[]Ruined Garage

Wraith had let go of the girl as soon as she'd gotten both feet up on the roof and, a little confused by his own actions, had simply stepped away from the edge and watched her stumble away while frantically rewinding his memories, trying to find that click that had pushed him to... do what? What was right? After all, you didn't just walk away from a girl getting chased by dogs, not when you were right there and staring at her.

He realizes, a little late, that she's dropped to her knees. He only notices this after he realizes there's someone calling out to them too. A second stranger, standing atop the collapsed elevator.

"Heard you!" Wraith says, without fully registering the newcomer's words. He's more concerned about the ginger kid.

Wraith runs over to the her, and out of some nameless instinct whips his poncho off to throw around her shoulders. In the back of his mind he realizes that the left sleeve of his shirt is ripped off so the tattoos inked across his arm are visible and he wonders how that happened -- or rather, makes a note to wonder about it later. Then Wraith slings one of the girl's arms over his own neck and attempts to pull her back up to his feet.

"Come on, it's okay up here," he says, through his teeth. She's not very big but she is all dead weight, right now.

Then to the woman who'd called out to them, Wraith yells, "How safe is it? Can those damn monsters get up here?"

Very dimly, almost at the back of his mind, Sir Rusty wondered whether he could actually survive the immense clusterfuck he had put himself into this time. The rest of him was silently laughing as it observed his young comrade crush the snout of one of the dog-like creatures, and bat aside another with what could only be described as a clumsy fervor. His comments about corpse defiling were definitely uncalled for, perhaps signs of a derangement not visible on his companion's surface personality, but probably only an attempt at humor in the face of an incredibly stressful situation.

Alright. Enough lolly-gagging.

Sir Rusty's armored legs were thankfully unhindered by the beast's weight, and the animal that had been smashed in the nose had just began to recover from Birdhe's well-placed blow. There were three more animals in the alley, the one the ginger had knocked aside was almost ready to strike again, and the two that had run towards him were unsuccessfully gnawing at his well-armored shins. A sharp jolt of pain went up his left leg as one of the beasts managed to get behind his knee cop with one of it's tusks, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins immediately silenced the sensation.

Placing his other leg underneath the corpse of the dog on his chest, he put all his strength into shoving the beast off his sword, literally propelling the corpse through the air at the animal that was assaulting his partner. The two that had been gnawing at his legs were forced back, pulling an arc of fresh crimson from the wound in Rusty's knee before the knight picked himself up with his shield as a crutch. The yelling resumed, and what happened next could only be described as a slaughter.

The two dogs that had been chewing on metal leapt for his throat and his knees, in what could have been and attempt to bring him down under their combined weight. The images and situations played out in his head, in every one of them with the shining knight standing on a pile of canine corpses. As if he could see their actions before they happened, Rusty countered by ducking low with his shield in front, pushing back the lower mutt while slicing a foot long gash into the other animal's abdomen as it's jump carried it above him. It landed in a whining pile on the other side, it's innards spilling, dog whimpering in pain, with what had to be the most disgusting of smells somewhere between carrion and still-working digestive fluids now flooding the alley. The dog that had gone for his legs was being driven back, the shield pressed right against it's chest, it's second mouth held shut and it's head gnashing wildly in an attempt to bite him.

Straining the wound in his leg even further, Sir Rusty continued the run, picking up speed in order to make sure the dog could not escape. He then slammed the animal on his shield into the two that had turned to Bridhe, stunning the lot of them as he jabbed his sword into the furry mass with wild abandon. The slick sheen of blood covered his blade and the animals whelped and whined, caught underneath their own weight as they were reduced to glorified strainers. Panting and bleeding, Sir Rusty got up from his kneeling position and stood up straight, dropping his sword to catch himself on the wall as the pain in his left knee hit him again.

He looked to his partner, chest heaving with excitement.
"Necrophilia is improper for the civilized individual. I suggest you refrain from committing such a heresy in my presence. At very worst, if you are experiencing base natural desires, it would be proper to ask for some privacy in order to relieve yourself.

But in all seriousness, do NOT do anything to my corpse..."

Had it been another time, another place, and she was in between familiar white walls, there would have been a textbook explanation for this. Back when peers teasingly called her Doctor, and she would have been the one with the clipboard and the sterile white coat there would have been an easy justification for everything.

