Black on Black

October 14, 2015:

X-Black attempts to prevent what seems a routine Purifier smash and scare strike and finds something far more dangerous. The Purifiers also have their own secret elite black ops force. (Emits by Nate)


New York


NPCs: Purifier thugs. Purifier cyborg.



Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

For weeks X-Black has been watching certain influential individuals identified as members of Greg Yost’s Purifier cell. This has led to identify several Purifier agents, supply depots and cover business, but nothing very important yet.
It all changed this morning. The cell members received instructions to move several vehicles to a specific neighborhood in Queens. Clueless employers are doing, to deliver to third persons that are identified as Firefly1 and Demon2. Exact delivery spots will be sent by SMS at the last minute. Other cell members are cautioned to prepare for damage control with the media, but not said why. Almost all the cell members, some of which are influential businessmen or even politicians, are placed in alert for the whole evening and night.
Too much noise for the typical firebombing or rabble rushing in Mutant Town. Besides, Queens? There are few mutants in Queens, and certainly not a community to target. Something interesting is going to happen, but it is not obvious what. A few hours of research reveal several of Mutant Town civil leaders and a few sympathetic city hall representatives are going to be interviewed and will be debating in direct for a local TV station. It is a fairly important event for Mutant Town mutants, whose voices are almost never heard. And it is happening just in the neighborhood the Purifiers are deploying.

Kneeling in the center of the temporarily appropriated room Black is using, Betsy's eyes are shut and she seems almost in a trance. The work she's doing requires both finesse and strength, casting her thoughts out over a space of several blocks at once. Her fingers move across a paper map of the area, a pen in one hand, marking down locations that thoughts seem to be coming from. It's challenging work— whetting down the hundreds of voices in a four-block radius down to the few Purifier agents she can identify.
"I have… twelve," she murmurs, passing visual information as best she can to the other teammates linked in with her. "More low-level stooges and toadies about, and a few highers-up who are going to great pains to keep themselves hidden. I'm sensing a great deal of anger and readiness for violence. Adrenaline. Some of them are on drugs, too," she says, in a dull monotone. Wearing her black semisilk, she almost looks like a second shadow on the floor. "I'm having trouble identifying what they are particularly planning, though. Someone's gone to great lengths to keep discreet details from being casually gleaned- they know a psychic is working against them."

In a way, it makes sense. They can build support, raise logistics and powers. Lunair doesn't like it. But she can understand why. Lunair totally has no brain powers, so she's likely on sentinel duty. "I wonder if it's the usual rile up and attack the mutants then point out how awful we are," Lunair muses. But that seems too crude for a group who figured out they have psychics.
For her part, she listens, and watches.

Ravager is waiting and watching, though her vantage is at a window where just below is her Tomahawk and out across the expanse is the streets where all of this is reported to go down. Though while she is fastening on the tac belt and checking through the inventory upon it she is rifling through her large duffel of weaponry, setting aside handguns, snapping in the modified scopes, bits, triggers, barrels as well as clips for the rounds of each.
The movements seem automatic though her glances outside seem more urgent and slightly concerned… "So. Let's go join the crowd then. When they move, we move."

The dozen or so Purifiers Betsy located are watching outside the building, angry at the very idea the ‘dirty muties’ are going to be heard on TV. They are armed with guns and knives, kept under their coats. They have been ordered not to do anything until ‘something’ happens. They will know what this something is.
The sun is setting and inside the TV studio people is settling. Journalists, cameramen, a small group of mutants, a few local politicians and a small crowd of people invited to watch the debate in the studio. Security is light, although the NYPD has dispatched a couple patrol cars to provide some security to the politicians. They check ids at the door of the building. As Betsy listens, one of the cops reports he thinks there are a few suspicious people at the other side of the street and asks for another unit to check them. The cop has correctly identified a group of four armed Purifiers, but he is not particularly concerned. Reinforcements would be a minute away.

"Very well." Betsy rises and glances once more at the map, refreshing everyone's sense of their overall strategic planning, and moves to don her own clothing. Some of her gear by necessity gets left behind as she pulls on denim jeans and a white woolen sweater. Her heavy tweed overcoat seems to have a surplus of pockets and even a place inside into which she affixes her short, dark-bladed sword. In short order, Betsy looks like any other modestly successful fashionista- or TV presence- about town.
"I think I can bluff us through the front doors. Once we're inside, perhaps we can get a better sense of what's going on."
She looks to the other two women for confirmation.

