Time, Tough Love, and a Little Tenderness

[Jaycy Ashleana]

Friday, Aug 22, night.

The front door of the Red Dragon Inn exploded open and slammed against the wall a brief moment before an apparently-weaponless but wild-eyed redhead burst through. Black leathers were splattered with a suspiciously grim red pigment and her face was practically a rorschach test waiting to be read by someone. Her hands, not quite gloved in the sanguineous heavily saturated, gesticulated feverishly though the air. She staggered but a handful of steps before crumbling to the floor.

Patrons started and turned at the sudden disruption, peering at the … thing … that seemed ready to invade. "Gingers," Jack Scot muttered upon seeing her. Icer blinked at the stumbling woman after wiggling her tail to her niece.

The nightmare known as Skid reached after the just-departed Lesinda, and then didn't get at her. He turned about, sensing that something something something what the hell, Jaycy was covered in blood. He ponderously approached her. "Jaycy?"

Sadly, but perhaps not too surprisingly, Jaycy did not respond to Skid’s opening query.

"Ut oh,” Lirenel eloquently stated.

"Well." Benji was just as eloquent, greens wide open.

Jack took a step back, watching the scene with an avian tilt to his head. Kind of recognized the woman. Swiss cheese memories couldn't tell him anything else.

Skid went to the floor again! He felt her neck, and then rolled her over in one arm, propped up a little. "Svabol persvek wer'oinota tepohaic shinalt'ekess wux..?" Muttered to himself, more than anyone else.

Gently, Lirenel maneuvered back and out of the way as well. "Is that her blood, Skid?" His nostrils flared just a bit. Icer’s, too, flared at the coppery scent now infecting the air around them.

While unresponsive to Skid’s probing, Jaycy was still alive, at least, and bearing no visible marks, but limp in his grasp.

"Should I call for an ambulance?" came from Benji. Of course he'd offer that.

"Thric." The nightmare shook his head in answer to Lirenel’s question. "Someone else. Maybe shock?" He then waved Benji off. "It's okay. I've got this. I'm getting really good at carrying short chesty women out of here after they faint. But, for the sake of science... Anyone wanna get me a glass of water?"

“Does she need healing?” Icer asked in a rumble. One eye rolled to Lalen, then back. Lalen didn’t seem to notice right now. Though, she really did. Okay, she glanced over.

"Why bring science into this?" Jack made a face. A different one.

"Because it's the best word for 'go get me water so I can throw it on her' without sounding like a dick?" Skid’s Summer smile was for the Crow.

"...I'll get it," Benji offered, not so much stepping away from Lirenel and Jack as he was sort of dragging them. For a few steps anyhow, before he moved to grab a bottle of water, and brought it back to offer to Skid.

The Crow cawed right out loud. And then was dragged all over. What the... "Benjamin..."

“Ye could use my dish, Skid,” Icer offered. It always was full.

"...Last time I threw and there was water, I electrocuted Jack." Benji glumly intoned, but then he perked up. "But I did heal him."

Oh, look, Jaycy gave tiny little squirming groan. But she did not yet come to in Skid’s hold.

Skid took the bottle from Benjamin once he'd gotten it, and then upturned it over her head and squeezed it hard, and foosh! water all over her head and face and chest. And Skid got some on him. Ugh.

Jaycy not coming to worked well for Benji, because that redhead might come up fighting. And followed Lirenel as he retreated to the bar. He paused to get himself a beer.

Jack, however, waited to see if the water worked. Because...science apparently. "Is she melting?"

"Not yet?" Skid observed.

Rex quirked a crimson brow, but he didn’t snicker. Yeah, that probably would get him into trouble down the road.

The water brought more than a groan. In fact, it brought a harrowing shriek, and a thump as Jaycy flailed and rolled just out of his grasp. She scrambled up in a wild crouch, fingers digging into the ancient floorboards, sense lacking in her eyes. She did register, however, that something - someone - was there. She screeched again. “DON'T TOUCH ME!!” With a howl, she leapt up and dashed out.

“Well." Jack stared at the reaction.

Rex winced and growled dangit. Ears.

Skid blinked. "I hate science."

"...That... was a result..." Benji piped up.

"Fucking science," Jack added.

"I rather like science." Lirenel grinned at Benji.

“Science sucks.” Rex added his own two cents in from up in the rafters. Yeah, he wasn’t too fond of science at all.

Skid walked over to the Crow, laid a hand on his chest and in those ribbons, took a deep breath, and then headed out.

