratus" Elias repeated.

He helped his wife up off the floor, then called her maidens to take her to the royal chamber. Once she was out of ear shot he turned to his sister and the others.

"If Veratus is behind this, then ..."

"Then nothing! Elias, we are not going to let another tyrant win. We are Freedom Fighters for a reason. I'll be damned if we let some haughty wolf think he can stomp all over us just because we are far away." She stated firmly.

Elias could only smile, but inside he was screaming. He knew the old ways of handling these problems were not going to work with a blood thirsty tyrant like Veratus. It was going to require something more. He looked at the group before him, but hid his anxiety behind a smile.

"It just won't work." He knew from his own experience. "No one can beat this guy into submission, he will die and take as many as he can with him before that happened."

"I would like some time alone." He said.

That was their cue to leave. Sally wanted to stay, she cast a worried look over her shoulder as they were escorted out by the royal guards. Elias had changed. She wasn't sure what it was that had changed about him, but something certainly had changed. She was just concerned if that change was for the best.

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'So this is it.' Nic found herself staring at the half full bag that lay in the middle of the table, alone, the gold had made her eyes glisten with greed. Her fingers flexing with the urge to simply swipe up her catch before anyone else could. Foolish thinking, but not something she would scold herself for reacting too. Too many times, too many moments. Picking up the pack she watched Patch leave, give their waitress a scare, and took off. "W-wait!" She didn't have a ride home! Where the hell was she anyway?

"Fuckin' great." Her mood sour, the alcohol in her system beginning to break down, her buzz fading. Her grip on the pack tightened, biting down on her lip till she felt the sharp cut and sweet metallic taste her tongue. 'Stupid, stupid.' Cursing her ignorance she didn't even bother to leave any form of payment, taking off after the long gone coyote. She didn't linger, no reason to have the dinner's owner on her tail, nor bringing any further attention to herself. Darting out of sight she took to taking the alley's, avoiding any and all people. There was no telling when she would see home, simply finding the solitude enough, the weight of her payment was nothing compared to the weight on her chest.

Night fell and she wondered past the darker, more dangerous part of town. No city was without crime, she could play an example. Ignoring the foot steps that followed her, recognizing some of the streets and sticking close to the open, better lit streets.
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He did not know why he stopped.

He had followed her on the bike for some time, keeping back far enough. He saw her being stalked by some pervert. Easily handled. A crowbar to the back of the skull brained the bastard, sending a shower of blood onto an alley wall. He continued following her. Her body language screamed volumes. He stank of cheap booze, and smoke. He drove up beside her, the bike turning over slowly in a low gear.

"Get on." He said.

It wasn't a request.




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There was something going on out of her view, out of her range. The first response was either flight or fight. Of course her choice was obvious. Her hand reached down for her gun, suddenly hearing an engine burst to life, the headlights of the Motor bike pulling up beside her. Her trigger finger twitched, it was purely years of rough experience that kept her from squeezing the hair trigger. Lowering her weapon, hissing at him between her teeth. She could smell the smoke, the cheap liquor, and possibly blood.

"Get on"

She blinked slowly, bewildered by his sudden demand. Didn't he leave her to fend for herself earlier? "I prefer to walk."
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He rolled his eye, but continued to ride alongside her as she walked on. He did keep a wary eye out for anyone who might be wanting to cause trouble.

"Get on" he repeated.

This time his tone wasn't as demanding, but it was still firm.

He offered his hand to her. He was safer than half the son of a bitches that lurked in the shadows leering at the two of them. He had to pull his hand away on more than one occasion meeting their stares with his own piercing gaze. It was enough for some, but for others, he knew it wouldn't be enough. He saw them in the rearview mirror, they were ganging up.

"Are you going to stop fucking around, and get on?" He asked, his voice betraying his all too real concern. He could handle them, but he wasn't sure about her. Didn't matter if she had a gun, she only had six bullets. He had seven, but all it took was one hit and she'd be down. He didn't want to wait around for that to happen.

Then without another word, he seized her arm and pulled her onto the bike.

Just in time, as shots rang out, bullets grazing his helmet, and cracking the tail light, as he raced off into the night.