Well, Miss Thornton- She would have said, flipping over the reports to reassure the patient (a battered version of herself sitting confused on the patients’ bed, holding the wrist imbedded with metal carefully). It’s obvious that your current state of hysteria, coupled with your unhealthy sleeping habits and stress would have caused you this discomfort. As to this alternate dimension? I would recommend telling your physiatrist to explain about schizophrenia.

How easy to explain from the other side of the safety glass. Was this irony? Ending up in the situations she was meant to be learning to cure- to prevent?

As Wraith pulled her up, the ankle she feared was jarred twisted uncomfortably. Tendon strains from overexerting the fibula, try running a bit softer next time. The diagnosis came so easy in her head. Figuring that things couldn’t get any worse, she opened her eyes to a faceful of poncho and more hectics.

"Come on, it's okay up here," It is? Since when? Did you happen to miss the ruined city and savage beasts? But she still tried to comply, mumbling softly and pulling against him to get her feet back under her. She can tell he’s rather big (or at least compared to her- but then again everyone is) and the arm she can see is torn at the sleeve showing the tattoo’s scrawled over his skin. There’s some natural instinct to try and get away from him, something in the back of her head that tells her guys this big with tattoo’s who go around talking to girls like her. Who’d said that? She didn’t…There wasn’t…

The mention of the dogs gets her attention back to the present, giving her body another jolt of panic-stricken adrenaline. “Th-th-they c-can get up h-h-here?” The stutter doesn’t help her nerves or her shaking. “B-but th-th-their t-to fast! A-and there’s nowh-where to run, oh God oh G-God…”

Bridhe thought he was going to pass out, his vision blacking and shifting indecipherably as he tried to fight back as best possible. Somewhere in his mind he knew the knight was slaughtering these beasts (Beasts? Where had that come from?) but there was a twinge in his knee and a general sense of disorder that seemed to keep him from moving as fast as he had been earlier. It seemed like he blinked and Rusty was stabbing the writhing pile of fur and flesh with an almost rabid fervor, his brain trying to comprehend just what all was going on as his vision swam. At some point his face had gotten wet, his hand coming up to wipe it off thinking blood had splattered on him, only to be surprised that it was tears instead.

When did he start crying? He couldn't remember if he cried or not before waking up in the car, but now it seemed foreign and distant. Like it wasn't really him crying at all.

It was remarkable that he didn't vomit, watching Rusty stagger on his wounded knee (Is that what he felt?) before giving him one of those looks. Not that Bridhe knew what those looks were, he just knew that Rusty was disapproving of something the ginger had said.

Oh, right. Illegal and obscene things involving dead bodies.

"You're knee. It's... That thing bit you. Oh God. Are you going to get rabies? I-I was just, you know, paniced when I saidthatstuffaboutfuckingyourcorpseohfuck." He rapidly blurted out that last part, wobbling a little as he drug that mace behind him with a scrape. His shoulders ached, burned, something had been damaged when he swung that weapon around. "Shit. Where's a hospital?"

Bridhe fell to his knees, tugging off that shirt to reveal his pale back, a black and red ouroboros tattooed at the base of his neck between his shoulder blades floating on a splatter of orange and brown freckles. He started to tie the shirt around the knight's knee, stopping the moment his hand made contact with bleeding flesh before looking up in confusion. Pupils dialated, that mouth falling open a little brows furrowed.

"A... Forest..." He jerked away, the vision snapping out of his mind before his rubbed his eyes in disbelief. He returned, starting to tie that shirt around the man's leg once more, trying to ignore the sudden change of scenery as his hands shook, fabric knotted awkwardly around armor and flesh alike. Obviously Bridhe failed at first aid.

When the smaller male pulled away and the vision faded again he hugged himself as he looked up at Rusty, obviously confused.

Spoiler:

Satero hears the howl of pain and swerves towards it immediately, scrambling over debris and vaulting over fallen pillars. Crowbar occasionally scratching against the floor or wall. He's silent. Not wasting his breath on words or noise. Only pauses once to pick up a chunk of concrete and weigh it in his hand -- then swears to himself and picks up his run again.

Turns the corner, sees the car and the dog whimpering and backing off -- it's all alone, the poor bastard, how had that happened? they're braver in packs -- and only after noticing those things does Satero finally register the people. He'd noticed the pipe but not the man holding it, and completely neglects to care about the man trapped in the car itself.

