[Memory] Wrong Place, Worse Timing

Az, please.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Rhys Valentin
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Race: Wick
Location: Vienda
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Fri Sep 07, 2018 4:18 pm

Roalis 51, 2716
The Dives | Mid-Afternoon
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"No. Stop. I'm a trained officer of the Seventen, I think I can—gods." Aziza was persistent, and he was desperate not to appear weak in front of the witch, uncomfortable by her repeated offer of assistance, of kindness he didn't think her kind would deign to offer someone such as himself, especially in uniform as he was. He was dizzy, and his blue eyes drifted downward to the seeping, red stain that was ruining his uniform, stubbornly unwilling to admit that he'd been more than just slightly injured.

She stepped into his personal space, their auras suddenly and shockingly pressed together as her hands reached for him and it took all of Rhys' training to not smack them away or flex his field in self-defense. While the witch could have definitely been more invasive with her parting of bloodied fabric and push of her fingers, she just granted him a cursory glance at his wounds before she began to prepare to cast.

The mona moved—not at his will but at the will of this Mugrobi woman.

He wanted so desperately to object but also was terrified of causing her to brail that he shut his mouth with an exhale through his grit teeth, able to pick out the syllables of her words and feel the shifting of Living mona even if perhaps she was unaware of exactly what she was doing with the same kind of academic precision the Brunnhold graduate was. He'd found himself in need of magical healing more than once in his life, even as a student, and the word "reckless" had been stuck on his person almost as often as the words "towhead" and "glamour" had been used in his presence.

"Clock the Circle, I said—oh." He shut his mouth, grunting in pain when the mona began to acquiesce to the woman's requests. Wide-eyed, he listened. Wide-eyed he felt that not only did her magic work just fine, but it was working on him, a galdor wearing a uniform universally disliked among the lower races as oppressors and perpetuators of oppression. He watched her face and heard her Monite and realized that somewhere in the middle, he'd truly stopped processing what was happening, so great was the disconnect between what he'd learned was acceptable and right and what was happening in an alley while the shouts of a riot unfolded in the Dives around them.

The sting lessened to a more tolerable level of pain and while he couldn't tell exactly how well the raked lines across his chest had coagulated because of how stained his uniform already was, Rhys realized he didn't doubt the success of her casting, not judging by the metallic tang in his mouth and the sensation of Living mona ebbing away from their presence as if someone had tugged away a warm blanket and left them to stand in the cold ... only it was Roalis and he was sweating.

The blond Seventen had been taught to fear the magic of the lesser race called wicks. They were wild, undisciplined, disgusting in their use of the same graceful Monite that graced the lips of his people, the proper wielders of magic, the galdori. Now, he didn't know what to think or how to feel and while he knew he should thank Aziza for what had just transpired between them, the young Valentin found the words hesitant on his tongue for several moments longer than was at all polite,

She swayed on her feet and when he raised a hand to offer to steady her, she waved him off, to which he mumbled without hiding his shock,

"Thank you."

The Mugrobi woman dismissed his authority as quickly as she'd dismissed much of what he'd had to say thus far, turning and striking the lead toward the other end of the alley. Rhys scowled, squinting past her even as he reached to gingerly adjust his uniform, his sash, and the blood-soaked fabric of his green-dyed coat. They'd barely staggered their way out of the oven-like confines between two brick buildings when a voice rang out above the din of other rioting, snapping his weary attention just a few seconds too late,

"Stand down!" He hissed, straightening to his full height with a wince, "Stand down—she's with me."

The other galdor glanced up, having already begun to tighten the restraints he'd so very quickly whipped out from his belt and wrapped around the witch's wrists. He was another patrol officer and Rhys' blue eyes caught the flash of only two snaps to his four, "I've got orders to arrest wicks without writs, Sergeant—"

"Special Enforcement Sergeant Valentin, Investigative Division." The tall blond said slowly and with all the authority a wounded man could muster, stepping closer with a bolstering of his field and reaching out to still the other officer's hand from finishing his restraint of the Mugrobi woman. He let his gaze flick toward Aziza as if to warn her to keep from struggling, "And she's my informant. I'm escorting her to safety. Now, would you like to continue to blow her cover in front of everyone or would you mind letting me do my job, Ensign?"

"Aw, shit, Sergeant. I'm sorry, look—this riot—the heat—" The older man was obviously both shocked and cowed by the younger galdor's unashamed display of authority, quickly reaching to set the woman free, though he didn't apologize to her so much as Rhys, "—you're injured, sir."

