[ no law here, huh. guess that explains why therion made his way here.
jiaoqiu is not necessarily out of place in a bar, but in a rowdy one full of rough and tumble types, a delicate pink foxian in a cardigan and slacks probably looks like he doesn't belong. he ignores the bartender and the rest of the patrons to wander over to the wall, and - if possible - reaches up and takes the wanted poster off the wall. there he is. he's been here. ]
What did you do to find yourself on one of these? [ he murmurs to himself, ears pinning back slightly. he stares down at the poster for a while, taking in the details, taking in how much he's wanted for, and then turns to go right up to the bartender. shoves the poster in his face, because with the amount of numb he is right now, he has absolutely no fear. maybe he looks out of place, but with his calm smile and lidded eyes, he definitely has Presence. ]
[ somewhere therion sneezes. or does he. he might be dead.
anyway!!! the wanted poster itself has his name, of course. there's no list of his crimes or anything like it - underneath the "wanted", it just says, "dead or alive. may go by other aliases. " and includes a substantial reward. it's pretty hefty, which he can probably imagine therion was pleased about. the sketch itself is decently done, though it doesn't look exactly correct, which he can probably imagine therion is less pleased about. like someone who created it either had never seen him, or just didn't care enough about his appearance to render it well.
the bartender, once he's been addressed, blinks - startling like he's expecting to get hit - and then pauses, looking at the poster. his demeanor is more like the regular townspeople, a regular person, and it takes him a moment to properly answer the foxian with the scary smile, but he does. "...A few months, now, I think. Since the town was taken over, at least...""
one of the rowdy guys elbows one of the others, and he comes over to sit down at the bar by jiaoqiu, grin on his face, beer in his hand, clearly tipsy and egged on by his bro. "Pretty faces don't come around here that often anymore. Is it my lucky day you got lost?"
[ if he's dead jiaoqiu is going to reach into the underworld and fish him out, so that won't even save him, tbh
in any case, he eases down the scary when the bartender startles like that. he's not looking to hurt or frighten people who are already hurt or frightened. his answer only gets him more questions, and he's going to ask them - the town was taken over? have you seen this person on this poster, have you heard anything? but then one of the rowdy guys comes over and grins at him, drunk.
jiaoqiu slowly looks at him, expression still calm. his ears flick in annoyance. ]
Hah. You're very funny. [ he says, flatly, clearly unimpressed. ] Have you seen this man? Any trace. Answer me now.
[ waves the poster in the guy's face. he's only interested in his thief!! ]
[ the bartender will answer what he can, though he shuts up when the other dude comes over. he looks at that calm expression, clearly unperturbed or unbothered by jiaoqiu being unimpressed and leaaans right over in his space to look at the poster.
"Nope. Right shame, too. I could use the cash." there's some snickering behind him. the guy sets his hand out to try and push jiaoqiu's holding the poster out down and out of the way. "That the kinda taste you got? Bad boys?"
awful! bad. the bartender does nothing to stop this. in the meantime, there's a bit of noise coming from the front of the bar. the sound of footsteps, and then out of nowhere, the door bangs open. all of the men inside make a fuss about it, yelling about the cold, but it turns out its one of their own. they're all laughing and shouting back, grinning and clapping each other on the back as they bound through the doors, and one yells, "Drinks on me, tonight, boys, we're about to be rich!"
this leads to more whooping and yelling. at the back of the group, jiaoqiu might see a flash of purple, smaller in stature - a long scarf, even. however, as the group parts, it reveals that there's just this guy at the back, face in his scarf, quiet but with a similar gleam in his eyes of something delighted. the group themselves looks roughed up, and as they all get closer, jiaoqiu's fox senses might pick up on the smell of blood. ]
[ oh, cool, he's going to have to kill an entire bar's worth of dudes!
the guy pushes the poster out of the way, and jiaoqiu is about to genuinely just set him on fire, that's about how stretched his patience is, but before he can, the door gets kicked open. he startles, and his hand goes to his chest like an old man.
the flash of purple, the scarf - it gets him to push off the counter, even though he knows it can't be therion, because therion would never one, be in a group of people like this, and two, would never enter a building by kicking open the front door. jiaoqiu sinks back a little, holding the poster tightly - except then he smells the blood, and his brain kicks into gear. about to be rich, huh.
he turns to the guy that was trying to hit on him, and gives him a little smile, resting his hand on the man's chest and leaning a little close. he's counting on the guy being too drunk to realize that every muscle in his body is tense. ]
Oh, no. [ he purrs. ] I am, however, into rich men. Your friends seem to have come into a little bit of coin. Why don't you ask them how for me, hm?