All that matters is that one-eyed fucker.

Satero lunges past the dog and -- shouts something that he himself doesn't understand, probably some sort of snarled curse -- then hurls the block of concrete he'd picked up earlier. He misjudges the distance and it smashes through the car window instead. Satero doesn't notice that, only notices that he'd missed but that wasn't the point anyway. He'd just wanted a distraction so that now he can lunge right at Ben. At full speed.

He blinked, frowning at the unpleasant news. NOT dogs? What, were they wolves, then? Or something worse, perhaps. (The latter seeming the most likely the longer he was conscious.) His mind seemed to halt for a moment after that, barely catching the woman's request to keep an eye out for those....creatures. He barely nodded, watching her take off back into the parking structure. He registered voices over the barks and growls. Confused, angry voices, yelling.

He limped to the railing, leaning over it (after hesitantly testing whether it would hold any weight against it).

Taking a moment for himself, he closed his eyes, numbing his mind and letting his senses temporarily run wild. He heard the voices, catching fragments of words and sentences. He could smell dirt and the somewhat stifling odor of blood being carried on the wind from somewhere below.

With a jolt he opened his eyes, clenching his jaw and firmly gripping the rusted metal railing. Although naturally a rather solitary person, he couldn't help but feel a strong and unpleasant welling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach as the woman left him alone on the roof. Rubbing his throbbing wrist, he looked over the edge again, letting his fractured mind wander as he played the look-out.

Spoiler:

Syrus doesn’t have time to celebrate the stranger’s victory against the…dog he supposes, for lack of a better term. In any case he really doesn’t have the time to ponder that issue either because only a few seconds after the dog backs away an absolute giant of a man comes barreling into sight around the corner of the garage and from his vantage point Syrus sees everything as grimily clear as he can through the window and at first he thinks to himself Oh my god what is that which quickly turns into “Jesus motherfucking Christ LOOK OUT--”

--and suddenly everything is crazy.

Syrus throws himself away from the window, arms raising instinctively to protect himself. Eyes shut, he loses his balance and all but slams his back against the opposite door, and his head is ringing and there's minute cuts on his arms but at least the concrete block had missed where his head had been just seconds prior.

He doesn't realize that he has been uttering a continuous line of expletives until his ears stop ringing and he is able to hear himself again. For an instant, Syrus imagines that he is once again eighteen and in a gang again. He moves quickly. Taking up the cement block and smashing away at the remains of the chipped glass of the car window, he barely hesitates before he climbs quickly through it with out and away being the only mantra running through his head.

Except. The pipe-wielding stranger. For a strange fraction-of-a-second, Syrus falters, and in his hesitation his foot connects, hard, with the dog. The yelp it utters turns into a series of yelps as Syrus curses at the animal for almost tripping him, and continues to kick it along if only for it to "Get out of my way!"

Finally, (even though he is almost afraid to), Syrus risks a look behind him. Hands fumbling for his switchblade before he remembers that his pockets had been emptied. Instead he pulls out one of the pens he had taken from the car. Stares at it for a moment.

Oh well. If worse comes to worse, Syrus won't hesitate to make the pen disappear. He's done worse things, after all.

The dreadlocked woman beelined for the pair, kneeling beside them despite the sudden agony she was feeling in her wrist and head and stomach. The poor woman looked like she was in shock, but it wasn't like Julya hadn't expected something like this sooner or later. "They might be able to, I don't know if any of the levels are blocked off, but it looks like some of the ramps are collapsed. Not sure about the stairs." Her head darts up to survey the area before she turns back to the young woman.

"You're going to have to get up soon, okay? Take some deep breaths." Nevermind that her voice was faltering. She looked over her shoulder to where she had left the boy. "I have someone watching over there, watching the ramp. He hasn't yelled so I think it's okay, but I'm going to head back. See if you can't calm down but you're going to need something to fight with. We may have to head down anyhow."

Wraith resists the urge to express how much he dislikes that last suggestion, and keeps it to himself. She's right, anyway. They can't stay up here forever. He never planned to in the first place.

He gets his arm firmly around the girl, giving her one final pull to get her all the way up on her feet. He doesn't step away yet, but he's going to have to let go eventually. They can't move like this. Though... she's rather small, doesn't look too heavy, might just be easier to sling her over a shoulder and flee.