(( Adapted from live play in the RDI, thank you! ))

[Jaycy Ashleana]

Jaycy didn't get too far from the Inn after fleeing the common room. In fact, she tumbled down the stairs leading to the street and lay where she fell, curling up into a small ball, heedless of the dirt and dust and blood all over her hands. Close enough, anyone could hear - and see - the great heaving sobs that shook her tiny frame.

The Nightmare followed her out, with a sigh. Clearly she had gone mad and all was for naught. However, on the offchance that she hadn't, this would be something to seriously worry about. As such, he moved again to pull her back and prop her up. "What in the world have you done to yourself..?"

She resisted his efforts, loosing only enough to flail maniacally at him in order to keep from his grasp. "NONO! Don't touch me!" The words came out an eerie keening, a dark wail. "Nono!" She scooted back, eyeing him. The dawning light of recognition slowly began to shine in her eyes but as she realized who her savior was, she attempted retreat even more swiftly. "NO! GO AWAY!"

He snagged her ankles with a whiplash swish of the tail. "No." He slowly began to pull her in with nothing more than the tail, arms opening just a little. "What's the matter with you?"

"NO!" Hands balled into fists and she struck him with them; first tail but then as he came more into range any part that she could find to land her furious blows. "Skid, no! Don't touch me! Stay away! I'll kill you too!" Her head shook violently as she kicked ineffectually to try and fully get away. Tracks of flesh ran down her cheeks, rivers made by salty tears cutting through flaking blood.

He snatched her up by the front of her leathers and cocked an arm back, then punched her square across the temple in one swift back and forth. His eye was wide. "Shut up." He pulled her in then, the hand that had struck her wrapping around her shoulders and pressing the small form against his chest. "You couldn't bring yourself to kill me even if you tried, so shut up. Tell me what's wrong."

Her head snapped back with the force of the jab, of course, but she'd taken quite a few enough of them that it didn't cause much of a lasting impact injury-wise. However, it did work to bring just a smidgen of sanity back into her messed-up head. Fingers calmed and she simply slumped into his grasp, great sobs wracking her body. "I killed him. Arlen…" she wailed. "I butchered him."

"Oh..." He put the other arm around her, and let the first drop to lift her up as he fell back into the dirt, hoisting her into his lap to be cradled. "I'm sorry..." His head dipped. "What happened?"

From fire and hellfury to bawling mewing kitten she curled up in his new embrace, turning and burying her head in his chest. Words mumbled through that barrier, barely audible even if they were spoken to the air. "Nightmares." She flinched then, haunted by the severity of her latest nighttime torments. "Couldn't sleep. Hallucinated. He touched me." Shuddering sob. "Killed him."

He stroked her hair, and held her close while looking up into the newborn night sky. Still a little reddish purple in the West. "I'm sorry." It wasn't empathetic, or pitying; it was sincere.

She gave no more verbal acknowledgment of his sincere gesture of condolence than another set of great whimpers, punctuated by the deep intake of breath as she tried to continue to, well, breath in the sobbing. Her body shifted in his arms to seemingly seek to meld into him.

He accommodated her as best he could. Even his tail curled around her, arms pulling her in close. "Shhh.... Shhh....."

"Ski… Skid… I'm…" She shuddered again, mumbling incoherent apologies into his chest. Tears were allowed free reign, finally, as she gave herself completely to his ministrations. It was a measure of trust in him, comfort even, that she'd admitted to the nightmares; Psly only knew of them because she woke screaming in terror. "You… wings … cut off…"

"Shh.. It's alright...." He held her, until she spoke. He couldn't keep himself from questioning, after all. "You want to cut my wings off?"

"What?" She finally looked up at that, brows knit. "What?" A deep sigh, trying to force some composure back into her countenance. "No, no." The braid jerked with her violent denial. "Mine. You cut…" A tiny whimper and her gaze dropped. "… mine off." Another measure of her care for him; she'd never told Psly the content of her turmoil. Especially since so often then involved him. But Skid … her older, more daemonic brother-like being, she placed blind faith in that even knowing he was so closely connected to the very reason for her nightmares.

"You know I wouldn't do that, Jaycy." He continued to pet her hair, quiet and calm. A few minutes passed, and he added to it. "Not even for Dawn."

"Oh, love," she sighed out, "… didn't…" Her arms curled around either side of him, contracting and clinging. "Couldn't help it." Her face found his chest yet again and she whispered. "Sorry, sorry." It might have been an apology the betrayal by her subconscious or she might have lapsed into a fresh wave of remorse for the destruction of her dearest advisor.

