Knife in the Back//The Wren//Open for apps! PM to Tundra

[~Erica~]

Erica Jenson aka Rogue

Erica had been with those who had been flitted onto the tarmac and had just made it to the airplane alive and consious. The mad dash for the plane through gun fire had left her exhausted both mentally and physically, despite her elven blood lines and extraordinary endurance. Her side wound had lost one heck of a lot of blood, soaking into her torn shirt and her jeans as well. the Her other bullet wounds she'd received getting to the plane hadn't helped much either. She was stable now at least, though still quite light headed and dizzy.

Now aboard the airplane Erica sat somewhere near the back with her elbows resting on her knees and chin cupped on her palms. Her hair hung in her face obscuring the majority of it from view. But if her face had been visible, tear stained cheeks would have been easily seen. For the most part Erica wasn't given to crying over anything however there were times when Erica was highly emotional and this was one of those. Her side hurt, her shoulder hurt, her left cheek hurt. It was a numb, dull pain but it still hurt. But really what was bothering her was the loss of Malburry someome she really considered to be a friend, a compatriot. She had cried for all her lost friends at some point or another, it was just her way of grieving, and now seemed like a good time to do so.

Erica sighed and wiped her face on her sleved hoping no one would notice. Most would think crying was a weakness after all, and she hated to look weak. Her pride at least remained intact even if her emotions decided to betray her right now. She rose and glanced around for someone to talk with and saw Joel. He was... or rather had been seeing as their mission was finished, part of her team. A friend. She moved through the airplane easily with her natural yet inhuman grace, stopping before him. She looked at him with a trace of what might have been a smile. "Mind if I join you?" She murmured hopefully, dark eyes meeting his.

She was tired and just needed a little companionship to cheer her up and Joel seemed like the best option.

[Derelict Draught]

// Heaven or Hell \\

Thu.
Thu.
Thuthuthu.

The young man's reality warps around him. Drifting in and out of existence. Demons dragged him beneath the darkness, their chariot waiting to take him away. Feebly his body struggles against the restraints that keep him prisoner to the black and blue monsters. Barking booms of voices batter his shocked ear drums as angels swoop in amongst the demons, driving the monsters back and lifting him into the transport. [i]Helicopter The word seemed to come from within his mind, something he knew yet didn't.

The helicopter lurches forward and upwards, pulling him free from the demons' reach and into the darkness of the sky. Several minutes pass as the angels tamper with his broken body, riddling him with devices as they prepare him for Valhalla. One of the angels leans in close to his face, her eyes filled with worry and her lips moving in some form of lost communication. He cracks a soft smile, his mouth moving in silent words as darkness grips his mind.

--

Beep.
Beep.
Beep.

Marcus Malberry's right hand strikes out at the source of the alarm. He was tired and sore, there was no need for him to be up this early...Wait...For a moment, the man ponders the surface that his palm struck, realization slowly creeping through the anesthesia. Cloth and flesh. His eyes spring open, forcing his mind to evaluate his surroundings. His eyes scan the panicked surgeons as they stand back, clearly startled by his consciousness. How did he end up in an operating ward?

The last thing he remembered was death. Certain. Guaranteed and unavoidable. A massive explosion that should have consumed vehicle and man alike. Unless...The likelihood of that happening...Then again the likelihood of him surviving any number of the situations he did was highly improbable. A sharp prick in the side of his neck accompanied by the slight crooning of a man's voice announces the answer to the most prominent of his questions. Sleep takes him quickly and without resistance. He wasn't going anywhere, not with his side hanging open like that...

"Schlafen sie jetzt, mein kind. Wir werden alles besser machen..."

// From Bad to Worse \\

Jessica paces the length of the room, her heels echoing about the room's few flat surfaces. The speaker on her phone continued to ring absently. Dispatch wasn't answering. Why wasn't Dispatch answering? Dispatch always answered. Always. This couldn't have spread to the streets yet, could it? No. The other operatives were still in Switzerland after that Taylor person. Surely that was it. The lines were just tied up by the men wanting to check in...or get in touch with their families...friends? She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.