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She continued to ignore his plea, his demand, whatever. Nic was a big gal, she could take care of herself. She had been doing so for so long now it felt alien to have another show any sort of...emotion. The tension building between herself and him put her on high alert, picking up the heated glares from every other daring Mobian who traveled these roads. Did he had a death wish? She only knew a hand full of those that began to sourround them, the others rivals in her dealings. Perhaps why they seemed so keen on following after the two. Lets not forget the large amoung of gold she carried around her shoulder.

She had stopped to look at the hand he offered her, raising a brow and simply cracked a smile. Ready to question as to why he returned, but she was suddenly seized by the arm and hefted onto the bike. Her arms wrapped around him reflexively, pressing into his chest. Hearing the gun fire behind them, certain she felt one graze her fur. Now stuck clinging to him for dear life as the barrage only seemed to intensify.

"Hit the gas, get us out of here!" If she didn't know any better she would have said the group only seemed more provoked by Patch's appearance, she could have handled them just fine on her own. Well all she could do was sit tight, left to the mercy of Patch.
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He sped off into the night. The wind raced past them. He felt her arms around his waist. He continued to drive. The bike holding up to the onslaught. They were now on country roads, they passed the city gate. They were now heading north. The farmlands that surrounded the city were small but they would soon grow. Soon, they reached the edge of the great forest. He did not know why he kept going, instinct, or something else drove him onward.

Behind them, the alarm had been raised.

It was too late now.

No turning back.

He swore under his breath, but thanked the gods. He had taken everything that was valuable to him. He was able to pawn off the guys stuff and took the cash. No questions asked. His uniform and sword now strapped to the back of the bike.

What to do with the girl?

No doubt she needed to get back. Didn't she?

He would take her, when things cooled down. He would take her back.

She still had to get his star posts.

He slowed the bike down and it rolled to a stop on the cracked road. One of Robotniks projects left to erode with time. Nevertheless, it served as a good enough road for those who still travelled north on foot or vehicle. He turned off the engine and got off. Then, he helped her off. He took his helmet off and looked at her. His expression was not mean, or cruel, it had lost that edge. Instead, it was softer. In the moonlight, the ugly scar that cut through the fur on his face shone crimson. His clothes were spattered with blood and other stuff from earlier. Yet, there was no sign that he could have killed in cold blood. His ears were low, relaxed. Perhaps it was the environment. The lack of concrete and concentration of people calmed him.

"I am sorry for cursing at you earlier." He said softly.

"I will take you back in the morning."

He put the bike into neutral, and rolled it towards an old way station. One door had rolled open, and never shut. Rust had long since consumed the gears leaving it perpetually ajar. Patch parked the bike out of sight from the main road. He then looked around at what was left. There wasn't much. Just a scurry of rats, and some useless parts. He pulled down some old blankets that were stained with grease, but dry. It would have to do until morning.

"I'll keep watch." He said as he pulled an old chair over by the door and sat down on it.


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What had happened? The moments had passed in a wild blur that blended together in just a simple flash of lights, screams, and sound of sirens. It had been years since she had enjoyed such a winding chaotic moment. She'd have relished it if it was on her terms.

Where were they going?

How would she get home?

Did he have plans for her, or was she just another vicitim for tonight?

Nic made it off his bike on solid legs, surprising herself that she could gather herself up so quickly and easily after such an ordeal. Luck her else she would have Patch carry her along. Now being a bounty hunter, a hired gun, she was used to making due with what she had around her, what she had at her disposal and sleeping in a run down place like this wasn't a problem for her. But with a Coyote that put her in this position?

At least he offered to take her home in the morning. Right.

"Ye seemed rather prepared for this." She noted the pack of his belongings strapped to his back. "Crazy how ya were in the right place at the right time." Not that she was placing the blame... With the andrenaline fading from her system she felt a sharp pain in her side, sucking up any sounds that would give her away Her hand quickly hiding the spot, backing away from him as he took a seat. "I...I need to find a bathroom."

Giving him those parting words before she ran off to find the nearest sink to take a look at the damage. The left side of her blue denium vest was steadily becoming drenched with red. The hole was tiny, something she could barely see amongst the sea of red but the slightest touch meant it was in. Deep. The sink was grimy, black gunk stuck to the sink and faucet. The lighting was horrible, she could only make out the shadows of her face, the paling in her cheeks. "Fuck my life."

