Multiple Settings (Closed) Pain is temporary

[BittyBobcat]

Dia acknowledged everyone's entrances with a simple nod. She was more than a little surprised that Dr. Brooks introduced herself with her real name (or what seemed to be her real name, anyhow), but if it showed on her face then it was only through the rapid glance between the doctor and then back to her food. Dia wondered idly what exactly she was a doctor in (and whether she would be anything like any of the doctors she had met before. She hoped not), but the thought was lost when a voice spoke through the window.

She had watched them sign the contract, she knew the name that Nightowl's companion went by, and yet it had taken him introducing them for it to click.

Wings like a demon and teeth to match, eyes that shone yellow as the headlights of an oncoming car. Ghost stories told in the dark came flooding back to her. Everyone called them by a different name, attributed a different form -the winged blight, the phantom traitor, the asset seven. After their disappearance (their escape), there wasn't a single Guardian lacking another ability or tale to add to the growing the legend.

Dia very nearly choked. Her mind ran in circles, repeating the same line over and over. They'll know. The irrational idea of ripping her mask off came to mind (it was ripped from her old suit, they'll know), but she'd have no way to explain it, and the risk of the cloth being noticed was just as high as them recognizing her face.

She coughed quietly into her arm, forcing down her last bite of food. They wouldn't know if she gave no hints of it. They couldn't know if she was smart about it.

Still refusing to meet anyone's eyes, she raised her gaze from her plate. "I'm Whippoorwill." There was a slight, nervous waver in her voice that she detested. "And, um- yeah. Looking forward to working with all of you... and all that." Dia shifted awkwardly in her makeshift seat. She wasn't used to talking to people without the guidelines of rank. This was just too.. casual. The best comparison she had was whispering to her bunkmates in the middle of the night, and that consisted only of sharing stories and rumors- Nope, don't think about that. No time. "And, er- thank you for the food, Sir." She finished lamely with a nod toward NightOwl.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

Non Interactive Background That I'm Too Lazy To Put Into A Proper Post

~One Week Later~​

Yora has money now and it brings her an unprecedented amount of joy. She's never had this much money in her life, even after the life insurance payout when her parents were murdered.

She knows exactly what to do with it.

Over the course of the week, the most anyone saw of Yora was when she begged Night for coffee while carrying sheaves of paperwork and intermittently growling about legal incompetence over a phone she has precariously balanced on one shoulder. If that wasn't enough, three days in, the second floor of the tower was filled to the brim with boxes which Yora promptly disappeared into. The next time she emerged, she was hauling bags of soil and rocks to the third floor. Then the fish arrived. Why did she need fish?! All mysteries she refused to elaborate upon when asked. Much to Jet's horror, the next time he saw her at the end of the week, she led with her favorite favor-asking voice.

"Hey, Jeeeeeeeet~"

"Oh, dear gods. What?"

"If it's not too much trouble, could you pretty please spread this advertisement around your social circle? Maybe ask Chibi for me, too?"

Just barely audible, "oh thank gods it's something normal."

And that is how Yora became the creator and CEO of a multi-billion dollar cosmetics company in just under two weeks. It was so much easier to gain full U.S. citizenship when she could expedite the process with wads of money. Now why would Yora want to become a U.S. citizen? Obviously it is because she is a huge DC fan; specifically, a Batman fan. So, she's going to pull a Bruce Wayne. Let the scheming begin.

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna devoured her food with the grace and patience of a feral cat, and with the external demeanor of one too. She wasn’t quite glaring at the other occupants of the room, but she had a certain wary thousand yard stare. She finished with her food shortly before the lizard on this new team popped in through a window, and shortly after the woman with the strange green energy introduced herself as Dr. Yora Brooks, or Dr. Fae. She promptly placed the woman in the never trust category and shifted slightly into the corner of the counter so she could keep any eye on both the woman and the lizard who was now introduced as Seven, or Asset Seven by Nightowl, whoever that was.

They all mostly seemed to know each other which somewhat raised her hackles, although being fair she supposed she hadn’t exactly socialized with anyone else in the scene. It made some level of sense, if the doctor was the vigilante doc she seemed to be, that they would know each other. Normal people needed medical care when they got hurt, she just needed time and maybe food. All three of them had odd energy signatures, with a little bit of similarity but a lot of difference. For that matter the last member of the team also had an odd signature, but it was different from the others. She couldn’t decide if she was curious about the fact that someone else had a similar name to her. Asset Seven and Subject 7.13. If she wasn’t entirely certain that they were made by different people she would have wondered if they were related, but as it was it was just a coincidence.

Venna turned the part of her attention not focused on the Doctor and Seven towards the last of their teammates as she coughed quietly into her arm. She practically radiated nerves, to sight, sound, and scent. Apparently she was Whippoorwill and looking forward to working with everyone. Venna quietly questioned her judgement. Everything else aside, working with people was annoying and difficult. She glared around the room slightly and pulled up her hood when she realized she was due to speak. She retreated into the shadows of her hood, only her green cat eyes showing through. She swayed slightly as she started to speak with a slightly rumbly growl, “I am Subject 7.13. I am here for no-”

Her voice cut off as she curled in on herself slightly and put her hand on her torso. Her hood fell down she she did so, revealing perked up ears and messy hair. When she spoke again her voice was annoyed and distinctly grumpy, “Ughhh, I think my liver and kidney just had an acute failure.” She accompanied that statement by leaning further forward so as to not get any on her clothes and then vomiting a slightly worrying amount of blood. Already tilted forwards, she swayed slightly and then fell forward, only just managing to avoid collapsing into the puddle of blood. Instead she collapsed limply to the side of the puddle twitching slightly and with her ears tucked against her head. Her tail also flopped out of where she usually kept it tucked, trailing on the floor behind her and falling slightly into the blood.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

Yora watched the rest of her new coworkers as they introduced themselves, noting defensive postures in both Whippoorwill and 7.13. Flame, unsurprisingly, came in through the window. Honestly, they must be allergic to doors or something. Her musing was cut off when 7.13 announced organ failure and vomited blood everywhere. She jumped into action, momentary panic giving way to the calm that she had only achieved through pain, suffering, experience, and sleep deprivation.

"Night, please prepare to carry her to my place. Seven, pull up information about treating poisoning in cats. Summarize it for me," she ordered as she rolled 7.13 on her - their? not the time - side and began checking her over for any other injuries, hissing when her hand accidentally brushed some of the blood. She'd deal with it later. Actually...