Lunair is a walking gear locker, for better or worse. She looks like an art student gone renegade and escaping the art department. For her part, Lunair looks out to and there. She has a long coat that someone might buy off a cosplay site. About as threatening as a kid with a cardboard katana and twice as nerdy. "Okay," Nod. "I'll do my best to watch and look out, too." And you know, do her thing if needbe. Whatever that thing may entail.

The scanner Ravager has set finds the police frequency and taps in. The relay that is wired into bionic eye and networked through her own units has her pulling down her half-mask to frame the technological milky occular as additional reinforcement.
"There's suspicious activity reported. I will move there, you two go in. Keep me informed and I will do the same." The window is pushed open just after her own leather coat is slid over the top of her body suit and the weaonry riddled beneath. Ravager is not geared for casual, and once she is ready for impending battle there is not time for phone booths. A flick of that dual gaze to Lunair and then Psylocke before she slides out of the window and is setting across the rooftops in a dead run for the coordinates across the police scanner. «Northwest corner, small cluster. I will set distraction before the police arrive.» …and make it more difficult.
Arriving at the rooftop just over the gathered group of Purifiers Ravager whistles between teeth to draw their attention up… Around a finger a canister is being spun in her grasp and the pin is pulled in the momentum to drop the CS gas within the cluster. It doesn't kill you, but it makes any bit of toxin within your lungs and respiratory system come flowing in fits of choking coughs and fogged tear ducts! Hope no one was a smoker…

“Good evening, We are on live from WXT…” announces the TV interviewer, a distinguished-looking gentleman in his fifties. He begins explaining what is going on and how their channel has managed to sit down some representatives from the mutant community with local NYC personalities for the first time (or so he says). All very standard.
But two minutes into his monologue, just as Betsy, Lunair were about to go inside, loud gunshots interrupt the transmission. The interviewer expression changes from serious and focused to horrified and he tries to stand up, but his chest explodes and he falls back.
The gunshots are so loud they are clearly heard in the street, where people start, looking around warily and seeking cover.
The Purifiers outside realize this is their signal, and attempt to run towards the door of the building. Unfortunately for them Ravager drops a grenade in the middle of one of the groups, leaving half dozen thugs chocking and coughing. And the cops inside and the building security run towards the studio.
Betsy can feel the panic in the studio room, and deaths, lots of deaths. None of the mutants in the debate has powers of note, and the security guard inside the studio was the first casualty.

~Shots fired, Rose. Casualties inside.~ The message is brief but vivide as Betsy wordlessly beckons Lunair on and surges into the building, knocking down a security guard who looks confused more than reactionary. "Get everyone to safety!" she barks, putting a psychic emphasis of command in those tones. Amethyst energy coalesces around her right fist in anticipation of violence, and Betsy snatches her katana from inside her coat with a snap and hiss of steel whipping through the air. "Lunair, cover me." She moves forward fast, a shimmering half-shield in front of her to deflect any wayward bullets coming her way.

Oh geez. It's on like Donky Kong. Her eyes widen as the poor interviewer gets shot. There's a furrowing of brows. Poor sap. That should bother her more. There's a brief moment of questioning. She needs no words, following in surge after Betsy. She has to nudge aside someone fleeing out - pushing them into the safety. Really. Or something. She armors up beneath her clothes, putting on what looks like a motorcycle helmet. No need to look extraordinary. Lunair is experimenting with hiding in plain sight now.
She will cover Betsy, a nonlethal zap gun and a nice, actually lethal energy weapon at the other hand. If they are armed offensively, they are likely armed defensively.

Outside Ravager descends from the rooftop in a leap, a mask snapped over her nose and mouth just nefore she lands in the dist of the group of choking Purifiers, one breaking her landing with the loop of a knee around the back of his neck to drag him face first to the ground with a loud *crack!*.
«How many inside? Placement from the front door?» Because once Ravager is done here, she is heading in against the tidal wave of those seeking to retreat, but right now she is working on controlling what else goes in aside from herself.