Her thoughts drift to the men she sent back to the event site. Had she sent them to a graveyard or their own graves? She couldn't help but fret about them. And all the others for that matter. She had seen what this plague could do first hand. She had even lost...No. Not the time. She couldn't afford to wallow, she needed options. Ways to contact the outside world. Figure out what was going on. She also needed a solution. A way to stop this from exploding the way the plague always did.

As if hearing her inner deliberations, the woman strapped to the table starts to kick and moan once more. A soft sigh escapes Jessica's plum red lips as she turns to face the woman. Already the creature had taught her something new. They could be incapacitated by light blunt force. Her punch had silenced the woman for nearly half an hour now. Had she more time and more subjects she would have loved to test the exact amount of force necessary to kill the woman but due to necessity the experiment would have to wait.

She needed communications. A radio or a TV or something. That meant breaking her self imposed quarantine and traveling to the offices above her. With a sigh, she pushes the door to the lab open and steps into the hall. With each checkpoint, her anxiety grows. She hadn't emerged for month's now, having even placed a small apartment attached to her lab through another set of checkpoints to ensure no breaches.

Stopping at the last check point, she hesitates, down the hall she could hear the creature's moans and groans. She would have to risk leaving the hall unsecured while she relocated what she needed but with the elevator being the only means of access to the floor she didn't think there would be a problem. Traveling up to the fourth floor, she pulls one of the monitor's from the break room and places the device into the elevator. Soon a computer joins the television on the downward journey.

Fighting the eeriness of the empty desks, she returns to her secure floor and drags the borrowed equipment into her lab before hooking them to the phone port. Resetting the computer at the cost of whatever files the officer kept stored, she quickly connects to the servers and from there the Internet. Finding a news broadcast from the crime scene, she streams the video through the television before her. Returning to work on her patient, she listens intently to the bubbly reporter. How she hated reporters...

"This is INC Report Deborah McKellen reporting live from the devastation of a small business. Police believe the building behind me suffered an unfortunate gas leak which ignited blasting the building and those around the structure with a massive explosion. Although this is the official story, there are claims that armed men assaulted the Secret Sundae with numerous armaments before destroying the structure. So far, police have dismissed these claims as nothing more than 'childish fantasies'. This is Debor-*slow and spaced gunshots* A sudden development here. Gunshots can be heard behind me. Police seem to be firing on something in the rubble. People are starting to run. I'm not sure whats going on now. *heavier gun fire, sporadic spacing and accompanied by panicked shouts* Military personnel have just arrived. They are quar-"

Video feed shifts to the station's news casters as a paper slides in front of them.

"We apologize for that folks, we seem to be suffering a few technical issues at the moment. Police have blocked off access to (area encompassing three blocks of the parlor) due to more potential issues with the gas lines. Residents are encouraged to stay in their homes until authorities arrive to relocate you. Do NOT attempt to leave your homes as looters will be shot on sight. This is for your own safety. In other news..."

Jessica's eyes shift down to her work once more. Instinctively, she had made the necessary incisions for the bio...necropsy she had spent years performing. The woman's body bears no unique traits separating her from the humans and as such would bear the same physiology. Her organs were squishy and inactive, already beginning to rot yet the muscles and bones were still full of life and energy, begging for an opening to sink the creature's foul jowls into her flesh. Taking samples of the rotting tissue and healthy muscle tissue, she begins her scan for an explanation. The answer to how these creatures were able to walk and hunt so long after death.

"Good luck..."

[blue_dun]

After a couple seconds, Joel looked up at Erica and nodded. "Sure." He scooted over a little, so she could find somewhere comfortable to sit. He gave her whole figure a quick glance, and he realized that she was almost more torn up than he was. Actually, everyone is just about as torn up as I am. Some may not show it, but... its there. he noted, as he looked around the airplane. Desperately Joel wished there was someway he could help his friends. He tried again to move his arm a little but it still felt like it wasn't there at all. Not even the pain had obtained time to register in his mind yet. When it did though the lead in his shoulder would hurt like h*ll.
Even thinking made his mind hurt. So Joel gave a little puff of air and turned his attention back to his friend.