"Night, grab a trash bag or two. We need to wrap her in it before transport."

Venna was slow to react, slow to think, and slow to move. She observed what was happening around her through a strange, distant, foggy lens. She heard someone approach as if she was hearing their steps through water and distantly saw and felt when Yora turned her over. She stared up at the other woman and at the green energy that seemed to be invisibly ever-present. Her poisoned brain caught up to her usual threat evaluation and finally classed Yora as a doctor, also known as one of the highest threats in her personal lexicon. Moving despite her poisoned exhaustion and delirium her head darted up, her teeth baring as they closed in on the doctor’s hand that was on her.

Her pantherine teeth stopped a hair’s-breadth away from the doctor, a stronger part of her instincts kicking in, the protector's habits she had embraced. This wasn’t the first time she had been badly injured and disoriented in her line of work and this person wasn’t an active threat. Her brain was caught in an odd deadlock, a part of her just seeing a doctor and wanting to react, while another part of her noted that the doctor’s hands were empty and thus far fairly gentle. It helped twofold that the doctor touched her blood, as a Project doctor would have known better, and the fact that she had already inadvertently harmed the other woman fueled her hesitation. So there she sat, still very poisoned and with her jaw stopped a heartbeat away from the arm of the doctor sitting over her.

“Shhhhh it’s ok. You’re safe here. We’re going to have to move you, ok? You’re doing such a good job hanging in there,” Yora murmured at 7.13, trying very hard not to show how much she did not want those teeth anywhere near her. Raising her voice to a normal volume, she asked Whippoorwill if she could please line the trash bags with baking powder, hoping to neutralize the acidity of 7.13’s blood before continuing soft platitudes. There wasn’t much she could do until they got to her shop.

Venna stared at the doctor above her and tried her best to think through the delirium. If she was slightly less poisoned, she would likely have been able to draw on the fact that they were on the same team, Yora had no reason to hurt her and it would also be very difficult for her to do so. Unfortunately, her analytical brain was not in fact working that well. Instead, three things made the decision for her. First was the thin trace of alarm in the other woman’s presence, which wasn’t something Venna liked to inspire outside of a fight. The second tied into that, the simple realization that this wasn’t a fight, she wasn’t necessarily in danger, and the doctor wasn’t necessarily a threat. The last factor was simpler, she didn’t have the energy to keep her head up and her jaw tensed, the poisoning still on the downswing for the moment. She collapsed back to the floor and mumbled out a gravelly whisper, “‘ll be fine. J’s need sm resrscs an time.”

“I know, sweetie. You did so well, throwing it all up. We’re just going to get some fluids in your system and flush out the rest of the toxins.”

Yora is actually very concerned about that second statement. There’s a lot of blood in a puddle on the floor, but the lack of food was like she hadn’t eaten at all, though there were chunks here and there that gave her hope. High metabolic rate, indicating 7.13 was processing - and hopefully getting rid of - the toxins exponentially faster than anyone she had ever treated. She really hoped this meant 7.13 wasn’t dying faster. When Night approaches with the trash bags, she snags one of his feathers and whips up a tracking charm. Tossing it to Whippoorwill, she told her how it works and turned to Seven for help getting to her place herself.

 

[ScatheAriiasqDrayceon]

Flame, as was apparently a common thing for them, was completely oblivious to Whipporwhill's current mental breakdown, too busy picking at their food and absently running their hand through Jet's feathers to notice. They were soft and silken, soothing to pet and even more so to preen.

They were in their own little world, absently paying attention to peoples' introductions. Jet supported their weight as they leaned (admittedly obnoxiously) against him, wings limp to their sides and tail swaying lazily back and forth. Or... it was.

The movement was interrupted when Jet stiffened under them, feathers sleeking down against their hands and prompting the informant to jerk away in surprise as he stood, just managing to hear the soft thump of a body hitting the ground over the avian's racing heart.

Yora's voice was ordering them to do something... cat allergies, right—shit.

S7.13 was on the ground in a pool of foul-smelling blood. They were curled in on themself, twitching—CAT ALLERGIES—After what felt like days but what was, in reality, a few moments, Flame shouted at the ceiling like it was muscle memory, fumbling with their phone a moment. "Acer! List hazards with feeding cats. All of them. Pull up the site you drew it from on my phone, too."

As Acer droned on, completely unaware of the severity of the situation, Flame skimmed ahead on... something that didn't quite look like a phone, nor did it really look like anything else. Kinda just a weird red/black box with a glass screen.

"So pretty much everything Jet uses in cooking ever," they interrupted, peeking up to find Jet gently—carefully wrapping Venna in black trash-bags (save, of course, their head) while also completely ignoring the sizzling of his skin when it came in contact with him. It sounded like it hurt... a lot. "Same strat for humans as animals."

Jet kept his wings carefully out of the liquid, the appendages spread above him to their full—terrifyingly long—length. Slipping his still-steaming hands under the plastic bags with a wince, Jet turned to Seven and Yora, his voice laced with nigh-unnoticeable guilt as he slipped back into NightOwl mode, voice dropping a few octaves and the tell-tale rasp returning. "I'll get her to your place—Seven, grab Yora and get in the air!"

He turned, unlatching the window and practically throwing the poor thing off its hinges. With a duck and a flare of his wings, he was in the air, unlike Flame, who all-but launched Yora out the window, letting the doctor free-fall as they snapped their wings open, needing quite a bit more inertia than Jet did to switch to a faster powered flight.

They caught the doctor again with a slight snarl toward the jolt in their muscles before they managed to get a good grip, following after Jet, albeit at a lower altitude.

 

[BittyBobcat]

After staring at Asset Seven out of the corner of her eye for an agonizing few seconds, Dia was almost relieved when 7.13 began her introduction. Of course, it didn't last long.

Whippoorwill's demeanor changed as if at the flip of a switch. Her powers blinked on in a second, and the stark white blobs in her vision told her that 7.13 was, unfortunately, correct (how she'd diagnosed herself so easily was a mystery for later). Dia stepped off the counter to try and help, but some instinct screamed at her not to touch the puddle of blood surrounding 7.13. Hesitation slowed her as she opened her mouth to warn everyone (what if they asked how she knew?), and -judging by Dr. Brooks pained hiss- they'd figured it out by the time she had gathered the courage to do so. A prickle of guilt stabbed into her chest at that -no time to dwell, though.