The policemen pair reaches the door first, bursting in weapons drawn. And they are immediately shot by machinegun fire. Betsy arrival a second later prevents them from being further hit, so perhaps they will survive, if the ambulances arrive quickly. High caliber bullets slam against her shield, but they fail to break through.
Pandemonium inside the studio. A few bloodied survivors crawl among the chairs, and TV equipment, some trying to hide and others crying hysterically. The attacker is nowhere to be seen, not at first. Then Lunair and Betsy can see the blur of the killer passing, the flash of the machinegun in his hand. He, or she, is almost invisible. And when the bullets fail to hit the women, a frag grenade is thrown. Then the window at the back of the studio explodes as the killer jumps outside.
A calling card has been left, though. Somehow, while killing people, the assassin had the time to burn in the wall: MUTANTS WILL RULE. THERE WILL BE NO TALK WITH THE FLATSCAN OPRESSORS. MUTANT LIBERATION FRONT.
The killer’s mind is also shielded, barely there to telepathic senses. But he is talking, and that is easy to read. “Spider to Cricket. We got an alpha mutant here, maybe two. Send the Hawks.”

All of this activity gets compressed into a single stream of consciousness and sent to Rose, almost in real time, with Betsy's inhuman talent for clarity and focus keeping everything in perspective. She keeps that shield up until the bullets stop flying, dumping all of her sensory experience at the moment into Lunair and Rose's minds so that everyone can remember Betsy's experiences later, literally frame by frame.
At the same time, Betsy snaps her palm out and telekinetically hurls the fragmentation grenade towards a stairwell alcove.
~Metahuman, Rose. Moving fast, northeast corner of the building. He's nearly invisible and heavily psychically shielded. Possible enemy reinforcements coming by air.~
"Lunair, lose the helmet and go find the police. Tell them there are gunshot victims in here." Betsy sets her katana aside and starts going from person to person in an attempt to stabilize the bleeding through either pressure or inducing a temporary coma to lower their blood pressure and reduce the agonizing pain.

WHOA. That's trippy. It's like Being Betsy for a moment but she doesn't get a better figure. Damn. Nevertheless, it seems to be duly imprinted in her memory and she reels for a moment. She does seem to have a pretty good memory, for whatever reason. Even if she's completely unaware of it. "Okay," Lunair pulls the helmet off and will do as she's asked. She's trying to find targets, too. Her hazel eyes are alert. It feels strange to be around combat, but not necessarily in it. Deep breath. She's heading towards- perhaps out? A part of her imagines that people know. Still, she tries to step around and over people. Oomph, crowd surfing.

Ravager is not one to mince words or moments, especially not when Psylocke sends out her own sensory projection. Rose was open enough for the telepathic communication and then that on top of it… Her teeth literally grind in their clench as eyes close. But she des not need to see to fight. Every scrape, every scramble amidst the dissipating CS Gas… One on retreat upon hands and neeze… His breath wheezing as he peers through teared up gaze, the mucus running from his nose only a bare memory to the vomit he just loosed before he tried to leave the ring of haze in an all-foured scrable to the open. Even the police were better then this feeling. But like a beas prodded due to Betsy's projection Ravager is not about to take prisoners and show a mercy they had no intent to either.
Just as he about hit the clear of the grenade her gets sucked back in, the grappel line around his leg jerked back by the pulley to drive him right into the cudgeled end of a sword, the flipping motion to clear it of the bruising end to the business end taking an ear while she leabs down and speaks into the other.
"We bleed the same." And with that her form lifts, using the nearby building fire escapes to swing up and head for the northeast end where Psylocke had directed her. Behind the other Purifiers are either laying in their own gross of varying sorts or bound and gagged to choke on it.

The killer is a blur on the street, visibly as a distortion of light, but the heavy footsteps slam on the sidewalk and the roof of parked vehicles. Moves fast, so fast that a chasing Ravager is barely gaining ground despite her enhanced speed.

Lunair finds some armed men in the building lobby and they are not police. They are the Purifiers thugs with orders to kill any mutant that tries to leave the building, but they are less than they expected to be, since Rose took out half their team. Since Lunair doesn’t look like a mutant, and they hesitate a second, and then the wailing of police approaching can be heard, which causes most of the Purifiers to run away and try to leave the scene. Those cops are arriving much faster than expected!
But before the police, the ‘Hawks’ arrive. They are pair of military-style drones, each the size of a motorcycle. One of them sweeps down towards Ravager, opening fire with twin machine guns that strafe the street. Fortunately most civilians are already hiding. Unfortunately, some New Yorkers lack common sense, and others were hiding inside vehicles that offer little protection from the kind of caliber the machines are carrying.
The second drone heads for the TV studio, hovering by the broken window it shoots with a grenade launcher, trying to kill Betsy and the few human survivors inside.