[Tundra]

The cabin was silent for a few as each person gathered the information on what had been said and replied individually, some not at all. Kuar himself wasn't surprised at Bree's objection to his words. In fact, if she had agreed right away Kuar would have been surprised. Flicking his tail he watched each and every person here, each one's movements, each ones pains. He could see it all, they were in no shape to try a rescue mission. He remained silent though, listening to Bree's men and how they saw the situation. He did take notice of Bree's objection, but no matter how she put it they were not in any condition to do anything major. His tail flicked some more before finally saying "And what would you do Bree, your men so injured and weary? Even I know when one is beat, and unable to do much more. You yourself know very well we are in no condition to counter attack or defend anything right now" His voice was calm and controlled, but his eyes told another story. He was worried, but not about the team here. In fact he was worried about Shay. As long as they had been apart, he still felt, protective of the woman.

Though he wasn't about to tell Bree, or anyone here about that. In fact, their past together was one of Kuar's most tightly held secrets. Shay probably never even mentioned him to anyone, especially if she settled down again. Flicking his tail once more he finally said "I'm not allowing you to send your team in on a suicide mission, even if it is to recover your base. It was Shay's order to me to get you out of there alive, as many as possible....knowing Malberry though..hes still alive the being stubborn person he is.." He flicked his tail again and then looked over at Trustin who had asked his name, or who he was. Now normally Kuar wouldn't say anything, especially to a team he had just met and barely was able to trust. But in this situation, it may be good if they at least knew his Alias. Flicking his tail again he finally said "Some call me Nightingale, others known my real name, as of right now, its my job to ensure none of you end up dead. "

[[Just a little side note, the assassins of the Wren know about Nightingale. At least know that he mostly is heard of, but never seen. But he has made a name for himself as a professional assassin. Probably one of the few times he will openly be showing what he is, but only because..his cloak itself is kinda tattered XD.]]

[Tordier]

Banshee
Kinta McGregor
At the sound of that word, that one word, Kinta froze. Her hand was suspended in mid-air with a tiny scrap of bloody metal pinched between her fingers. It just paused there, in the middle of its trip from a cut on her arm to the place beside her seat where she had been dropping the dislodged debris. Cold, steel-grey eyes stared up at the one who had claimed the name as his own.
"Nightingale... Interesting...", Kinta muttered to no one in particular.
That little sliver of information was just enough to finally draw Kinta into actively paying attention. She allowed her hand to finish its journey through the air to deposit its cargo. Then, she scooted further back into her chair so that she could sit upright and gazed at Kuar with a curious, though guarded expression. It was difficult to say exactly what she expecting to see or hear, but if she was this interested, it was probably something horribly morbid and sadistic. After a short time quietly studying him, she went back to picking at her wounds, though she glanced up frequently, as if she was afraid she might accidentally miss something particularly exciting if she allowed herself to be distracted for too long.


The Rogue
Cass
After drawing in a deep breath, the wounded blurr bravely plunged himself into his unpleasant task. Slowly, he slid the blood-soaked scrap of cloth down the length of his gash. Cass' other hand worked with an uncanny speed and precision, stitching away like a machine. Occasionally, he would back-track with the rag to dab at the pooling blood and clear up his work place.
It was a little odd, watching him work, because as he closed the gash, it blended in with the rest of his misty skin and made precision work nearly impossible. Somehow, Cass managed to work as if he could see clearly. Who knows? Perhaps he could. Not much was known about the ways of the blurr, so it was entirely possible that he possessed some unique ability to see past his own perpetual shroud of fog.
Then, something surprised him. It threw off his rhythm and caused him to jerk painfully hard at the thread that held the first inch or two of his gash closed, causing him to utter a sharp "Ow!".
Cass' voice was a strange one. It had a certain breathy quality, as if he was sighing. The added element of the reaction to pain created a slight echoing effect. Hastily, he placed the cloth back over the entire wound and processed what he had just heard, that thing that had startled him so. Kuar was Nightingale? Impossible! Or was it...? A moment or two of shocked silence went on before Cass recovered and was able to continue on like nothing had happened.
"I must say, he has a point... If we go back, I'd just pull my stitches and be completely useless."
This piece was spoken deliberately slowly, as the uneven breathing that comes with talking aggravated his wound. With his two cents in, Cass took a short breather and then went back to closing the gash up.