The thought of baking powder came to her seconds before the Doctor had told her (whether that was a result of her abilities or chemical know-how, she wasn't quite sure), but Whippoorwill nodded to her orders nonetheless and threw the cabinet doors open. The box of baking powder was sloppily ripped open with a makeshift spout toward the top. Dia dumped a fair amount into the trashbags that NightOwl was wrapping 7.13 in before he took off (although, judging by the way his arms sizzled, it wasn't enough).

At Yora's explanation of the tracking charm, Whippoorwill nodded once again with a quick "Yes, Comman-" Not that one. Especially not with Seven here. "Ma'am- Yes, Ma'am." Shaking off her slip up, she quickly poured a thin line of powder surrounding the pool of blood on the floor and -as Seven chucked Dr. Brooks out a window- Dia clutched the box shut and sprinted to the stairs.

Since she was probably the only one who could tell ahead of time what weird allergies 7.13 would have, she needed to get to the infirmary quickly (Not to mention the baking powder necessary to neutralize the blood). It drove her legs faster and as her lungs burned. Just a few floors more and I can use the tracking charm. She thought between panted breaths.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

As soon as they landed, Yora burst into her shop and led the way to her mini emergency room. She left Jet with getting 7.13 situated as she got herself and her equipment ready. She wanted to scream when she stuck 7.13 with the IV and it kept. Popping. OUT. She was ultimately forced to tape it down with bandages and medical tape. At least if she was healing at such a rate as to eject the IV needle like a bottle rocket, she probably was not going to die. Small blessings. Yora had still added medication to the IV that would aid in reversing the liver and kidney failure, but she still had to do a toxicology screening, so quietly apologising to 7.13, she once again stabbed her with a needle.

A few minutes later, Yora found very little evidence to suggest that there had been toxic substances in 7.13 and was forced to remove the IV before she overdosed on what would have normally been a normal dose of normal life saving medicine. Gods these kids.

Finally, Dia had reached the top of the stairs. Heart still racing, she clutched the tracking charm tight and shut her eyes. Her shoes scraped against the ground -nearly sending her head over heels- but she lifted her feet at the last second and was promptly launched forward like slingshot ammo. Only a few seconds later, she slammed into a wall of feathers.

That’s gonna leave a mark, she thought with a wince. Dia stumbled to her feet, mumbling apologies so quickly that the words ran together and were nearly incomprehensible. The panicked rant ended with a breathless, “Baking powder,” as she awkwardly shoved the box into the closest pair of empty hands.

Glancing up when Jet let out a quiet “oof,” Yora finished explaining to 7.13 about how she would like for her to allow her to take blood samples and establish a baseline for her medical health, but that she understood if 7.13 was too uncomfortable for that and it was her choice either way before walking over to Whippoorwill and guiding her to another examination table.

“How are your shoulders feeling? Is there any pain anywhere?”

“Uh-” Well, they did hurt. Dia shrugged them experimentally, holding back another wince when they ached. “No.”

Yora narrowed her eyes, “I understand if you are not comfortable with me, but if you are injured or are in any pain or distress, I need to know before it escalates to something...less than optimal.”

“I’m fine,” She blurted, a flicker of annoyance in her tone. “They’re just a few bruises.”

“Alright. How long has it been since you’ve slept? Are you still hungry? Do you have enough blankets and pillows? Thank you for bringing the baking powder. Do you need any bathing supplies? You don’t have to call me “Ma’am,” Yora or Dr. Brooks works,” Yora began her fussing, directing some of her questions to both of the people on her tables, not letting up at all, flitting between both of them, piling on travel size soaps and toothbrushes, etc.

It was… more than Dia was used to. A lot more. Sure, she’d answered her fair share of rapid-fire questions before (mostly during debriefings), but they were never about her. And then there was the sheer amount of stuff. People didn’t give her things. At least not usually.

She felt guilty at lying to nearly half of her questions, but she answered without thought. Dia was fine. Admittedly, her idea of fine was a far cry from what most seemed to think it was, but she was breathing. She could walk. She wasn’t bleeding out. Sure, she hadn’t slept in… well, she wasn’t entirely sure at this point, so what? It was fine.

 

[ScatheAriiasqDrayceon]

Jet wasn't expecting what happened. He was checking Seven over for injuries (he heard that hiss, thank you very much) before being abruptly rammed by a force which he thought was just the wind. There was a soft snap as one of his feathers broke, and an 'oof', but after straightening and assisting Dia back into some semblance of being upright, he was pretty fine... after plucking the feather because it kinda felt like it was bleeding. He was also ignoring the burns on his arms, and the fact that Seven was trying to shove him over to Yora's sink.

Of course, as Yora began her usual shtick, Jet huffed.

Never in his life did he expect he'd be a calm parent to Yora's fussing.

"Yora, Love. If she says she's fine, then she's fine." He reached over the table and grabbed the doctor by the scruff of her shirt, ears flicking in mild annoyance. "I'm sure they get the point."

Seven snorted from beside him, muttering a quick "You're one to talk" before having to duck under a light cuff from the tallest of the group.

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna was honestly mostly shut-down as she was moved. If she had really pushed it she could probably have still fought like this, but it was definitely much nicer to just lay back mostly unconscious and let her body actually focus on healing. She observed mostly neutrally and from a certain internal distance as she was wrapped up and picked up. A part of her was briefly tempted to lash out at the confinement, but the combination of her choice to trust, and a lesson she learned the hard way to be careful about lashing out at those confining, stayed her claws. She held onto consciousness as they crossed the city with a certain vicious determination, reluctant to be truly conscious around people she didn’t particularly trust.

By the time they arrived at their destination her body was already mostly done patching up damage that would have killed a less resilient person several times over. It was easier when it was all squishy soft stuff that didn’t necessarily have to be fully replaced. Regrowing bits, especially when bones were involved, were far more annoying. She remained mostly limp as she was transferred to a medical area in an oddly homey sort of laboratory. Doctor Brooks struggled to get a needle into her veins, which didn’t surprise Venna. What did surprise her was the concern with which the doctor operated, going so far as to apologize when she went to draw samples.