"Do you want me to take you to Pslyder?" After another few minutes passed full of his hushes and altogether unnaturally paternal ministrations.

"N… no." A deep breath in, a slow exhale out by the redhead. "No." The withdrawal was as emotional as it was physical. Arms loosed from their grip around his midsection and she shifted, intending to scoot completely off his lap. "No, no." The braid swept across her back in the gentler rejection of his offer. "I… need to walk."

He didn't let her go. He held her tight. "I'm sorry." He gripped her tight. "I'm sorry...." He held her close, and tender but with unrelenting need to have her against him. His hand slipped to her hip, and before she'd know what happened, his tail had blossomed out of sight and the stinger went straight into one of those cheeks Dawn would kill him for saying were quite shapely and just right. The toxin was especially effective on anything that wasn't Skid or another kind of biological apex predator weapon, and both darkness and paralysis came before her body could register the pain of the sting.

She fell as limp in his arms as she began the night, eyelids falling shut without the least bit of protest or, well, any other reaction.

[PslyderFTA]

Psly strode into their bedroom – and almost into the leaving Skid. The Nightmare had brought the redhead home after removing ruined leathers and cleaning her of any residual innards. Amber-slitted eyes took in his too-still wife, garbed in a t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one of the few he still owned and then the monster. Silently, he jerked his head toward the door and stalked to the hallway, opening a hatch to allow a short ladder to drop. He quickly climbed. Skid, having nothing better to do, followed him.

The upper doorway opened, leading out into the cool night air atop the roof. Denim-clad and inwardly seething, Psly moved to the center and stretched, inhumanly so, forming the humanoid-draconic "normal" form he'd been reborn with. It took less concentration than the others.

The Nightmare, clothes cleaner than clean (as much as Jaycy herself was, now) meandered out lazily a moment or two later. "Nice place."

"Thank you." In the privacy of their home, Psly gave up all pretense of sounding like a complete hick. Turning, he settled himself for the worst, and asked the question that had plagued him for the past hour. "What happened?"

"You know she's been having nightmares?" Skid looked around, maybe sat on something like a patch of shingles that didn’t seem close to collapse with all those claw marks rent on them. He was just being generally curious.

"I know. Nothing I've done seems to help, and I didn't feel right barging in to see what had her so rattled." He meant mind-to-mind, of course.

"Well, I helped." Skid looked back at the door with his singular eye. "For now. She's getting worse. She needs this over with sooner rather than later." He turned back to Pslyder. "She's started hallucinating."

"She did." He took a seat of sorts himself, propping his body on the thick length of tail. He then folded his scaled arms. The shocking bit of pink on the left forearm lined up nearly perfectly to the matching scar over his sternum. "Is that why her leathers are gone?"

"They were covered in blood." Skid explained plainly. "It wouldn't do to have them cleaned; it was Arlen's."

" . . . " Psly remained silent for an uncomfortable stretch of time, before speaking. "Frag." It almost, but not quite, summed the situation up perfectly.

Quite." It was very good, for the lack of time he had to formulate it. "He touched her when she wasn't looking."

"How bad?" Psly knew. He already knew, from past experiences. But the question couldn't hang silent.

"No chance." The monster deadpanned.

Joints creaked as he flexed fingers, curling talons into fists. He knew too little about the 'side business', but he knew side business in general. Arlen had been the heart, the mind, while others were ... various working limbs. Nothing about this boded well, at all. "She'll blame herself."

"Obviously." One too-long leg kicked up over the other. "You need to hang back from her unless she comes to you." Maybe blindsided, maybe not. "She didn't want me to bring her here. To you. She's afraid of something." He waved his hand at Psly to indicate that he was, indeed, a part of the something.

"Hard to do that. Don't keep much shielded." But he knew that. Previous experience, yadda yadda. Long time ago, in a reality far, far away. "I'd better get her something to eat, for when she wakes up. Get the feeling she might not want to do things herself that way for a while."

"No, I don't imagine she will." Skid stood up, then looked hesitant. "I.. Have something that might help."

" . . . " He wasn't sure how to feel about that. They were already in the 'owe' column with the Nightmare, but even here, that was something not to be spoken aloud. A just-so nod sufficed.

"Follow me, then." Into Psly’s own house, led by the Nightmare to the kitchen. "I need a container. Something with a lid. Something you'd keep liquid in."

Psly followed, accepting for the moment Skid’s lead through his own domain. "Plastic, glass, stone, or metal?" He had all of the above, somewhere around the kitchen.