Betsy forces herself to contemplate for a moment. Bounding after Rose would help bring down the metahuman, certainly, but Lunair would then have to deal with the remaining Purifiers. Help Lunair, potentially lose the villain.
The arrival of the Hawks simplifies matter. ~You're on your own, Rose.~ Lunair could stop all the remaining terrorists, easily, but she can't do that /and/ protect the injured civilians from the drone stroke. Betsy snaps a hand out to guide her thoughts and stops the grenade cold in the air before the rotational detonator can fully arm, then for good measure flings it into the alcove as she had the first grenade. Her thoughts focus again and she snaps a violent bolt of raw psionic energy at the drone, with enough crackling force to give even a Sentinel's systems pause.

Betsy forces herself to contemplate for a moment. Bounding after Rose would help bring down the metahuman, certainly, but Lunair would then have to deal with the remaining Purifiers. Help Lunair, potentially lose the villain.
The arrival of the Hawks simplifies matter. ~You're on your own, Rose.~ Lunair could stop all the remaining terrorists, easily, but she can't do that /and/ protect the injured civilians from the drone stroke. Betsy snaps a hand out to guide her thoughts and stops the grenade cold in the air before the rotational detonator can fully arm, then for good measure flings it into the alcove as she had the first grenade. Her thoughts focus again and she snaps a violent bolt of raw psionic energy at the drone, with enough crackling force to give even a Sentinel's systems pause.

Lunair will be okay. She really will be. She has a hatred of drones that rivals her hatred of Nazis. She has to sort her priorities for a moment, blinking as she runs into the Purifiers and they blink at her. There's a moment of thought. Just a brief moment. And then the metahuman killer and Rose will have SURPRISE ROCKET BOOTS with no control and he might be on his way to a sexy date with Ms. Brick Wall. Or confusing him enough for Rose to get him.
There's just a split second to do this. Lunair has gun sling(ed? Slung) with rockets and EMPs to take out jet fighters. She can do this. She is going to d-d-d-drop the bass. It's time for the dubstep gun and a few glue grenades. She'll be stopping them, turning to help Betsy once the Speciesist Twerk Team '15 is assembled.

Ravager is not slowing despite the gaining distance, her own booted pace of speed its own caucophany down the road while hands move. «Psylocke… Lunair…» The call for help is cut off when Betsy opens up and let's her know…
"Fuck!" A growled omission that is pushed out when a man peers up over his street cart of nacho's a New York dogs only to have the streak of a running woman kick off his stand and leap for higher ground just before bullets tear across the sidewalk behind her, leaving pock marks across the sidewalk and firing off shrapnel of concrete in the wake. No time to look back, no time to know if that vendor is alove or otherwise, the drone is ensuring Ravager stays her course and pushes just a bit harder to keep on target and not create even more casualties.
Ravager leaps, her arms outstretched to capture the stairs to a fire escape, her body arching in the acrobatic move that brings her up and around to land atop the stairs before they even begin to descend. The sound now is an echo, combating against the hail of gunfire on her heels while she climbs a building and unleashes a pistol from its holster, her other hand shoving something down the barrel of the HK modified sidearm.
All she has is a moment and when she reaches the end of the fire escape she leaps….
Boots attach to her feet, making the mental plan happen that much faster, shooting her forward to grip the extended flag pole and swing herself up and around. The timing is off at the tactic that has her landing atop the drone instead of on the underbelly and the gun carriage, but now she is riding it and throttling it across the sky at a faster speed if the landing is true, unsheathing her sword and rising it up to drive it into the mechanisms of the drone while the pistol is re-risen and aimed… Hoping to fire the bullet and a small tracker, into the extremities (any of them, even death) of the villain.

The drone attacking Psylocke gets pretty much pulverized by the telekinetic blast. It is not a sturdy machine, as it needs to be light to be able to fly. The remains fall to the street outside, pretty much in front of Lunair and the fleeing Purifiers, who have to dodge and backpedal. And that makes the Purfiers pretty much sitting ducks. Glued to the street and trying to spam-dance under the sonic attack. They never had even the chance to fire a single shot.
But unfortunately Lunair can’t get a good shot of the almost invisible killer. Only Rose is close enough to still see the metahuman. She can see how the assassin ducks into an alleyway while she cuts down one of the drone wings. And she can barely follow as the machine crashes down.