She was almost grateful when the Doctor stepped away, too much to be confused about while her body was finishing it’s work. Her other teammate that had been at dinner had gotten injured following them, perhaps unsurprisingly to arrive so soon after a pair of flyers. She half paid attention to her surroundings, listening as the doctor checked the other girl over and they talked. Her body had finished dealing with the poison, but apparently either the poison had done more damage than she realized, or she had gotten less resources from the technically poisonous food than she would have thought. She curled in on herself slightly as she took inventory of what she felt. The pain and dysfunction from the poisoning was pretty much entirely gone as far as she could tell, and from experience she knew it wouldn’t come back.

The problem was the other thing she felt. She could physically Feel the command spike kicking in as her body ran low on resources to fight it. She still wondered at the nature of it sometimes. She still remembered when she still received the treatment and how even now how even when her body ran out of resources it would still fix itself, but not from this. As soon as she ran out of physical resources her body would start degrading, her nerves failing first. She had discovered the hard way that it couldn’t quite kill her, but it was a very close thing and only possible because of her healing. Plus once it had gotten that far it was extremely difficult to get food. She had only survived that time because she had managed to drag herself to an an electrical outlet and stick a claw in. She was distracted from her remembering by the symptoms beginning to emerge. She had had a headache for a bit already that was slowly building into a migraine, but she could now also feel the shivers starting to emerge along with the odd tingles and pins and needles.

She peered around the room with a certain reluctant annoyance. Ideally she would like to handle this herself, but leaving and getting food would be weird right now, and there wasn’t any food around. She could find an electrical outlet, but honestly that seemed like a conversation she also didn’t want to have. Giving up she quietly called out, “Hey I kinda really need some food. My body didn’t usefully process as much of the food from before as I would like, and used up a bit too much." She left unsaid that she had also been running pretty low before. She could keep going off of catching rats here and there, but she needed to eat like a hibernating bear ideally, and it was rare she could catch enough for that.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

When Jet picked her up, Yora was very tempted to let her pettiness kick in, but a glance at his arms and she felt the magic kick in as she was compelled to force thoughts of revenge away in favor of treating his burns. Dammit. 7.13 was also starting to display symptoms of dehydration and low blood sugar. She also asked for food. Double dammit.

Ok, Yora. Prioritize. She couldn't cook, but she couldn't send Jet. Seven it is.

"Seven, can you go through my fridge and warm up some leftover sesame chicken please?" It was more of a command than a question, but oh well she mentally shrugged as she fished an apple juice box out of the mini fridge she kept near the blood bag fridge. She punched a straw in and handed it over to 7.13. Turning to Whippoorwill, she gently asked that she please get 7.13 another juicebox when her current on emptied. Whippoorwill was also free to have any of the other types of juice in the fridge if she wanted, but 7.13 could only have apple juice.

Unable to do more for 7.13, Yora turned her fussing on Jet, dragging his sorry feathery ass over to the chemical hazards sink to wash his arms before applying disinfectant and burn cream and wrapping the whole mess. She handed over a small tin of the cream with instructions on the bottom.

"You know the drill, Babe. Make me repeat The Incident and I will find a way to kill you," she reminded him before pausing in contemplation and turning to address 7.13 and Whippoorwill. "That reminds me. I signed the Hippocratic Oath. If you are injured and I know about it, I will be magically compelled to treat you. I cannot harm you in any way unrelated to healing you. Please do not try to resist getting the medical care you need. I can't make you tell me when you're hurt and I can't make you sit down and let me help you, but I will be magically compelled to try and that never ends pleasantly for anyone. I am not threatening you. I just want you to be aware that if there is something negatively affecting your health, I won't be able to stop myself from pestering you about it."

 

[BittyBobcat]

Juice? Dia hadn't had juice since she was six (according to the Guardians, it was the age at which she outgrew the need for food-motivators). For one confusing second, she wondered what exactly she'd done to deserve the reward, before it occurred to her that Yora wasn't a commander -at least, not in the Guardian sense- and it probably wasn't intended that way. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but... it would be rude to refuse a gift, right?

"Er, thanks..." Dia slid off the examination table and glanced across the fridge warily. A quick activation of her powers didn't set off any warning bells, so -with a unsure slowness- she grabbed one of the purple boxes (grape?) and popped the straw in.

She stood quietly beside 7.13 and sipped her drink as Dr. Brooks fussed over Night's burns (something that didn't bode well for any of Dia's future wounds). The commander- Yora (she'd have to get used to that) soon began to explain the reasoning for her reaction -which Dia didn't like the sound of at all. It was the worst sort of paradox; If she spoke up, she'd use resources she didn't need. If she didn't, she'd be wasting Dr. Brook's time. Currently she was just a bit tired and this was the level of attention she got, she couldn't imagine what she would do if she were actually injured (although, the idea of simply staying out of the doctor's sight and dealing with it herself came to mind).

Dia set her unfinished juice-box down on the table (suddenly, it seemed to taste a bit sour). "I'll- uh, keep that in mind..." She shifted back and forth on her heels and eyed the exit. "But if you're- um, finished with my whole check-up... thing, then I was planning on heading out for..." A yawn that she tried, and failed, to hold back broke her sentence, "...For patrol." Dia rubbed her eyes through her blindfold. Exhaustion tugged at their lids, but she'd already missed her last patrol (How many people got hurt while she was busy at the meeting?), she couldn't miss another.

 

[ScatheAriiasqDrayceon]

Jet flinched away from the water and made an odd noise in the back of his throat, feathers fluffing. There was a brief moment when it looked like he was about to yank away, but by then, the water was gone and his burns were being wrapped. "Yes, yes, neither of us want a repeat of that."

Seven snickered, bringing the sesame chicken over to 7.13. Their tail flicked back and forth in a rhythmic motion, hissing across the floor like a snake. To those with sharp ears, they might hear a light ping as Flame shot to attention.

"Ooooh, hello, a client."

Jet frowned.

"Are you two sure about doing that? We haven't gotten the cameras they were supposed to send in, yet. Then we have to get you hooked into the system."

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna observed with a rare more neutral version of her usual resting bitch face as the doctor responded to her request, shortly after followed by another one of her teammate’s on the doctors orders. Her body Hurt, and more than that the nature of the nerve pain made it harder to ignore the litany of pain her glitchy body always bore. Partial nerve and muscular failure was a unique sort of pain, and not in a good way, especially when it was more or less impossible for it to fully fail and give out due to her unique biology. She had an unfathomably strong pain tolerance at this point in her existence by necessity, but there were limits. It wasn’t helping that she was honestly confused. These people were weird, especially the doctor. A doctor acting nice just felt wrong, and she wasn’t particularly certain she trusted any of the rest of them either, although her current pain levels might have played into it a touch.