[.skycat.]

Legial 'Violet' Lylis
"Nightingale." The name made Violet's red eyes flash open and look around the cabin- and narrowed once her gaze landed on the man. Even she- with all her self control- couldn't suppress a small hiss. The vampire sat up a little straighter- if that was even possible- and gave a small glare to them, watching as usual from the back. It seemed everyone else was doing the same, but not exactly the way Violet was. She instinctively pulled down her hod slightly, so only her red eyes were seen through it's shadow.
Most of her energy was now on listening to Nightingale's conversation with Bree, so the throbbing of her cuts continued on- not that she could care anyway. Violet was just strange like that... It was as if pain wasn't a feeling she had- then again, the only feeling she ever displayed was annoyance and boredom. Even torture wouldn't bring out her feelings, it seemed.
A small smirk spread across the girl's lips as she listened to the people around her, and she leaned back in her seat slightly.

[Tundra]

I should say, we do indeed have a Chatzy chat for the Wren, so, any who plan on joining, or are just stuck go ahead and go there. I'm usually on..just before I have no life XD. If not there I'm on League of Legends...so...yeh...anyway...here's a quote from out old rp.

If you want to chat OOC, discuss plot, ask questions or propose ideas, this is the place to go:
Wren Chat
The password is assassin

[~Erica~]

Erica Jenson aka Rogue

"Thanks." Erica murmured in reply, tiny smile growing slightly. She let herself down carefully, one hand pressed into her wounded side as she sat with a soft groan. Her side twinged painfully at the movement, making her wince despite her attempts to control her face and mouth from betraying her pain. She was just to tired to even bother to try hard and eventually just quit. Who cared really? She settled till she was comfortable and the lancing pain died into a dull ache.

"Well, this was a bit of a failed mission." she muttered in a wry tone leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment. She used her left hand to brush her blonde hair out of her face seeing as her right was rather to painful to move at the moment due to her shoulder wound. "How's your arm doing?" she asked, jutting her chin out in the direction of the mentioned limb. He looked just as beat up as she did, but so did everyone. Erica doubted anyone had escaped this mission unscathed. Her gaze darkened slightly, and one hadn't escaped at all as far as she knew. She sighed and forced that out. Erica told herself to focus on her friends who were alive, she lived in the past enough when she dreamed, no need to bother with it anymore now.

[Draconox]

Trustin’s eyes widened for a second by the man’s revelation. He remembered the name Nightingale being mentioned once or twice by older and more experienced members of the Wren during the few months he’d been with them. The stories they’d told made Trustin wonder if it was all good to have that person with them. It wouldn’t hurt to stay cautious around him anyway. But the man had some good points.
The smell of blood from his comrades all around him slowly started to get to the weretiger and turned into another reason why he had troubles to relax at all. He just hoped for Bree and Nightingale to achieve an agreement about their destination soon.
Was he imagining things or was the cabin getting smaller?
Trustin grinded his teeth and remembered the female voice he’d heard earlier. Turning his head he spotted Amethyst not far away. “How about you?” Trustin asked back and tried a smile. It turned out somewhat strained.

[blue_dun]

Flexing his good arm once more, Joel was finally able to painfully pry his fingers off of his Desert Eagle. It was obvious that he was in no hurry to respond to Erica as he put the gun back in the holster at his hip. Finally, at length, Joel chuckled darkly. "Failed? More like epically failed. And my arm?" Reaching over with his left hand, he grabbed his lifeless limb. It just hung there as he brought it around to rest on his lap. "Well, I probably won't be able to use it again. It's had a bit too much lead pumped into it." He folded the fingers up on his hand with his other. "Don't want a bionic limb but seems to me its the only other alternative now." He sighed, closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool steel of the plane.