"I'm aware." He grunted, wanting nothing more than to crawl his way home and forget the violence that sweltered in the summer heat and strained his sanity, more now than ever. What was he even doing? He could have handed the woman off and been done with her, but he wasn't an asshole. He was just so clocking confused, "Where are the blockades? We've been getting out of the center of things near the market and a backlash incident separated me from my partner, Ensign Potiphar of the Investigative Division. What streets have checkpoints?"

The other man blinked, not surprised that an Inspector wouldn't know the Patrol Division's most frequent streets to blockade. He listed them all in military-esque fashion, unwittingly giving Rhys a list of streets to avoid while he chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from swaying on his feet, nauseated and tired, sweating and bloodied, dizzy and frustrated.

"Thank you, sir. Keep an eye out for my partner and ... there is a wounded chroven on the loose on Aster Street, one block that way—" He pointed to where the creature had attacked him, "I'm not sure if there are any survivors, but you need to get Services Division down there as quickly as possible."

"Yessir." The Ensign's eyes widened and he looked back to Aziza for a moment, hints of suspicion still in his glance, only to be unable to question her further with the urgency of Rhys' orders. Nodding his head, he turned and rushed toward where other Seventen were gathered in order to begin gesturing and speaking quickly about what had happened.

Rhys let a hand curl with surprising gentleness around the witch's bicep, almost whispering, "Now we know what streets we won't be taking. Come on. I'll get you as far as I can before I have to start giving up my rank to do so. No more of this clocking ‘after you business’ unless you want someone else in a cleaner uniform snatching you again. I can't be that charmingly convincing all the clocking time, just most of it."

He offered a lopsided grin, free hand wiping his forehead, uncaring if it was even dirty any more. Making their way through streets that weren't blockaded by the Seventen meant that they'd probably run into more wicks, more fighting. The young Valentin hoped they could find the quieter paths, but he doubted that anything would be so simple.

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Aziza
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Thu Oct 25, 2018 7:17 pm

Roalis 51, 2718
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The wick had rushed off simply because she couldn't deal with having a conversation about what she'd just done. It smacked of awkwardness, the galdor unlikely to be truly grateful for what she'd done given what she was. She didn't want to deal with discomfort and false gratitude and so instead, she got herself into trouble. If she'd done it on purpose, she couldn't have set things any better for them to get even. She'd helped him and now he'd have to help her and the awkwardness could all be forgotten about as debts were instantly repaid.

Hulali had provided her with the perfect opportunity. It just sucked because it really, really wasn't comfortable and she wasn't entirely certain that Rhys would actually get her out of trouble. But surely, after what she'd just done for him, he wouldn't decide to leave her stuck in shit just because she was a wick, right? Oh she really hoped he wasn't going to trot off in the opposite direction like a typical golly who only cared about himself.

Still she didn't fully believe it until he told the officer to stand down, the young woman sighing with relief even though she wasn't out of hot water yet. The fact that he was willing to stand up for her had to count for something although she wasn't entirely sure how much clout he had. In truth, she didn't really know who he was and if he wasn't high enough up then maybe she'd chosen the wrong golly to get tangled up with. He had that voice of authority though and so she was hopeful that she wasn't about to be dragged off to be stuck in some holding pen with a load of other wicks. Her mother wouldn't have a clue about what had happened and if she heard about the riot then she'd assume that the worst had happened.

Thankfully, it seemed that she'd backed the right golly even though he threw out the word 'informant'. It made her shudder, the mere prospect of working with the Seventen in that way horrifying her.

An' y'ent helpin' a brigk now? Turnin' on yer own kind to help 'im? a treacherous inner voice whispered. Inwardly, she shook her head. No, that had been different. She'd been right in the thick of things, had chosen to prevent more harm. It hadn't been a betrayal. Informants told the Seventen things even when there wasn't immediate danger. It... wasn't the same.

It wasn't true and he'd struck the right note it seemed because the man who was arresting her seemed apologetic, panicked, ready to unbind the Mug as quickly as possible. She was glad to be free, stepping away from the Seventen, rubbing at her wrists with a scowl. It was funny really. The moment she was marked as an upstanding citizen instead of a criminal, it was as if she didn't exist. It was like Aziza wasn't here at all. Probably better than being crushed into the dirt like others she'd seen but it'd be nice if she was seen as a person with feelings. Someone who deserved an apology. Not that that was ever going to happen.