Letting the water run, surprised their was any running water to be hand in such a place, but it didn't help. The years were not kind on the plumbing as it was on everything else. It ran yellow with rust and age. At least washing the blood from her fingers.
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He watched her as she entered the bathroom. The light rain that had begun to fall became heavier as thick storm clouds rolled in from the warmer south where the trough of cold air hit the dense warm tropical air. He watched as the storm increased in strength, the wind howled against the building causing a part of the roof to rise then snap shut. The entire building seemed to shudder against the onslaught.

He moved further into the garage as the rain was blown through the open door. He watched as it sprayed the painted floor, pooling and shimmering as lightening lit up the sky around them. A series of flashes, followed by a clap of thunder.

"That was close." Patch thought. The air smelled of ozone, but was also fresh.

He glanced over his shoulder.

She had been in there for quite some time. He wasn't concerned though. She had better chances in there than in the garage where they were exposed. Still, something felt wrong. He got up, and walked over to the door, knocking on it softly.

"Everything ok in zhere?" He asked.






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Whatever was happening outside the bathroom door Nic could careless about. Right now she was busily trying to figure out how she was going to get a closer look at her wound in the dim light. It was possible the bullet had grazed her, unable to verify past the dark stained fur. But there was the possibility there was still something inside. If that was the case she needed to remove it. Now. Sealing up the hole with any fragments inside would be too painful and dangerous.

She wasn't sure she even had the right tools for the job. But she did have her lock picking kit ready on her. Tweezers, that's all she needed. Finding something similar in the small leather bound bundle of delicate instruments. Something akin to the item she needed, only the ends curved in a U shape. This was not going to be a pleasant experience. One hand feeling about the small hole, pressing and feeling around to get an idea whether or not she was going to require some deep diving.

When the lightning struck and thunder crashed over head the power faded in and out, leaving her in darkness for a second too long. Her fingers slipped, the pick dropped from her grip and fell onto the grime coated floor. She cursed, muttering rather loudly to herself, "fuck, no!" Answering his question unwittingly.

Of course she never bothered to lock the door on her way in, Patch could easily enter.

Looking up at the door with a dark glare. Ears pinning back. "What do ya want?"
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Patch pushed the door open slowly. Under the flickering light he could tell something was up. He saw her crouching on the dirty floor holding her bloody side. Without another word he walked over and took her hand.

"Let me look at that." He said firmly.

He took out a flashlight from his jacket pocket. It was one of those little LED ones, small in size but more than adequate for light. He gently removed her vest and looked at the damage. This will need to be cleaned. He helped her up, and slung her arm over his shoulder as he held the flashlight in his mouth he lifted her up, and carried her to the blankets. Then, he looked around opening up the lockers until he returned with a first aid kit, along with two bags of saline.

He lowered his mouth to her side and began to suck out the bad blood until he felt the metal ball within his mouth.
He washed the wound dousing it in saline until the blood ran bright. He took out some gloves.

"I am going to have to stitch this up." He said quietly.




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She would fight with him at first. Growling at him when he dared put his hands on her. If she was any less of a Mobian she would have snapped at him and blamed him for this. Well it wasn't entirely his fault. But she felt she could do this just fine, just needed better lighting and some extra time. With a heavy sigh she gave in to his need to help. beneath her vest she wore nothing, as the average Mobian female never did. But to notice any apparent 'nudity' wasn't something that played in her mind.

"Uhnn.." Plopping down on the dirty sheets she sighed. "I better not get an infection." A gal still had to worry about the future. Removing the bullet would be fine and dandy, but should she get any type of bacteria in the wound and fall ill, what then? Surely the amount of blood she lost wouldn't help with the healing.

Then she felt his lips around her wound, a deep flush in her cheeks, unsure whether she found this disgusting, helpful, or arousing. Feeling the metal pass the lips of the entry point and exit, a worry lifted. Now came the fun part. Avoiding making most of the pathetic sounds as her cut was tended to. "R...rather quick ain't ya?" Her words slow and unsteady. She would have been more prepared, should have been.

"I am going to have to stitch this up."

Her ears folded back. She knew that was coming and she simply shrugged. The motion made her feel dizzy, steadying herself, her expression a cross between sick and humored. "Just git it done. I dun have all night now." Really, she didn't.
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