"Listen. The dogs are not going to be a problem," he says, entirely calm, addressing the girl's stuttered panic.

Of course that's a bit of a filthy lie, but what matters is that even if the beasts do get up here and start making trouble for them, Wraith has no intention of letting them take him down -- or the girl, for that matter. He sighs to himself. Once again, he has managed to get himself into a situation where he's obliged to take care of someone else.

Weapons, weapons. Wraith's at least got some manner of defense, even if it's insubstantial. He begins to walk, steering the girl along with him towards one of the cars still parked on the rooftop. Choosing one that's in the direction of the dreadlocked lady and the collapsed elevator.

"C'mon, let's see if we can't find you a tire iron or something..." Wraith's mumbling, speaking his thoughts aloud when he didn't mean to. He shakes his head. "Hey, girl. What's your name?"

The older woman was right of course, she was panicking in a very textbook fashion. Embarrassingly textbook, completely predictable. She tried to stop listening to the both of them, block out the screeches and crashes and mayhem, and just breathe. In and out, in and out, slowly and calmly. She pressed one of her hands against her face, the poncho still around her shoulders pressing against her forehead. It was the most comforting thing she’d found yet in this place.

Once Wraith started to walk again though, her meditation broke and the world came crashing back into focus. Even though she wasn’t as scared now- she could focus (albeit still pretty shaken).

She turned towards Wraith with the intent of suggesting an action, but his sigh filled the quiet first. The kind of short, irritated sigh when a child asks you to do something trivial. The kind of sigh she had gotten from so many university professors. She had managed to become a burden already, it seemed.

"Hey, girl. What's your name?"

She winced, ashamed that she couldn’t even pay attention to half the things happening around her. As politely as she could manage, she removed her arm from Wraith’s shoulders and stood on her own feet. Her legs still felt ghostly and strange, but they supported her, and she finally started breathing normally again.

She is not going to be a burden to these people and bring them down, if nothing else it’s better if she gets hurt and they can survive. With newfound resolve, and her mind finally wrapped around the circumstances, she took a few steps away from her saviour and didn’t turn to face him when she said “Marvey, I’m okay now, th-thank you.”

She is intent to find someting to defend herself with. No one is going to get hurt on her account. Not now, not ever.

Sir Rusty had stayed completely silent as Bridhe tied the makeshift bandage around his knee. His eyes had been fixed on the tattoo at the base of the young man's neck as his charge worked at getting the bleeding to stop. It took the child quite some time, and it was obvious he did not possess much skill (a fact illustrated by Rusty's occasional wince) however the good intentions coming off the kid were enough to make Rusty smile inside his helmet.

"Fear not, Bridhe. Although the wolves all possess a powerful venom, I have been bitten enough times to have grown resistant to their trickery..."

Rusty sat down as well, making sure to lower himself slowly with his knee extended in order not to worsen the bleeding. He then removed his gauntlets, throwing the heavy metal and leather gloves to the side with a small clang. His fingers, heavily scarred and callused, wrapped themselves around the small bow knot tied around his left knee and undid it with a very subtle motion.

"This piece of clothing, young man, is one of the only clues from your past life. The fact that you would selflessly sacrifice this for someone you have just met... Demonstrates a strong sense of Charity, a most rare of knightly virtues..."

After that, he worked at removing his knee cop, sighing as he observed the half-inch tear in the rugged leather the metal pieces were riveted to. He then strained the shirt once, a small amount of blood dripping, not enough to form a puddle, and tied it again around his pant leg, putting as much pressure as he could into wrapping it tight without ripping the fabric. Over that, he re-strapped the knee cop and slapped the side once, happy with the large bandage now improvised on his leg. Standing up with confidence, he took a few tentative steps, walking around with a limp but a reasonable pace. He looked to his charge, the confusion in the kid's eyes slightly nostalgic and strangely familiar.

Rusty extended his arm in a friendly gesture, obviously meaning to help the ginger up even with his injury.
"This realm is purgatory, Bridhe. Souls who have overstayed their welcome in their last life come here to be eased into the next. We are robbed of memory and lifestyle so that those who judge us may do so based on merit alone.

You have to learn to open your eyes, free yourself from the shackles-" he motioned to the tick implanted in the ginger's wrist, "-of your past, and learn to live in a world without order. If you were able to see as I see for a moment, then perhaps you were meant to find me, and it was fate that I should take you under my wing.