The doctor approached her with some manner of beverage. She had seen it in the hands of mostly children in her time in the cities, but she wasn’t actually entirely certain what it was. Judging from the conversation her twitching ears easily picked up even now, it was apple juice, which was apparently important. She assumed it was related to the whole poisoning thing, but honestly she suspected that wasn’t going to stop her. If she didn’t overload herself with the poisonous stuff while running low on resources again she would probably be fine. She would probably have to do it out of sight of the doctor, and wasn’t that a strange thought. Avoiding someone’s attention because they might fuss or stop her from doing something that was actually technically bad.

She observed as the doctor went to work on the feathery member of their team with more neutrality that she had ever regarded a doctor with. The member of their team she regarded as least threatening, Whippoorwill she believed, came to stand next to her on the doctor’s request. It was around then when the doctor again entered a much more easily quantifiable category with her questions, and in turn Venna’s stare turned into the kind of baleful glare that might cause an old woman to sign the cross and throw the cat out with the bathwater. Right afterward to make matters even more questionable Whippoorwill postured to leave and patrol, while looking only more or less equipped to stand.

She sat there thinking behind her glare. Her body wasn’t currently making coherent non-scream based thought easy, but as she absorbed the juice it was slightly lessening, and as she took the offered chicken to eat she expected it would shortly be quieted again. She wasn’t sure what to do, how to do it, what to say, or what to think. She hunched over the chicken and devoured it with a feral cat’s manner, half-listening to the conversation between Jet and Seven. She was conflicted, but her dislike of doctors was winning out. In the end however what made the choice was practical strategy. There wasn’t really a practical way to use this information against her, and if they were truly going to work as a team, this was an issue that they might need to know.

She rolled off the counter to her feet with a certain feline grace, only wincing slightly as her now recovering body shook off the effects. Her tail lashed behind her, the only sign of the anxiety beyond her irritable front. Meanwhile the ears atop her head were pinned forward and her posture was defensive, her hackled raised and her spine posturing to it’s full height. It made an odd sight, especially as her posture put her thin clothes at the right angle to reveal her gaunt figure and subtly inhuman skeleton. When she spoke her gaze was harsh and evaluating, while her voice was still rough from remnants of pain, “I’ll answer this question at least, solely because if we are to work as a team it could be a relevant issue. I have a degenerative neuromuscular disease that pops up when my body is running on empty and can’t fight it anymore. Nasty little fucker was included as a control spike to keep me close to whoever had the medication to control it, but I heal too well for that. It can’t kill me, I just need a lot of food.” For a moment she seemed to consider whether to bother saying the next part, but the same brain for strategic military teamwork kicked in and she turned her attention to Whippoorwill with an irked hiss at having to bother. She bared her teeth in an odd sideways smile, baring the full extent of her pantherine fangs, and spoke with an even scratchier rasp, “I could take you down right now with both arms tied behind my back, even with the lingering affects. Don’t be a fool and get even more people hurt, and if you want to insist, my first statement was not a bluff. You don’t seem like the type to want to fight a sick person, but even if you do I don’t doubt my estimation.”

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

Yora would like everyone to know that she is tired. She would also like everyone to know that she is not stupid and can tell when everyone else is tired, too. So let it be known that she was very ready to put her foot down and order everyone on bed rest using the team doctor card she had been wielding all night.

For now, she'd have the most luck with the two people she would need to work with the most over the next week. She could pull the medical baseline card (hopefully) and make them rest and then maybe she could rest.

7.13 promptly dashed all her hopes, dreams, and thoughts of rest. Yora would like everyone to know that she only let one tear roll down her cheek accompanied by one pitiful sniffle before composing herself and immediately opening 7.13's new file (grimoire) and writing down word-for-word what 7.13 said before switching to Whippoorwill's and noting that she might have to watch her closely for sleep deprivation.

Turning to Whippoorwill, she narrowed her eyes before pointing to her bedroom and demanding sternly but not unkindly, "No fighting in my office. Bed. Rest. Now. If you get hurt in the field because you were too tired to properly function, you will be out of the field recovering for much longer than a night. Pick. One night or one week. If you want a bath, there's a master bath connected to the bedroom I just pointed you to. Feel free to use any of the stuff in there and the stuff I gave you."

She didn't wait to see what Whippoorwill would do, trusting that she would pick the logical option and if she didn't that Jet would guilt her into it with his disappointed dad look, instead turning to 7.13.

"Your explanation has just saved me weeks of work. Thank you for trusting us with this knowledge. There are a couple of long-term and short-term options for dealing with this so that you aren't as close to death all the time as you are now, but they are entirely up to what you are willing to tolerate. I also imagine this leaves you in a considerable amount of pain, so I can offer you painkillers tailored to your body if you want them. Either way, I'd like your permission to take some blood samples, an x-ray, maybe a tissue sample if you're up for it. I will explain everything I'm doing if that would make you more comfortable. If you don't want to then I will just ask that you cooperate while I do a normal checkup. That entails checking your ears, blood pressure, oxygen levels, heart rate, lungs, and temperature. If you want to wait, I'll be doing everyone else's checkup tomorrow."

 

[BittyBobcat]

A control spike. Dia blinked. She had her fair share of experiences with contingency measures -hell, she had been a contingency measure from time to time. And, while she certainly wasn't well acquainted with what was normal, she had half the mind to know that biological control spikes weren't. Which meant something, she sure of it, but her thoughts were running like honey and the exact connection eluded her. Really, over all this time Dia had been panicking about her own past being found out, it hadn't occurred to her to wonder about everyone else's.

That, however, was something she would have to do later. For the time being, Dia was forced to instead think about the fact that apparently her lack of sleep, was not only obvious, but bad enough to threaten to fight her over it. She took a nervous step back. Dueling her new teammate over whether or not she went on patrol certainly wouldn't leave the best first impression. Still, she couldn't stop a slight scowl at 7.13's comments. Sure, her head was fogging with exhaustion, but both hands tied behind her back? That was a bit of a stretch (wasn't it?).