"Glass would be best, with the tightest seal you have."

Reaching into the refrigerator, Psly pulled out the remnants of an old bottle of wine they'd not gotten around to finishing. About half a glass of murky red alcohol gurgled into the drain, before he rinsed, sniffed, and rinsed the bottle again. Holding that out with the cork. "This work?"

"It may as well." He took it, and the tip of his tail opened just barely enough to clamp tight over the mouth of the bottle. He hopped backwards up onto the island, and let his tail drape back over his front to hang down and not let the bottle hit the floor. Something liquidy dribbled into the bottle, and just kept going. Like milking a snake's fangs. He fiddled with the cork while he waited.

It was a rather flat look he gave to the Nightmare during the process. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it's for; all he would have had to do was look at his wife upstairs. "How much did you shoot her with to put her out for tonight?"

"I'd say less than ten milligrams actually made it into her." The bottle was about a tenth of the way full when he stopped, and corked it. "Just put a little in something she drinks or eats. Nothing hotter than a hundred twenty degrees. It can vaporize and then you'll both hit the floor. A full ten milligrams should put her out a full eight hours. More than twenty could put her in a coma. More than thirty will kill her, easily. Keep it somewhere safe and," he had been about to hand it off when he paused, "give me your word that once this is done with, you'll throw the bottle, open, with whatever's left of it, into the sea."

"Will that destroy it?" Psly hadn't held out a hand to take it yet.

"It'll dilute it enough for that not to matter. And it'll keep it from aerosolizing. You might wanna fly it out over the open water first, though."

"I'd rather air-bomb it into a volcano, if it's all the same." But Psly finally still took the bottle. "Getting a bit tired of people walking around with drek that's lethal to me. Should be used to it by now. I'll make it happen."

"I'm lethal to lots of people." Skid shrugged. "I'm just not a dick about it." He slid off the island, and started to meander out. "Take good care of her, Pslyder. Even if she doesn't want you around, she needs you around." He knew that, of course, but it never hurt to repeat it. "Oh, one more thing." He stuck his head out from around a corner. "If you're gonna drink my stuff, at least telll me afterwards so I can replace it before I have a ****ty day." He began to meander again.

"Hold up." He set the bottle on the counter, and fished for something.

The monster paused.

He held out, of all things, a phone. "Digits. Unless you've got a better way for me to tell you." Implacable expression. "Not saying it'll happen again, but you know how it is."

"Ah." He dug around in his small pouch, and pulled out a commlink. A rather saucy looking Redneck's AI imprint blinked to life, and numbers zipped and flashed across her eyes as the systems communicated. Pslyder would have the numerical code necessary to call the comm, and Skid's comm could reach Psly's phone. "I do." Did they just have a bonding moment over these two women that wanted to disembowel one another?

Could be. "Good deal. I'll make sure she gets her sleep. Will she remember, when she wakes up?"

"She'll remember being with me, and things'll get fuzzy from there. She'll remember Arlen, though, for sure. Might be a little blasé about the situation until the grogginess wears off, though. Might be the best time to talk her through anything you need to."

"Good to know. And Skid?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." It wasn’t a word he said often. Or without great import.

"You're welcome." Both the rarity and gravity in the phrase is mutual. He turned, then, and made his way off the property. He had some cleanup to do, and an incredibly long night ahead of him, little did he know.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

Sunday, Aug 24, afternoon.

Minus the inevitable need to relieve herself, Jaycy hadn't moved from the bed since Skid had brought her, paralyzed, home. She'd refused food the first day, turning over and burying her face in the thick pillow that dominated her side. Today, however, was a new day and she found herself in the kitchen, perched on a stool at the island and drinking from a mug of steaming tea laden with cream. The shaking of her hand was almost imperceptible. Her eyes remained a bit glazed as she concentrated on a far-off idea, lost in some past or future.

Times like this were tricky, even with the best of intentions. He'd been watchful of her, the shifts in mood and activity. Leaning against the doorframe, he coughed politely. It was a small courtesy, a common one for a house with a pair of armed and justifiably paranoid people.

A small courtesy that was largely unneeded with a woman who could not only smell his arrival but feel it in both heart and soul, but a courtesy practiced on both ends nonetheless. Long familiarity with his unique energy had attuned her to him and her body thrummed with his nearness. "Mmm, good morning." Her voice was soft and lacked much of the hearty bite her normal tones conveyed. "Want some tea? Or coffee?" Carefully, ever so much so, she set the mug down on the island and scooted around to face him on the stool.