Betsy keeps that steady flow of information going, filtering out the unnecessary or redundant bits as needed. All the while she focuses on administering aid to the wounded, until they're as stabilized as she can accomplish with her limited skills.
~Time to go, Lunair,~ Betsy says. ~Out the side door, quickly now. We need to get in position to corral if he doubles back on Rose.~ Odds are good that the assailant's going to be long out of reach, but the fight isn't yet done. Betsy stands by the door, covered in the blood of the victims, and waits for Lunair to catch up to her so they can flee together on foot to render what aid they can.

« Okay, » Lunair is slowly getting used to brain mail. She does care about Betsy and Rose immensely. And she resists the urge to torment the glued terrorists further, to find and reach Betsy. "Thanks," She appreciates Betsy letting her follow since Lunair has the leadership skills of - well. Nevertheless, she will flee on foot with Betsy, helping as she can. She'd be in awe of Rose if she could see what happens.

Police cars are arriving quickly. They find a bunch of armed racists at the door of a building attacked by what seem terrorists. Twelve dead, including all the Mutant Town representatives. Over thirty injured, and it would have been much worse if Betsy had not protected the survivors.
The message of the Mutant Liberation Front makes it look like a mutant terrorist attack performed by extremists, however. But there are elements that don’t fit, and the DEO is not easily deceived.

When the drone goes down the sword is returned to her sheath, the ride down is taken with ease, ensuring it impacts and will not get up to the very last heartbeat she could. Thrills. Ravager is in it for them… Kind of. But when the drone is only 4 feet from the ground in its decent Ravager stands on it and rocket boots off of the back of it, using the theusters and impact to slam it into the empty street below leaving it fragment and spin out pieces in its death she would only be happy with.
Rest in peaces.
Quickly now she pursues the vigilante and when it stops on the rooftop she already has both pistols in hands, snapped into the pivoting holsters upon wrists while swords are braced in her hands but held to line along the backs of her arms.
Only that split second, and she is throttling forward in a rocketed propulsion toward the vigilante and the closed gap.

By the time Rose enters the alleyway the killer is gone. But then she hears it, up on the firescape, he must weight quite a bit to make so much noise. The blur is too far and it is too dark to see him, but it sounds he is almost at the rooftop. The boots come really handy to get there at the same time the assassin did.
“You shouldn’t have come alone, genejoke,” growls a voice, masculine but distorted by electronic devices. A second later the assassin opens fire with a machinegun.

Ravager is not much for dialogue, so when she is charging him she sees the pull of his machine gun and eyes widen slightly, but one stunt to rule them all when she swiftly shifts courses to try and avoid, evade, and bring him to his knees. Did he call her a /joke/?
Her back arches in her charge for him, a swift motion to take her from headfirst to a backstroke, but when she goes to evade those jetboots are flame side facing the vigilante, seeking to scorch him in her path to retreat.

Almost. But she was too close for the machinegun. The killer is as quick as her, but Rose precognition gives the young woman a slight edge. Still, her fist connects with metal, not flesh and bone, and although the killer grunts, he doesn’t fall. Not even when the flame of the rocket boots scorches his back.
When Rose turns at him, it becomes obvious why. His camo system flickers, perhaps disrupted because the blow, or just out of power. He is six and a half tall, covered in an armor of interlocking plates that seem grafted to his skin. Only part of the face is visible, the skull all metal and plastic. The machinegun is mounted on his right forearm, but he pulls it back, instead producing two foot long blades from his wrists and lounging at Ravager.

The rocket boots served their purpose and when she grips the passing old antenna the rocketed propulsion has her spinning around it to try and avoid the fire of the machine gun, one hand unclasping the boots so that they keep going and she can land on her very own two feet in an acrobatic flip. The landing is in a crouch where as the vigilante charged the pistols still in her hands open fire a couple rounds from each at the metal plated man, hoping to find a weak point just before the pivot and pull away on the wrist switch system, her swords now being snapped into had with an arching sweep down and out.
"And -I- am the joke? I don't know if you looked lately but you look like Oscar who melded with his trash can on Sesame Street."