She had just opened her mouth to protest (although, she hadn't yet thought of how) when Dr. Brooks gave her orders. Instantly, Dia shut it with a guarded glance in Yora's direction. Provisional commander, that was the rank she had given her. They almost always had the final say.

Some small part of Dia's mind reminded her that her commander, The Commander, would never in a million years order her to rest.

Well the Commander wasn't here. And she didn't listen to them anymore. And Yora was a doctor. And...

Dia was tired.

The breath she had taken to argue left her with a gusty sigh. Her tension-filled shoulders dropped -not out of trust or relaxation, but the oddly exhausting realization that there was little point in being on her toes when she would be sleeping just a few rooms away from these people. Any illusions of wakefullness that she had managed to keep to this point melted away in an instant. "Yes ma'am." If it occurred to Dia that Dr. Brooks had asked her mere minutes ago not to call her ma'am, then she didn't seek to correct it.

With one last departing yawn, she turned and meandered down the hall and into her bedroom. Her legs, as if they had been clued in to the chance at rest, moved without her intervention. And, though Dia had the presence to pull the door shut behind her, she didn't have enough to notice that it was still cracked ever so slightly open. She briefly considered changing into something more comfortable or getting clean as Dr. Brooks had suggested, but the bed was so close and there really wasn't any point in delaying it anymore, was there?

She collapsed on top of it's covers and for one single moment Dia hoped that her sleep would be dreamless before she slipped into unconsciousness.

It wasn't (it never was).

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna relaxed almost imperceptibly, still whip-cord tense, but no longer on a fighters knife-edge. She regarded the doctor with a practiced neutrality as she said much the same thing Venna had with a far softer touch. She was either a woman of unfathomable care and patience or she had an ulterior motive, time would tell. For now she was simply irritable, restless and still distinctly hungry. Unfortunately to do anything she would have to deal with and engage with the people around her. For a moment she was briefly tempted to go with Whippoorwill’s method but more firmly and a lot faster. Going headfirst through a window again sounded like a more enticing prospect than conversation.

With only the slightest grumpy snarl she set aside the more appealing option as Whippoorwill went off to sleep. Instead she turned her attention back to the doctor and chose to actually engage with her earlier response. Her words were interesting, if in part inapplicable. She wasn’t particularly close to death now, and if she ate about one of her teammates worth of food she would be fine for a while. She didn’t intend to eat a teammate of course, she knew that that was generally considered a faux pas among humans. Painkillers actually somewhat intrigued her. She knew it was practically speaking scientifically impossible, but she also rather suspected that this doctor wasn’t all that reliable on the laws of nature. Ultimately though it was largely irrelevant and her voice was fairly blunt when she spoke, “I’m not interested in painkillers. My body has what I believe is referred to as high level chronic pain. I have no interest in another chemical leash. As far as samples and examinations,” here she hesitated for a marked moment before continuing, “feed me extensively and I don’t care what you do in that regard.”

 

[ScatheAriiasqDrayceon]

Jet and Seven, thoroughly exhausted for one reason or another—Jet for panic and Flame just from sleep deprivation—made their way to the corner of the room, settling down against the wall. Seven made themself at home under Jet's left wing, breathing slowing almost as soon as they settled. They drew their wings around them with the lengthy hiss of scales on wood, hiding their still-masked-face under one of the appendages and—quite promptly—passing out.

Jet took a bit longer, head swiveled backward like a bird to rest in his mantle-feathers. The only sign he was awake was the ever-constant twisting and flicking of his ears. A while after Dia went to sleep and Yora finished talking to 7.13, however, they leaned back and stopped moving, his breathing slowing almost to a worrying degree. A light torpor that let him get by without burning too much energy of his own while he slept.

It was kind of cute.

But the fact that his neck looked broken was also horrifying.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

Yora did an admirable job ignoring all of the horrible connotations of a 'chemical leash' instead focusing on the free reign she now had to fully update 7.13's medical file to her own satisfaction. So, she nodded in understanding and proceeded to look up a restaurant that was still open and did take-out while simultaneously mentally running through everything she was very sure 7.13 couldn't eat.

...maybe she should just try and make something herself. It would taste like vomit, but at least she could use a smaller amount of ingredients while still not poisoning 7.13. Then again, vomit. It's a deterrent.

"Do you care what the food tastes like?"

She decided in the same moment to just do both and hope for the best as she ordered six takeout boxes full of chicken fried rice without onions or eggs while moving to her kitchen and looking up recipes for food that is safe for cats. She has never been more grateful that Baba is a void gremlin that doesn't need to eat and can't be poisoned. If she had had to keep Baba from getting into some of the items on this list, they'd both be long dead by now.

While Yora cooked, humming to herself and waiting for the knock on her door that signaled more food, Baba, who had recognized a fellow not-quite-cat being, triumphantly marched up to 7.13 with the biggest (the size of one of those tiny water bottles) rat she could find and dropped it in her lap.

Yora, oblivious to the machinations of her cat, plated what she had decided to dub "chicken chili - cat style" and left it on the table with a spoon. She was honestly grateful she had all of the ingredients for it, if a little bemused most of them came from her medical supplies. Who knew cats needed so many supplements? The rice arrived soon after she finished checking up on everyone asleep, so Yora gestured for 7.13 to sit down and eat as much as she wanted, explaining, "Even though the chili smells amazing, it will taste like vomit. It's magically enhanced to be exponentially more nutritious. If you want to just eat the rice, that's fine, too," before sitting down opposite her with a mug of pre-prepared tea.

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna observed Yora’s response with a practiced neutrality that allowed only a sliver of feline curiosity through her expression. She asked a question about the food in the same beat that she seemed to make her own choice and move to work. Whether or not she was trustworthy, Yora had the same kind of endlessly busy mind as some of the scientists on the ship. They weren’t exactly better than the rest of the scientists, but they tended to be the ones who weren’t really deliberately cruel, and didn’t really get involved in the actively nasty aspects. They tended to be the scientists who were simply focused on studying, learning and sating their curiosity. For a moment her mind skirted to the one who had wrote the blueprint for her biology, the way they thought, and the way they came to an end.

She was pulled from contemplation of old memories by the arrival of a gift from a cat-adjacent creature. She could clearly see that they existed in a rather sideways sort of way, and were entirely composed of energy, but she couldn’t exactly judge other catlike things for being strange. Besides, the creature had brought her a nice fresh rat. She picked up the not quite dead snack between two suddenly popped claws. As she picked it up the doctor put some food on the table and called out an invitation and explanation.