You have proven your bravery, Bridhe, there is no need for you to cry. Raise your eyes and stand, not as the child you were in your past life, but as a man fit to live as himself in the next!"

Mikhail folded his arms over his chest as the stranger, after having told him to stop walking, held his own ground. It made conversation a little difficult, when the person you were talking to was that far away. But if the other man wasn’t going to close the distance himself, Mikhail was too stubborn to walk back toward him. Despite whatever part of him seemed to think the other man was now his center of gravity, Mikhail would keep at least that much control.

Mikhail only snorted in response to what the stranger did say. It didn’t deserve anything beyond that. He was a sarcastic one, the other man, who did what he wanted and was most definitely not sorry for any of it. That, at least, was how Mikhail pegged him for now. Mikhail had his sarcastic moments too, but he didn’t draw it out. Whatever conveyed what he wanted to say in the shortest, clearest way was just what he would say. He didn’t argue with people he didn’t care about. Not worth the trouble. And despite the strange urgings from some part of him to stay close to the other man, he certainly did not care about him.

Mikhail watched as the man finally closed the distance between them, dropping his arms back to his sides. He nearly twitched as the stranger’s arm bumped against his. Human contact in such a desolate place as they were in seemed strange. Maybe some would have found it comforting, but Mikhail got the sense he wasn’t to much contact. He casually moved one foot back a bit and shifted his weight to that leg, away from the stranger. Subtle, but his standard of acceptable personal space seemed to differ from the other man’s.

“Why not?” He responded flatly. As a matter of fact, he would be perfectly fine going on by himself, despite the nagging in his head that agreed with the stranger, told him they needed to stick together in order to survive. His tone made that much very clear. “I can take care of myself. I hope you can too. I’m not going to be anyone’s babysitter.”

Mikhail only stared as the man made a show of extending his hand and introducing himself. It was just as well the man – Saeth – had no intention of actually shaking hands, because Mikhail had no intention of doing so either. His eyes traveled from the other’s face down his arm to the hand, and back up, though Mikhail’s eyes were the only part of him that moved. Blinking, he turned, still quite conscious of his objective to reach the roof. He paused, however, before taking more than a step, turning his head back toward Saeth. He wondered if he would remember the name long. Hearing the howls pick up outside, he wondered if he would need to.

“Mikhail,” He said, and then he did start walking toward the ramp.

How the hell is he so calm? Seemed to be the first thing that popped into Bridhe's head, followed by He is calm. How do I know this?

It seemed to rub off on him even though he trembled, adrenaline and endorphines screaming through his system as he panted quietly. He hadn't realize he had moved so much, and if that nasty pile of corpses hadn't been there he could have easily dismissed the entire ordeal as a momentary bout of delusion. But it wasn't. It was real. Bridhe still had that "Oh shit. I'm fucked" feeling dancing on the edges of his mind.

Bridhe looked momentarily resentful as Rusty took off his gauntlets to remove that clumsy bandage. The teen stopped, catching sight of those large, scarred hands before looking down at his own. No wonder this guy kept treating him like a kid. His hands were small and pale, and looked as if someone had taken a paintbrush full of orange and brown paint and splattered them down. Bridhe couldn't remember where he had seen hands like Rusty's before, but he knew they belonged to men (and sometimes women) who had it a lot harder than they let on.

"Charity, huh?" He somehow found his voice, looking back at Rusty as he tried to peer through the slit in that helmet. To be honest, he hadn't even thought at all before taking off his shirt. It seemed the ginger had assumed that he could just go out nad buy a shirt where ever after this ordeal was finished. He shrugged off the "knightly" comment, not really sure how to take such a statement from a man who was obviously delusional. "I guess. I just did it, I didn't really think about it."

Rusty stood up, Bridhe momentarily looking up at him once more before grabbing those gauntlets before mentally bracing himself as he snagged Rusty's hand in assistance. The vision wasn't nearly as strong this time, perhaps he could block it out if he focused hard enough? Either way his hand was pulled back rather quickly, those gauntlets handed over before he looked away.

"Purgatory?" Where had he heard that term before? Catholic But that word didn't mean anything either. However, Rusty's description seemed fitting, even if he didn't quite agree with it. For some reason Bridhe had the feeling that there would be no easing into "the next life". "To be honest, I don't know if I should take what you say at face value or not. This forest thing you see? It's different than what I see. It's not real."