The spoke tried to appear as timid and non-threatening as possible, hoping that if she just played the part of good, co-operative informant - that really was shudder worthy - then she'd get out of this situation. Perhaps she could just inch away, slink off while everyone was distracted and make her own way. The mention of blockades made her pause though. She had to be careful then, work out a route that went around them. Unfortunately, she didn't know Vienda all that well, certainly not well enough to guarantee her continued freedom.

Aziza chewed on the inside of her cheek, waiting impatiently and trying to resist the urge to shift from foot to foot so she didn't look too suspicious while she waited for all of this nonsense to be out of the way. She just wanted to get out of here as soon as wickly possible. All these gollies were making her edgy.

When they finally finished their exchange and the other officer ran off, she was quite relieved, visibly relaxing although she gave a little jump as he took her bicep.

"Ye mean, you know what streets not ta take," she pointed out. "I 'spose I know summav them but I dint know this city. 'Spect you know every pina alley an' side street. Th' land now... tha's my special'ty but tha' ent th' point. Ye don't hafta get yer erse handed to ye on my account though."

A hand went over her head, tucking away little twists of hair that had grown particularly frizzy and escaped her many braids. She considered him quietly for a few moments before nodding to herself. "If ye point me in th' right direction then I can probably get out okay. Besides, if yer too busy setting me right, ye ent going to any golly healer, are ye?" she commented, although she gestured for him to move forward. This time, he was definitely taking the lead. Although if they were going to be avoiding all of his sort, perhaps she'd have to save his ass again. Wicks weren't likely to pass up the chance to go after a Seventen who was already injured. He was an easy target.

"I ent got the know-how t'heal ye, Rhys. Well, it ent quite as easy as tha'. I can do a lot but then ye'd probably have to carry me. A whole load of vroo like tha's like to leave me on the ground. Ent no lie. But if ye want to walk around without any of yer lot around, I might hafta or yer like to get attacked. Ye're too good to let slip past. It's tha' or ye hafta be right clever about how ye do this. If I was ye, I'd point me and we go careful. Not so careful as to show it 'cos then they'll know we're a fair target. Wassit to be, Special Sergeant or whatever?" she asked, brows pulled together as she frowned uncertainly.

She wasn't entirely sure how to proceed but based on what that other Seventen had said and from what little she knew, the route they had to take right now wasn't a good one. The high-pitched scream that she'd heard from that direction didn't bode well, especially given how abruptly it had cut off.

"I'd have my field held close if I was ye. 'Spect ye'll need it."
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Rhys Valentin
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Fri Nov 02, 2018 1:53 pm

Roalis 51, 2716
The Dives | Mid-Afternoon
"Yes. The streets we're not taking. Together. You and I." Rhys insisted, already moving toward a smaller side street, ducking under a collapsed awning and stepping over several smashed vendor carts. They could risk the bazaar, but the tall blond wasn't sure of what to expect when it came to heading out of the city that way, through the Dives. Perhaps if they could get into Uptown instead, the Mugrobi witch would have an easier chance slipping past the city gates and he'd be closer to the hospital, which was probably where he should've been going at this point anyway.

Bleeding slowed, he'd bled enough to be light-headed, already fatigued from the rigors of keeping up with the riot, from overextending himself in his position of authority and as a Seventen. The lower races were effectively fooled, assuming their galdori superiors were a fount of endless magic and power. They weren't. Rhys wasn't. He was clocking exhausted, but also perhaps beyond terrified now.

"I know the Dives, yes. But I'm not a patrol officer, so I don't know everything. I'm intelligence. Investigation. Totally different. Mostly." He talked to keep his mind from wandering, not releasing the dark-skinned woman's arm as quickly as he should have, perhaps only because her support kept him from wobbling and allowed him to feel as though he was at least pretending to keep her safe.

A handful of people huddled in the alleyway they found themselves in, crouched in fear and exhaustion among the refuse. Some of them were bloodied and dirty. All of them eyed his uniform with disgust and fear. Rhys watched them warily, quite sure that if Aziza felt like it, she could have requested the assistance of those who were still able-bodied in the crowd and he would have been dead in a matter of minutes,

"There's a medical tent on Coalash and Verity." He was telling them as he passed, pointing over his shoulder, the bleeding Seventen making sure these strangers knew where there was help before he passed them by, "The Services Division aren't issuing any arrests. You'd be safe there."