Venna approached with a somewhat strange soft expression, caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement, before it returned to a military blankness with the blunt speed of a headsman's axe. Before she approached the other food she ate her snack with a brief flash and snap of pantherine fangs, accompanied by a very brief squeak. That business done she took to the rest of the food with alacrity, only briefly pausing to utter a quiet aside, “Taste is for fun snacks like that, resource load is what’s actually important for food.” Her piece concluded she tucked in, devouring her the food before her with the speed of a starving jackal and the precision of a trained soldier.

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

7.13's statement, accompanied by the intense devouring of all offerings, cemented Yora's opinion that 7.13 deserved all the soft fluffy things in life.

"I have only known 7.13 and Whippoorwill for three hours, but if anything happens to them retribution will be swift and appropriate" she murmured to Baba in French as she scooped her up for cuddles. "Where do you think 7.13 would be comfortable sleeping?"

Baba wanted 7.13 to stay with her in the cat bed, but a glance confirmed it to be too small so they compromised by building a nest of blankets on top of the fridge and setting Baba's bed next to it. Yora left Baba with 7.13 as company while she checked on everyone else, sighing when she realized Baba had tracked blood everywhere again. Resolving to clean it in the morning, she checked back in with 7.13, explaining that she was welcome to sleep anywhere she wanted, but Baba thought she might like a nest on top of the fridge. She'll be asleep on the couch if she needed anything.

With that, Yora finally, finally settled down for some much desired sleep.

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna’s ears twitched lightly atop her head as she heard Yora speak. It was muttered but with her hearing that didn’t necessarily matter. If she was sharp and it was quiet she could hear a bullet click against another as a gun was loaded on the other side of a building. Her ears had been blown out a lot, but they never stayed that way, often even while they were still being damaged. She recognized her own name and the name of one of the other team-mates, but the rest was, french, if she remembered her lessons right. The words spoken pinged a part of her training covering danger terms in a variety of common languages, but that training hadn’t been completed, and she was pretty sure they weren’t in a threatening formation.

Venna mostly watched as Yora bustled about with the other cat-adjacent creature in her arms. She moved around, clearly communicating with the being in her arms. After a little while she checked back in on Venna, with a short explanation of sleeping arrangements. She gave an appreciative murmur as her host wandered off to sleep, but Venna had no intention of sleeping even within this building. She had slept in the big tower because it was large and empty, clearly not well guarded or mapped, and difficult to actually find her in.

As everyone sought rest around her she crept out of of the building with a stealth that rather clearly belied her training. Almost subconsciously she left almost no trace of her presence, and even as she actively moved through the building very little but direct line of sight betrayed her presence. She left via the same avenue she had entered, tracking the scent traces of the earlier events. Her senses remained tuned to the soft sleeping sounds of the people she left behind as she scaled a nearby wall with deceptive ease and tucked herself into the corner of a nearby rooftop, curled up neatly.

It was cold enough to be quite uncomfortable, but unlike humans that wasn’t actually a problem. It wasn’t even really that much of a drain on her resources until it got well below freezing. She never really truly slept, but she curled into herself in that quiet corner, surrounded only by the sounds of the city and beneath that the quiet sounds of the people within it. She would get the rest she needed, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be ready to fight anyone that got within around thirty feet of her with even a whisper of presence.

For all her poise though as she balanced on the edge of restful zoning out, the day’s events caught up with her. The injury that would have been lethal several dozen times over to most other people didn’t bother her, she had been used to that by a few months after she was born. All these new people and all these new connections though, they set her off-balance. Despite herself her tail flicked up into her left hand, and she gently and rhythmically rubbed it with her thumb. It was a habit that people had tried very hard to break her out of, but it still gave her comfort and a little bit of defiant pride. Lying there curled up with her tail in her palm she finally let herself rest, even if she still didn’t let her guard down an inch.

 

[ScatheAriiasqDrayceon]

Jet woke up early.

He was mildly disoriented, the feeling of something hard and sharp digging into his face. Again. He fell asleep with his mask on.

Reaching up, he unclipped the strap in the back, pulling it off carefully with the arm that wasn't numb, now-clearer vision allowing him to take in his surroundings. It seemed he was in Yora's shop, Seven wrapped all around the left side of his body and out like a light. They'd probably be back up in a little bit.

In any case, though, he was hungry and he was fairly sure Yora was asleep, so he carefully peeled off Seven and stood up, footsteps quiet against the floor. Thus started his quest of rooting through the fridge to find something edible, because he left his phone at home and wasn't in the mood to fly across town for takeout. Just the thought of it made his slightly-sore-from-being-squished-against-a-wall wings ache.

 

[BittyBobcat]

It sat in her hand as comfortably as she would hold a cup or pen. Slightly heavy. Perhaps not in its own right, but from the weight of its conscious -her conscious, the one she wasn't supposed to have (wouldn't this all be so much easier if she had tore it out of herself when she had the chance? If she had just listened and complied?). The trigger rested under her finger. Patient.

The room loomed around her. Four walls, plain and grey, and a door that stared back at her with unsaid accusations. No windows. No bed. Just that same slot that opened from time to time, marking the days with miniscule portions of food that failed to calm her roaring stomach (enough to live, nothing more).

She was here too, as She had been in those too-long hours. Black hair and a fierce grin that visited her every night these past few months. Not as she remembered Her, but as she wished she could. Warm and smiling, even in the suddenly snow-wreathed world in which they stood.

She loved snow; it reminded Her of Christmas. That's what she liked about Her; they could never take those scraps of the outside that She handed out as if She still had something of Her own to share freely. She never let them go, not even at the end.

"Dia." Her voice said, but Her lips didn't move. "That's it, don't forget it. Dia." It bounced around Dia's skull like what She would've called a pinball (She always promised they'd get the chance to play it one day), echoing like a gunshot.

That's what it was, wasn't it? A gunshot.

Dia felt no pain, but her heart (Her heart?) pulsed like she had just run a mile. Her body fell sideways and painted the world red. Red snow. Red hands. Red-

"No," This one, she knew because this time she could feel her lips moving, came from her own mouth. "I didn't- That wasn't-"

The door stared back at her. It knew. It hadn't seen nor heard, but she had, and it knew.