Or maybe, Bridhe, what you're seeing is the delusion. Some wicked part of him whispered, but he batted that away mentally, his brows furrowing in confusion and anger. It seemed Bridhe's face conveyed his thoughts, but he hadn't quite caught onto that fact yet. He bit his lip, blinking as his teeth caught on the metal ring impaling it before making a face. Where had that come from?

"But, you seem to know more about this. Shackles, huh? That's fitting. How do I get rid of them, is the problem. Being "taken under your wing" maybe the smartest option for me at this point."

Bridhe looked up the broken ladder they stood under, catching sight of the sky above. He thought he heard voices coming from up there, yelling.

"The sky is mocking me. That bastard." He looked like he was going to say more, but the faint and echoing sounds of more people fighting somewhere in the garage rang off of the cracked pillars. He froze, hair standing on end again as he inched over and snatched up that mace. "Fuck, there are more people?! What kind of sick fucking labyrinth is this? No thread, it looks like we have to find the minotaur the hard way. I don't plan on being a sacrificial maiden today."

What the-- Where did that come from? Fuck. The crazy must be rubbing off already.

Julya clambered over the rubble again, the nausea easing, finally, as she came closer to Caddie. She wrote it off as worry at leaving him behind but that was uncharacteristic. She knew it was. She'd have to puzzle that out later, though.

"We've got two more, just over there. That and I heard a lot of yelling, I bet a million there are some more streetside. They're headed to a car to see if they can use anything inside as weapons... I think we should probably do that too. Anything we can get."

She scans the area and points over at one near the corner they hadn't explored yet. "There's a good start."

{{Sorry, I know it's short but I've had writer's block for the past weeks.... Just gotta get back in the game, is all.}}

Rusty's helmet almost did a double take as words from a Greek mythology book came from the ginger's lips. The armor shook from inside as it resonated with a hearty laugh.

"Why look at you! A modern-day Theseus! Grabbing the bull by the horns! Genuinely made of hero material, and I won't have you say otherwise!"

He gave Bridhe a light slap to the shoulder, and began walking out to the vehicle the youth had earlier taken refuge in. Grabbing the corpse of the beheaded tooth-dog, he hefted it onto his shoulder with obvious discomfort and turned to face his charge.

"Perhaps, if you are still confused, when we make camp tonight the wise man will explain. For now we best make haste to the cathedral and find some sanctuary. If there are any souls still near us, I pray that they make contact soon, since the wolves will no doubt infest the area by nightfall..."

"Auuughh, my freakin' head." Groaned a monstrous blond of a women, laid back on a mound of dusty fabric beside a crumbling stretch of concrete. Hearing voices off in the distance, she sat up blearily, bashing her head off the rebar and letting loose a colorfulstring of curses as she doubled over.

Calloused hands gropedat a slowly forming goose bump as her pale blue eyes squinted about thedarkness. She stumbled and slumped against the wall to pull herself upto her full, towering height, a hand settling on the mound to steadyherself only to find it "... warm?"

"The fuck?"

"Mmmmm 5 minutes more" he groaned softly to himself "I to take goats out soon..." he felt something stir behind him and he awoke.

He was engulfed in a void of darkness around him, so he peered over the top of his sunglasses. The place was unfamiliar to him, which didn't worry him so much as to the fact that he could not remember how he had gotten there.

A hand pressed down on his shoulder, mildly surprised he turned around.

The women who had set her hand on his shoulder yelped and hopped back a foot in surprise, "W-whoa! The hell?" She'd woken up next to many, many strange things in her day, but somehow when the clothes were still on it left more questions unanswered then the alternative. That, and this didn't feel like your average every-day hangover.

Confronted with uncertainty and a very large Russian she quickly patted about her ragged shawl and pockets only to find all of her weapons missing. "Whoa- wait... did we get ganked?" She asked, looking over to the man beside her who was looking as confused as she was.

He blinked.
He blinked again, racking his brain for the answers he needed.
It gave him a headache. So he decided to go about it the way he always did. Diplomatically.

She asked him a question to which he took some time to register. He eventually responded "Nyet, we would be to dead" taking another moment to think about it he added "someone like-ed us bettar alive".