Willingly turning his back on them all as he made his way deeper into the alley, he sighed, a noise of pain through his teeth, "I'll be alright. I'm not bleeding out and nothing's broken. I know this uniform makes me a godsbedamned target—"

His words were interrupted by a scream from the end of the alley they were so carefully headed towards. Frustration and fear clawed their way roughly up Rhys' spine like the chrove claws had raked his chest, the sting sharpening his senses and reminding him that there was still fighting going on in all directions. He released the Mugrobi witch and let his hands move to his belt, once again removing his baton from it's place and waiting a moment as if he anticipated more sound.

He didn't hear a thing, and so, pressing himself up against one wall, he picked his way over garbage and puddles of stagnant water somehow left untouched in the shaded alley by the Dry Season's thirst. His back against the building pressed all of the sweat against his spine and he began to slowly move to peer out of their relative isolation and into the wider street. The first way he looked appeared clear: more overturned carts, a smashed, smoldering business, and a confused, tangled kenser attempting to free its abandoned reigns from some debris. Tilting his head and gathering his field with a hiss, he saw the mangled, bleeding corpses of two Seventen, their sashes marking them as patrol officers. The may have been on foot, given the proximity to a check point, and as he glanced beyond them, a handful folks had gathered around something he couldn't see.

There was the sound of jeering and laughter, taunting tones of voice that clued in the blond Sergeant the ruffians who were masquerading as rioters still had one of their victims alive. Was it another officer? A galdor? Someone else? He couldn't see and he was too far to make sense of their mixed fields—wicks, mostly, but perhaps one of the pair of fighters in the middle of their circle, the one being beat at the moment, was delicate enough to be a galdor. They were somewhere between the Dives proper and Uptown by now, unfortunately, and so this was as likely a place to run into one of his kind as someone else. On the other side of the circle, two rioters held children and egged on the rest of the audience. The kenser and the overturned cart were probably theirs—

This was just violence for sport. No one here had an agenda in the chaos.

He chewed his cheek, careful not to lean out too far, desperate not to be seen until he could figure out what he was capable of.

In his current state?

Probably not much, but he wasn't about to let anything continue.

"Hey look!"

"We missed one!"

Perhaps he'd leaned too far, snaps shining in the sun, blond and hard to hide with his height. Rhys growled, pushing up from the wall he'd left behind a smear of his own blood against as he stepped into the street, field taut despite the weariness he could at least hide behind a well-trained blank expression,

"I'd tell you to stay here, but you probably won't listen. Just ... watch yourself." That was the young Valentin's only warning, stepping into the street and summoning from his deep well of bravado and endurance, honed by years of stupidity and poor personal choices. He put on the same air of authority and raised his voice, ignoring the stares at his blood-stained coat and the sniggers of confidence from the two fellows closest to him, "If you'd just let everyone go, I won't have to arrest anyone. Yeah?"

"Nah."

"Don't look like you're in much shape to arrest anyone, let alone stop us."

"That's for clockin' sure."

He wasn't, really, but he had enough in him to get by. Perceptive magic use for combat was tricky, especially against more than one opponent. Static conversationalists and physical conversationalists had the advantage of being able to manipulate the world around them, of being able to set shit on fire or tear the ground out from underneath their opponents with a few quick, clipped phrases of Monite. Rhys was left with messing with the senses, with the mind, and so often spent his time focused on one opponent instead of multiple. But spells could be modified and the mona could be implored, and that's exactly what the tall Sergeant did, his careful, firm spell one meant to reach the senses of every target within view, distorting their vision and warping their depth perception. He knew the spell well, utilized it often, and as he carefully asked to expand his reach farther than normal, the two men who'd been sizing him up began to approach while children whimpered and one more thug snatched up the galdor woman they'd been harassing.

The first signs of his success were the approaching men, a broad-shouldered wick and a short, round human, and how their walk began to wobble. The Seventen repeated the spell more than once, building the force of it as he began to approach, readying his baton and his body for combat even as he found the end of his spell and someone in the small crowd of thugs fell over.
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Aziza
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Mon Dec 24, 2018 7:56 pm

Roalis 51, 2716
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She didn't know much about this golly she'd allied herself with but she could say that he was one resilient bastard. Plenty of other people would have just collapsed and given up or maybe it would have made sense for him to cry to his fellow Seventen, get treatment for his wounds and maybe gotten to safety rather than... what? Was he doing this purely for her? Was he really choosing to be utterly selfless at a time like this? It was admirable. Stupid perhaps, but admirable. Even now, the authority hung around him as he barrelled on, leaving her to follow in his wake because frankly she didn't have a choice, not when he had a hold on her.