"Some of that wouldn't upset me." He nodded at the mug. "Bit less cream, though." Moving into the kitchen, he kept his voice calm, but couldn't totally eradicate any trace of heightened concern. This whole situation was 'fragged all around', as one of his former comrades in Seattle would've put it.

Legs lengthened as feet disengaged from the rungs that ringed the stool and provided a resting place so to prevent dangling and she eased off her perch. She gave him a tiny smile, a crooked little whisper of upturned lips and reached out to sweep fingertips over his skin lightly as they passed on their different trajectories. That was all she wanted, all she needed, just the merest touch of him. She moved toward the stove, turning the knob to set the fire alight and warm the water. "There's a job, a short one." Tremors in her voice and she peered out the window, but she had resolved to see this discussion through.

"For both of us?" He'd been peeking in, catching a few glimpses of all the things keeping her awake at night, but hadn't quite gotten to the most recent events. His interest piqued, he plucked a banana or two from the hanger on the counter.

"Aye, both of us. He…" She stopped short, choking back a bitter sob, then took a deep breath to make another attempt at speech. "Aye. Both of us. It seems straightforward; two … beings … are kidnapping girl children in Bryony. There have been three, all from…" The redhead paused, brows knitting, "… high-level families. In their very beds." A mug already sat near the stove, sign of advance preparation on Jaycy's part, and she opened a tea bag before dropping it lightly into the empty vessel. Still she didn't quite look his way, but rather fidgeted with the stove's knob idly, or wiped the counter with a towel … any action she could think of.

He reached through the link, first. A tendril of emotion no more or less complex than 'I know'. The physical reaching happened a moment later, when he set the bananas down uneaten and held out his hand.

She nearly crumbled. Lip quivered with the need to bawl but she merely dug fingers into the countertop, inhaling slow and steady. The kettle whistled, beginning low and swiftly rising in octave until it was shrill to her ear. She quickly turned off the heat and grasped the handle, pouring the steaming water into the waiting mug. It wasn't that she was avoiding his comfort, honestly. It was the practicality of if she left the kettle to its own devices it would continue to shriek and they would both suffer for it. Once the tea moistened and began seeping into the clearer liquid, she turned and allowed herself to take the offered hand, the necessary shelter. She walked forward with that hand in hers, releasing only when she was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck instead. Her face dropped, burying itself in the crook of his neck.

He didn't bother with platitudes. She knew enough of his memories to know he'd had his share of fallen comrades, and self-recriminations. Wrapping his arms around her gently, he remained quiet for a moment, letting her come to grips with the grief. Nothing was going to speed the process along, but showing sympathy and solidarity wasn't going to hurt the issue.

How far had they come as a pair that she didn't withdraw from his silent warmth but rather sank into it, giving herself time to shed necessary tears over a lost treasure without an added terror that her love would reject her for what she'd done. Her crying spell was moderately short-lived but robust, punctuated by an occasional heavy sniffle into his neck. Fingers wended through his hair as arms curved tighter, for once seeking his sympathy in her grief rather than fleeing from it. Finally, after long minutes, she lifted her head and shifted until her chin rested on his collarbone and her hands had drifted down his midsection to knead quietly at his back. Her final exhalation was quiet and perhaps slightly steadier than she'd begun.

A single kiss to the crown of her head, as his arms continued to provide shelter. "Any leads?" is what he said. 'I'm sorry.' is what he felt. They'd work through the pain and loss. Together.

"Me too," she whispered aloud, closing her eyes, swallowing, hold convulsing around his midsection. Slow tears dropped from cheeks onto him. "A few; there have been whispered rumors the girls are being used ritualistically, but no bodies have been found as of yet. Though…" she sighed, leaning back to allow a modicum of air between them without completely leaving his embrace; she merely wanted to look at him once more. "Not all rituals involve deaths." Her left shoulder lifted and dipped in a shrug. "All anyone knows is magic is heavily involved, and that's something we can use to follow. The mages in Bryony can detect the signature, but they're… well. Typical mages. Can't fight for hell."

"It figures. Okay, when do we start?" Soonest begun, soonest done, and doing a bit of good in the world might even soothe the ragged edges a bit.

"After you take me to bed and make love to me, please?" Her request - no, her plea - was soft and timid. While she didn't expect rejection, the act of overtly asking for him to engage in the intimacy was difficult and almost stuck in her throat. But, at the end of it all, she needed both to ask and to receive his agreement.

His only response was a smile, surprisingly tender, and a feel of acceptance flowing down the link.

(( Adapted from live play. <3 ))