Red. A waterfall of red, relentless and rising. It flooded the room, a raging ocean intent on drowning her in her crimes. A thousand unsaid accusations (who was left to ask them?). "No, no-" Dia's words fell as am empty appeal to the unhearing sea that filled her mouth with the taste of iron and sharpness. Red as it was, her vision flashed white. Screaming to her. Danger, danger, danger. But there were no weaknesses to exploit, no strengths to avoid, only that same incessant danger, danger, danger.

"No-" She jolted awake with the half-screamed word dying in her throat. Her breath came in panicked lungfuls of air -air, not blood- and her skin was sticky with sweat. Fabric -not the cold bite of metal- met her fingertips as she -arms shaking- propped herself up on her elbows to see the room around her. Four plain walls (beige, not grey), a door (with no slot), and -most importantly- a window. And outside, she saw, there was no snow.

Still, Dia could feel a rising fear in her chest (was she talking in her sleep? Had the others heard?). She blinked and her eyes went milky white beneath her mask (she always activated her powers for a few moments when she woke up; a vigilant agent was a surviving one).

 

[Chronically Caustic Cat]

Yora's sleep was blessedly deep and dreamless. Nothing could stir her from this sleep. Nothing.

Well, nothing except for the tantalizing scent of someone cooking breakfast. Mmmm...hashbrowns. Maybe if she gets up now, she can go back to sleep later? Probably not, but she can contemplate how it would theoretically feel to be able to lie to herself.

Thus fortified, Yora rolled off the couch and caterpillared her way to the kitchen, nudging Jet's leg with her face when she got there to demand food like a needy cat. Speaking of needy cats, Baba was sitting on the counter, also harassing Jet for food. Tch. Competition.

 

[Technicolor Cat]

Venna dreamed vicious dreams, as was her usual. Violence, agony and rage were commonplace anchors of her dream. She had grown so used to dreaming in shattered memories that she had begun to dream within dreams, watching herself suffer in memorized patterns from an almost external perspective. She had lived a short but very busy life, and much of it was engraved into her brain. Lately she had begun to notice another figure, a strange thing that seemed to stand in observation much the same way she did.

At first the being was indistinct, but it had grown more and more clear. It remained a deeply strange creature, and she didn’t quite recognize it until she happened to see her own reflection in a pond one morning shortly after waking up. The next time she saw the figure she knew it for what it was, a reflection of sorts. It was a strange destroyed figure, but as her dreams changed she came to understand it. She would dream of a simple void adjacent to her normal dreams, as if on the other side of a window, while she stood across from the figure.

It was her yes, but not quite, rather it was her as if she did not heal. Her but with her flesh a catastrophically destroyed mess. Sometime she made a game in her dreams of finding all the little things that had harmed her and remembering when it had occurred. There was the acid scars from when they had run the suite of chemical reaction tests, there, overlaid as if they had occurred impossibly separately to the same flesh, were the scars from when they had tested her ability to replace removed chunks of flesh. Some were easier than others. The figure’s missing left eye from when they had tested her ability to replace complex internal systems? That was an experience she was unlikely to forget. The myriad bullet scars marking her chest and limbs? Those were less memorable, countless marks of her life before and after the ship.

The missing hair and chunks of skull accompanied by burns, that she recognized, from one of the first times she had gone into a fire to help people. Perhaps the oddest part was that the figure was clearly still alive, staring right back at her with it’s singular cloudy right eye. For that matter, while the figure’s limbs were mutilated, they were still attached, so there were clearly limitations to the replication. The figure seemed to possess a complete archive of all her many many healed injuries, writ large across a body that was just barely enough in one piece. Tonight as she dreamed she sat there staring at the figure, her own haunting dopple-ganger, and wondered what it meant. Why was this here in her head. What part of her was it, and if she continued to accumulate wounds, would its ability to stay in one piece ever fade? If it did, what in the world would happen to her.

She awoke when for the first time it moved, shifting and reaching out in a strange marionette sort of motion with it’s left hand. She watched as the exposed, destroyed flesh and muscle around it’s arm and shoulder shifted, and she awoke. She sat up in her little roof-top corner, hand still on her tail, and heart beating an odd rhythm. It was still in the darkest hours of night, the city around her still thumping along even now. She had slept little, but it was enough, and she set to work instead. She hunted her fill along the rooftops, catching rats and birds as she moved. She kept an ear out for people in danger, but it was mostly quiet. The worst was a couple muggers that clearly weren’t especially violent, just desperate. They backed off when she simply made her presence known.
The one spot of excitement was a bank robbery, and even then it was far less exciting than it sounded. It was just a small twenty-four hour bank, and a desperate man with a gun he barely knew how to use that he couldn’t bring himself to point directly at the bankers. That too was easily resolved, albeit uncomfortably. When she lithely dropped in she moved a little too quietly and scared the shit out of him. He screamed and shot her once, before immediately dropping the gun and breaking down into tears and apologies. She awkwardly stood there in her hoody and ratty jeans, tucking her hands into her pockets and hunching into her hood, ignoring the slight blood stain. It was a small gun with a low caliber bullet that went right through, so given how well her hunting had gone she would be fine in a few minutes.

She awkwardly patted him and muttered something about it being fine as some bank-tellers came out and kicked the gun away. They seemed to also be feeling awkward and confused. She vaguely waved towards the gunshot wound and said something vague about it being a non-issue, so they should just figure out the whole attempted bank robber thing amongst themselves. They appeared to take it as some kind heroic mercy, and honestly she just used that as a distraction to disappear. Way too much emotion and messiness. By the time she was done with that it was still pre-dawn by a fair bit, and she decided to make her way back to her team.

She took her time and hunted a bit more, not in much of a hurry to return. By the time she made it back she could smell hashbrowns and hear the murmur of conversation within. She stepped back in, moving through the building with the graceful unobtrusiveness of the hunt and patrol. She tracked her team to the kitchen by scent and stepped in, observing that they seemed to be somewhat haphazardly splattered across the kitchen organizationally speaking. One of their team-mates wasn’t here, but from what she could tell with her twitching ears they were simply in another room resting still. She leaned against the wall next to the door, and murmured a quiet, “Good Morning.”

She had of course entirely forgotten by this point about the bullet wound, but at this point besides a new hole in her hoody near the shoulder and some odd acidic wear combined with a strange stain, there was hardly anything to notice. Just another raggedy hole through which too pale skin peeked.