The young woman snorted as he talked geography, shaking her head.

"Ye may not know ev'rythin' but ye know more'n me, ye chen?" she pointed out with a soft laugh. He seemed pretty street smart for a golly and while she wasn't entirely sure what investigation meant in this case, she felt that he was well capable of whatever work it was. "It ent like patrol? So ye... what? Look into things? Tha's what in-vest-i-gation is, ent it? Questions and tha'?" she questioned, wondering what that meant for a Seventen. When the witch had dealings with the Anaxi police force, she associated them with being on the street, keeping the peace, stopping trouble that they saw but also picking on those who frankly didn't deserve it.

It had never occurred to the young woman that there could be more to what the Seventen did. It made sense of course. She knew that they bore different insignia and it couldn't all be to do with rank but... she'd never really thought about it before. Was she curious? Maybe a little but this didn't seem like either the time or the place.

When they passed others who'd been caught in the violence and were obviously worse for wear. If the situation had been less dire, less dangerous then perhaps she would have stopped to see if she could tend to them but she was already somewhat drained from her efforts with Rhys and besides, if she was to stop and help then he'd be left vulnerable. At least they were together, safety in numbers was definitely better and they also weren't in uniform. The woman was pleased that he pointed the way towards help, finding herself smiling warmly at him. However, the smile faltered, expression twisting in confusion.

"If... if there's help at tha' place ye told 'em about then... why ent ye going there? Ye need help, Rhys, ye chen? Ye're... well, ye'll need more healin' an' wha' I did ent gonna hold, ye chen? Golly vroo is wha' ye want an' more'n like ye'd get it at tha' tent," Aziza said slowly, her puzzlement evident. Was there a point where selflessness bordered on stupidity? Yes, this was it but... she'd been there, hadn't she? But by Hulali, this was frustrating.

"Ye ent bleedin' out yet but I ent no golly, I ent got yer kind of learnin'. I ent been taught to deal wi' th' like o' this. Wounds like those an' under stress. I haven't done th' like o' tha' before. Not tha' deep, not tha' bad. Th' mona listened but... it won't-"

The scream stilled her tongue, brown eyes wide as her head swivelled towards the sound. At the same time, the Seventen finally released her, the woman realising with horror that he was going to do something bloody stupid.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!

One look and anyone with ill intent would know that he was ripe for the killing, even if he was a golly, even if there would be a penalty. They'd have to be caught to be punished and what was one wick or human in all of these? Who was she to stop him though? A scream meant fear, possibly someone under threat and so... could they abandon someone in potentially dire need?

The woman stood still, conflicted, expressive face reflecting her inner turmoil quite clearly. Rhys wasn't paying attention to her though, busy spying on the troubled scene until they noticed him, earning a wince from the Mugrobi.

"Oh Hulali's Mercy, no! Ye can't, Rhys, ye-"

But he was gone, stepping into the firing line while she could only look on in horror, hands clasped to her mouth.

Words, placating words, perhaps holding a small amount of threat - threat of arrest - hollow threat spewing from the man's mouth were enough to make her close her eyes, quickly considering options before she came to a decision.

Aziza stepped into the firing line too, feeling the mona move around the Sergeant, seeing those in front of him wobble. She had a chance to take it all in, the children, the bloody and dirtied galdori woman, the thuggish brutes and this lone Seventen standing as if he had authority here. The girl knew that she couldn't take these men, didn't have a suitable weapon and her magic... she didn't think she had enough magic in her for a fight. But something smaller and less direct...

Her eyes flitted from the children to the kenser, wondering which would be the better bet. She'd seen thugs pause or even crumple over a crying child before, even when it wasn't their own. Crying children had a way of softening hearts... but not always. It wasn't guaranteed. The kenser though... Her own wasn't the smartest of creatures in some ways and usually quiet but any animal could be spooked and while it wasn't a horse, it still could do a lot of damage. From this distance though and considering its bonds...

The Mugrobi was going to do something stupid too.

Gathering her field and cursing herself for never properly applying herself, the young woman strode forward, dodging Rhys with a turn of her torso and hip as she passed him. Her words in Monite were quick, perhaps too casual for a galdor but more serious than was typical of a wick 'chat' and as she closed the physical space between herself and the thugs, she also closed the distance between herself and the animal. The spell she used was one of fire, sparks but directed, focused, alighting on the material that bound the kenser, repeating words to strengthen it, make mere sparks wax in their strength so that flame bloomed on the tethers. Metal couldn't be burned through in such a way, not quickly but the material... it went up, orange tongues of flame licking at the creature's hide.