"You are a dead joke, mutie," growls the man. He only covers his face when Ravager shots the guns, not even slowing down. The bullets ricochet, and then his blades are sweeping at the woman’s location, missing for millimeters when she pulls away. Then he parries both her blades with one arm, and tries to skewer her with the other.
Behind him a third drone is coming down. This is larger, but seems to carry no weapons. Likely the reason the killer climbed up here, it must be his way out.

Ravager has moments to act in close quarters but she does so in a manner that hopes to artfully pull off what she desires as her sights set on the drone that is hovering downward towards them. One hand retracts back and the sword in her hand retracts back in a blinding spin, aligning with her arm that rises when she charges, one knee rising with that of the arm lined and braced by blade, attempting to drive that elbow and therefore blade down into the curve of his neck, hoping at that sloped point armor is not as enforced while her other hand swings back, the blade pivoting to land in her sheath and the large modified rifle at her back becomes held in her grasp, seeking to fire upon the drone and disable it, no - kill it too.
Though if things go the way she wants it, the shotgun will fire mid landing, ripping her back with the recoil and tearing her blade free of the vigilante and making his wound that much more grievous.

The killer smirks as his blade goes through Roses chest, barely slowed down by the girl’s armor. He is sure that her counter-attack to his neck lacks the needed force to break through his plating.
But he was wrong, not only does Ravager cut his armor, but when he hits the sword with his knee, it drives the blade all the way to his brain, which is still human enough. The shotgun shot is overkill, but it pulls Rose violently off the killer’s blade (and that is going to leave a scar!) and leaves her own weapon impaling his head, stuck there.

Apparently Ravager did not move fast enough, but with the way her body wound for the strike and killing blow she was hoping that the blade would only land along her side and not find impact on her person, but she was so very wrong and did not even realize it for the first few moments. All she saw was her sword sink into her target and the blur of the blowback of the shotgun fire aimed for the drone that was hoping to push her back in time to avoid any retaliation.


The smile curls her lips and she speaks to the comms, hoping Lunair and Psylocke can hear. «The target is down for the count on the rooftop, six blocks to your northeast, the corner where you can see a vendor cart just one block south and a Sonic on the adjacent corner.» When she closes out the laugh that omits ends in a cough, one that /hurts/ and when she pulls her hand down and away it is covered in blood.

"Ah, fuck me running." Ravager mutters to herself before she sinks to her knees and looks for the entry wound, finding it at the point of her chest just beside the shoulder, enough to nick the top point of lung.

Poor Rose. Fortunately, Lunair did not entirely leave just yet. She did help Betsy and now she's on her way. « Hello! This is Lunair! I am coming to help you. » Fortunately, Lunair has that eerie Laughing Octopus armor that blends in with light, colors and shadows. She sadly misses the killshot, before half flying, half-climbing up. She sort of lands with a light clatter, to avoid startling the Ravager.

"I see. I hope I didn't hurt more than help," There's concern. Lunair frowns. "I will help you! Did you want healing or should I carry you back to safety then healing?" Lunair is no doctor and moves to crouch by Ravager.

It was starting to burn and part of her felt like she was suffocating, all the while her left arm started spasming from the muscle that was severed in the stab. When Lunair arrives to the scene Rose is shuffling on knees to the vigilantes corpse, drawing her sword back from his head with booted foot on his face to anchor the withdrawal from bone and pink matter. Sheathing her lefty sword was going to be a problem and that is when Lunair gets a plaintive look followed by a sudden coughing fit that sprays blood across the rooftop.

"One arm hefts the sword back and taps the flat of the blade on the sheath. "Sword, then… I think I need some of that good healing feelings you got.." The back of her palm now wiping across lips to smear blood across skin but remove the worry, right? Right. Hopefully Lunair can catch, Ravager was about to have the ground rise to meet her.

Lunair pauses. "Okay, let's at least heal you a little." She's got the freaking MediGun from TF2. "Hold steal and prepare for beamings." Hey, it repairs the damage a video game FPS can dish out. She'll work on mending poor Rose first. "If anyone bothers us, I'll give them LSD and sleeping gas. No one believe them then," She states simply. Rose's plight is not lost on Lunair. "also less explaining to your boyfriend," A wry smile beneath the black visor.

She will stay long enough to get Rose up and mended. It's not too long, at least. Thank goodness for twitchy, fast FPSes. And yes, Lunair will catch poor Rose, grunting softly. Rose is more muscle than Lunair but it doesn't seem to bother or burden Lunair. "Then I can give you a ride back." Nodnod.

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