With that he stood up and also checked himself over; he had many pockets to check. His wad of cigarette boxes were still there, that was good, his duct tape; bent hammer; rusty crowbar; screwdrivers; lock picks; broken mirror; empty flask were still there as were his old sandwiches and lucky grenade pins. The one thing he noticed right away was that he was disarmed, no pistols, sub machine guns, grenades or grenade launchers were dangling from the inside of his coat.

"and whoever put-ed us here, d'not want us to make mess... I feel naked without gun" he grumbled.

He pulled out three cigs and put them in his mouth and sucked on them absentmindedly.

"My name is Yanni, what to your name?" He asked the woman.

"Reggie..." She said offhandedly, sort of looking around at the commotion not far away with a careful eye, she turned back to him and sort of huffed. It had been a while since she'd run into a guy as big as her. "Yanni, eh? You don't remember what'ya was doing before you got here, do you? This place doesn't look familiar at all to me, man."

Her hands continued to idly pat at her own pockets as she surveyed the area. Knife, IDs, wallet, radio, they were all missing, even her... "Fuck... fucking-" She kneeled down to pat about the area, fingers feeling for the one stray lens she kept around for reading. "You see anything shiney layin' around? Like a glass thing?"

"hmm, Reggie... that is nice name" Yanni nodded "and I do not remember what it is I do before I come here... or be here I mean-ed. Stay here for long would be bad for health I would think, not know this place well" He stated while surveying the area.

As Reggie scrambled around the ground, Yanni looked on in mild amusement, when she asked if he had seen her glass lying on the ground he of course looked before thinking about it.

He found it, under his shoe... it had been cracked ever so slightly by his boot. He picked it up and handed it to her.

Spoiler:

"Modern day what?" Bridhe looked at the man in confusion, frowning briefly before looking back at the darkness that was the garage. He still didn't know what to think of this man, who seemed to think that Bridhe was some sort of knight, or hero, or something in the making. The ginger really just thought he was trying to keep from being eaten by those damned dogs. It was flattering that someone would think otherwise, an unnoticed (on his part, anyway) blush creeping over his cheeks before he shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever, I mean, thanks I guess? I don't know what to say to that."

The smaller male watched Rusty move, gripping that mace like it was going to run away before slowly following after him. A glance was given back to the pile of dead canines, a shiver running down his spine as he whipped quickly back around to try and quell the nausea that was building up once more in his gut. Looking the other direction didn't help, either. The smell of blood was starting to stink, and Bridhe could swear he got some in one of his shoes.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he watched the knight lift that heavy corpse. Blood leaked out over his armor before stopping, obviously the beast had already bled itself out. Bridhe was both disgusted and impressed, biting his lip once more as he "picked up" on the man's discomfort. Not just in the back of his mind, but from the thing in his wrist as well. Even wounded this man was lifting something he couldn't even drag. "Anything I can help with?"

A nervous glance was once more cast about, the curly-haired teen's almost glassy stare not really taking anything in before he stopped on Rusty once more. He looked like he was going to dart at any moment, tense and ready to run at the slightest startling noise or action.

"Wise man?" He stopped, obviously thinking that was not important as he nodded his head vigorously before straightening up. "Yes. Let's go, we need to go. There are other people. I don't want to meet anymore of those "wolves", either."

Bridhe started to move, stepping over dead dogs while pointedly looking away from them.

Spoiler:

He let out a small sigh of relief as Julya approached him again. Two more. He wasn't quite sure if he should feel comforted by that knowledge. He shook his head, pushing his hair back. He didn't really have time to waste being suspicious.

"Alright," he nodded, casting another glance down into the garage before turning to look at the car. Weapons. Weapons sounded very good now.

Spoiler:

"Marvey," Wraith repeats. He grins for a brief moment before he catches himself and regains composure, just in time to note that Marv is now on her own two feet. Well, that makes this job much easier.

But Wraith walks over to her again to push her in the direction of the car he'd been originally heading towards. "That way, now," he says.

He gives the car itself a hard look. It looks... abandoned, and also very old. Will they have to break a window or could they get lucky and get a door open? But damn, if the car alarm goes off that'll be a world of trouble.

Hell, like they're not in a world of trouble away.

He walks over, sees all the rust, and taps the trunk with a fist. Then he cracks his knuckles and tries to open it. It swings open -- unlocked. There's a couple of suitcases inside, and Wraith's eyes light up.

Before going through their contents, Wraith looks back towards Marv and motions her to come over. "Try the door, see what you can find inside."