There was a screech from the kenser, a mix of terror and panic and pain, eyes rolling madly in its head as it thrashed with greater violence than it had before. It kicked and pulled and the fire weakened the ties that bound it, hair singed, the short tail lighting up too. It pulled free, ready to run straight for them while the young woman sprinted forwards, drunk with magic but also high on adrenaline, aiming for the galdor woman. If she could just get her out of the way of the animal, roll free herself from its mad dash then perhaps...

The wicks and humans who were there, either for the show or to cause harm couldn't help but look at the kenser, not while it was screaming and quite literally going up in flames.
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Rhys Valentin
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 2:01 pm

Roalis 51, 2716
The Dives | Mid-Afternoon
"Sort of. Investigative Seventen look into capital crimes: murder and drug trafficking, but we also police other Seventen ... galdori and lower races both." Hoarsely whispered conversation wasn't unwelcome as they made their way hurriedly through the back alleys and side streets, attempting to sneak their way past all the chaos and toward more relative safety. He couldn't help but chuckle at her insistence that he seek medical attention, Rhys aware that yes, yes he should. He winced at her warnings, watching the concern in her face with a sidelong glance, opening his mouth to comment on it all, to commit to seeking healing after helping her first, but there was, of course, another fucking obstacle in their way.

He was aware of how lacking in intimidation he was right now, bloodied and haggard, dirty and tired. But the mona still moved to his will, still deigned him worthy of being heard, and he trusted in that right now, desperately so, for the sake of children and innocents during a riot everyone should have seen coming months before. As always.

He took in the rough men that approached him and watched as their senses were warped by his Perceptive spell, as the mona invaded their synapses and wreaked havoc where there had once been reliable order. The force of his repeated spell struck harder than he'd intended, bowling one of the ne'er do wells over into a twitching, groaning mess on the cobblestones while the other two staggered, weakened and dizzy and suddenly very disoriented. He shifted his grip on his baton and ignored the sharp pain across the claw marks carved through his uniform and into the skin of his chest, the runoff from his casting heightening his senses to almost an unbearable level of feeling.

Rhys hissed and prepared to engage the two men who still attempted stupidly to approach, motion out of the corner of his eye slowing his steps as Aziza strode past him, graceful and uninjured, focused and determined. The Mugrobi witch's field came into focus and he felt it acutely, unwilling or currently unable to entirely analyze the similar weight of it light of more immediate dangers that didn't give him the luxury of philosophical moments.

He caught a brief tick of the galdor woman's attention, indicating with a flick of his blue-eyed gaze that her chance to escape would be sudden and up to her to take the initiative on for the sake of her child. The Seventen Sergeant was aware he was about to have his hands full of trouble—

Then the kenser howled in fear and pain, time slowing in some unprayed for but no less merciful kindness from Alioe herself. There was fire, most likely from the witch's spell, and the kenser bucked and kicked its singed, panicked way free of the cart it was attached to. The woman snatched up her child and scrambled out of the way of the rocking cart and bucking animal, looking to the Mugrobi witch and choosing in this particular moment to trust the stranger despite her race, running toward her. The motion seemed to spook the kenser, who squealed and changed direction, bowling up the street toward the unsteady, magically affected thugs and, incidentally, the uniformed Valentin as well. His eyes widened and it was all Rhys could do to leap out of the way while the beast of burden trampled one of the thugs and knocked the other one hard to the cobblestones with a crack of bone against road, barely missing the tall blond as it screeched up the thoroughfare, desperate to be free of the fire that hurt and chased it so.

"Fuck." Groaned the Seventen as the mad dash burned and stung, struggling back to stand upright, swaying on his feet as he watched the remaining thug just get up and flee at Aziza's approach, clearly terrified by her choice of diversion.

The galdor woman and her child stood almost dumbly in the street, holding the youth close, jaw slacks and trembling. Rhys took his time getting up from his hands and knees, his concentration on his Perceptive spell broken, the upkeep shattered. Two of the men weren't even conscious, but the third began to stir angrily, cursing and beginning to crawl his way to a stand.

"I wouldn't if I were you. Don't be dense." Hissed the Sergeant, wavering on his feet and threatening with a point of his baton, "Resisting arrest is a hefty fine and a long clocking time in prison. Put your hands on your head and don't move."

Surprisingly, the broader-shouldered, far less injured human thug did just what he was told, raising his hands to curl dirty fingers into his messy dark hair and freezing in place, perhaps terrified that the Seventen refused to just quit functioning given the blood that soaked his uniform and the way he swayed as he approached.

Looking toward Aziza and the galdori, he tilted his head back the way he and the Mugrobi had come, "There's a checkpoint down the alley toward Aster Street. Stay in the two side streets and you'll find it. The path is clear that way, ma'am." He was reaching for his belt, bloodied fingers searching for a pair of restraints and finding he had none left. He hissed his displeasure, eying the frightened human, wanting to arrest him but aware he had nothing to do so with.

"Thank you, officer—"

"Sergeant Valentin." He offered as the woman searched for his name without actually asking, not looking.

"And thank you, miss." The galdor's gratitude wasn't reluctant, but it was cautious. She offered a brief but genuine smile at Aziza, her child staring at the dark-skinned woman and unaware of their differences in race and culture in his youth. Clearly he wasn't even of school age yet and so he could hardly understand what the Mug witch really was. She didn't waste any time fleeing, the woman and her child quickly leaving the scene in understandable fear.

The human watched Rhys carefully, suspiciously, smirking when the uniformed man couldn't find any restraints, "Looks like you'll hafta let me go, eh?"

"No. I'm sorry, I'll just have to send someone to come and fetch you." The wounded Seventen apologized, not looking up at Aziza as he gathered his field and held the other man's rebellious gaze, raising his baton in self defense and shifting his footing as he spoke a quick two-phrase spell. The man choked back a few snide remarks, his eyelids suddenly heavy, and then simply slumped to the floor, asleep. It was a simple, effective spell, but one which required eye contact and closeness. It was a worthwhile risk, but one which left him even more drained than he was already, "Gods, what a clocking mess. I'm gonna need you—I'm gonna need a hand—"

Rhys made tentative steps toward Aziza, totally unsteady and pathetic in his current state of physical existence, "Damn it, you're going to need to help me, but not here. I need somewhere quiet, safer—let's check out those shops there. If one of them is empty, I'm going to have to do something about this—" His free hand indicated his injuries before it reached out to snatch for the Mugrobi witch's shoulder, embarrassed to show such obvious weakness, "—Public displays of magic by wicks inside the city limits of Vienda are illegal, but I don't clocking care today. Thank you. I suppose we've both gone out of our way at this point. Here—help me that way, please. I'm—I'm plum exhausted and need a moment before something else gets in our way."
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Aziza
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Mon Jan 07, 2019 3:22 am

Roalis 51, 2716
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It was cruel, stupid and insane but setting the kenser on fire had the desired effect. The kenser ripped free, ready to run down anything in its path, which made it an excellent weapon in this situation but also unstoppable and uncontrollable. That really wasn't helpful, not at all.

The galdor woman ran with her child, eliciting a terrified shriek from the witch, worried that the pair were going to get trampled by a spooked and flaming beast. She was already gathering her field, contemplating using a Push spell against the animal but finding it unnecessary as it altered its course. The innocents were saved and running to Aziza in search of protection. A galdor coming to a wick for sanctuary was a true sign of desperation but she was still a woman and so in this situation, the Mug was a natural ally while there was a child involved. There hadn't been anyone of the female persuasion for her to appeal to earlier or if there had been, they'd vanished before herself and Rhys arrived. Maybe she'd headed for Aziza because the Mugrobi so clearly wanted to help.

The young woman felt that she might choke on her own heart as the animal veered towards two of the thugs and the Seventen. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!

In spite of her actions, the young woman hadn't actually wanted anyone to get hurt. Not the kenser, not these thugs, not the woman and her child, not Rhys. She hadn't weighed up the full consequences of her actions but even then if it was a choice between them all then obviously the kenser and the thugs came in at a considerably lower priority than the innocents and the man going above and beyond for his job.

She cried out as one man was trampled underfoot, another clipped and sent barrelling to the ground, and she moved, too slow and too late to try to shove Rhys out of the way although thankfully he moved himself. The healer could breathe again but she found herself looking around at the destruction she'd wrought, dark orbs gazing mournfully after the burning kenser. It was less aflame and more smouldering at this point, its body nearly bald and raw. Even from this distance, she knew it was bad. Perhaps it would meet someone willing to heal it because if not... it'd be a kindness to kill it.

It wasn't until she sniffled that she realised that there were tears sliding down her cheeks. She wiped them away hastily, turning her attention back to the situation at hand. The witch found herself torn between checking on the woman and her child, who had suffered torment at the hands of those rioters, and checking on Rhys, who was quite rough around the edges right now. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to show concern for the Sergeant right now given that she didn't want to weaken his position further. He was already a literal bloody mess and she didn't need what little authority he might still possess to evaporate by her fussing over him. There'd be time for that. Instead, she turned her attention to the other woman.

"Hey.... you're okay now. Are you and the young'un hurt?" she asked, her Estuan carefully cleaned of the Tek that galdori seemed to despise so much. The Mugrobi thought it was because tekaa had a culture outside of their own, a culture that they couldn't understand at all. So she was making herself readily understandable. However, in spite of that, the galdor stared at her, wide-eyed, as did her child and she had to put it down to the shock. Admittedly, it could have been the fact that she was a witch and a foreigner, everything about her marking her as such. Still, the galdor only seemed capable of dumb staring either in her own direction or in the direction of the remaining conscious thug.

When Rhys addressed her, her senses seemed to return somewhat, civil words and a clear purpose making her revive. Her thanks made the Mugrobi blink rapidly in surprise, not having expected the other to acknowledge her but she found herself returning her smile, the expression more timid than usual and tinged with sadness as her cheeks warmed and grew dusky. She watched as the woman and boy hurried off, almost missing the end of the exchange between Rhys and the remaining thug. The next thing she knew, the man had conked out, evidently the result of a spell. Handy.

The witch didn't need for Rhys to reach for her because as soon as his attention turned to her, she was by his side, providing physical support whether he wanted it or not; he needed it.

"Oes, dint worry yerself, I'll see ye straight. I ent gonna leave ye t' bleed ou' in the street. I said ye needed proper care an' tha' was afore ye took a dive to avoid tha' kenser - sorry 'bout that by the way - but also I ent yer proper care, far from it," she pointed out, gaze skimming his form. Had he started bleeding again? Possibly but then she hadn't expected her clotting to hold, especially under such aggravation.

The girl stiffened under his hand as he mentioned the illegality of her magic, eyes round and shocked. Was he really going to- No, he wasn't going to be unreasonable about this.

"Ent the first time my magic has helped ye today. Ye probably owe me yer life twice over as do three other gollies. Well... we'll say one and half fer ye 'cos I could jus' as easy killed ye wi' tha' kenser," she added with sheepish expression. Her expression sharpened though when he talked about requiring care, the young woman nodding and gazing around her as she considered where there might be some cloth that she could use for bandages as she suspected she'd have to wrap him fairly tightly to compress his wounds and deal with his bleeding; she didn't think that her magic was worth using here given how ineffective the last bout had ultimately proved.

There was something burning in the cart that the kenser had abandoned, the conflagration either a direct result of her magic or it had leapt from the animal. If there had been anything usable in it, it wasn't likely to be fit for anything now. Besides, she couldn't go nosing around because she couldn't leave Rhys and she couldn't go dragging him around with her while she went in search of materials. As she looped an arm around his waist and encouraged him to drag his arm over her shoulders, she found herself eyeing her own skirt, wondering how much of it she could afford to lose without people considering her level of exposure scandalous.

"Righ' I'm gonna get ye somewhere settled an' then I migh' have to nip out to look for some cloth. I ent sure I can do anything for ye wi' my magic but I can wrap ye up on th' condition tha' we go straigh' t'one o' those medical tents. I can't let ye run 'round like tha' on my account in good conscience. 'Specially on my account. I will ne have it, ye chen?" Aziza told him sternly. She led him towards the shops that he'd indicated, peering into the store fronts seeking one without occupants. She found one, wondering if she was going to have to break in but finding that it was unlocked when she tried the door, the owner apparently absent unless they were hiding in a back room somewhere.

The bell tinkled as they entered, the witch attempting to enter crab-like so that she could prop the door open for the Seventen and allow him to follow after her without him having to release her. She was presented with the sight of clothing, which meant plenty of potential for bandages but at the expense of destroying the products of someone's livelihood.

"I dint suppose ye have money on ye? I dint know if I have to money t' pay for the likes o' this stuff but I do need bandages for ye. I ent gonna go ripping up stuff I can't pay for," she explained, brows pulled together in worry.
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