[ the drunk guy is absolutely not smart enough to realize how tense jiaoqiu is, no. there's an incredibly pretty foxian with his hand on his chest? why would jiaoqiu be upset. his attention is drawn immediately, looking stupidly down at jiaoqiu and blinking at him.
it looks like he doesn't want to allow this at first, because, no, he wants the pretty fox? and for a second you get the feeling like this guy's going to argue about it, but luckily, he doesn't have to. the rowdy group pushes past - one of them goes to the left, and then frowns as the thinner guy at the back, clearly the leader, walks up to the bartender and holds out his arm up high above the bartop, then releases his closed hand.
a familiar scarf drips out of his palm, coiling up as it hits the bar top. it's purple, made of a fine knit that lightens in color the further down it goes, reminiscent of a fox tail - though the coloration is ruined by the blood soaking the fabric. a second later, there's a clunk, and at the end drops out a switchblade. familiar, a well loved knife with a dark handle that jiaoqiu has seen flipped many times. it's also bloody. the lean guy smirks at the bartender and says, "Tell milord I left a present for him at the church, and that I'll collect in pure gold for it."
the guy who peeled off from the group, in the distance, says something along the lines of - "Oi! Where'd the poster go!" and the drunk guy who jiaoqiu was talking to looks from that one to the guy at the counter to jiaoqiu again, realizing very, very slowly. ]
jiaoqiu is not an angry person. he isn't. but the scarf makes his whole world narrow. his vision gets dark around the edges as he takes in the bloodstains. for a moment, he's standing in a stall, watching a little wolf flush beet red as he tucks the edges of a soft, new scarf into his jacket. he's got his hand in his own, he's being dragged through the city on an aching leg, he's gasping into his mouth in their bed, fingers laced. he's curled up under the blankets, letting that wolf pet his ears.
it's like rushing through an underground tunnel. like being deep underwater before your ears pop, the sound and colors a rush of nothing. he is a strategist. he's supposed to use his brain, he's supposed to sweet-talk these men into letting him into the church, a rescue mission, but the blood all over therion's things, taken by force, because there's no way he'd ever give them over - it makes a fury in him that he didn't realize he was capable of rise up in his throat and behind his eyes, and he cannot think of anything else.
he does not, for a second, hesitate to reach across the bar and take the scarf, and the switchblade. it does not matter if someone tries to stop him. that's the furthest thing from his mind, at the moment. those are his. try and stop him. see what happens. ]
okay!!! well. listen. the scarf is definitely useless to the guy now. it's gross and bloody who would want that, but the switchblade is probably worth a pretty penny. and besides, their boss will probably want it as a trophy, so there's immediately a fuss. the lanky guy's hand snaps out to grab jiaoqiu's wrist - he's fast and has a tight grip. clever fingers. clearly a thief, too as he sneers - "The hell are you doing? Trying to steal the bounty? Didn't see you coming to help subdue the tea leaf. Who's this clown?"
the louder noises in the bar stop - this confrontation starts to draw attention. the bartender looks between jiaoqiu and the man, frantically, and says, "--Messenger, he's, uh, messenger boy. Delivering."
[ tea leaf makes him instinctively bare his teeth, fangs on display.
but. the bartender speaks up, and it catches his attention. calm down. this is not how you handle this. you have to be smart. you have to be cunning. you cannot take an entire room full of thugs down yourself, you are not moze, you are not feixiao, you cannot have a death wish while therion might be dying or dead - what you have is your smarts. don't lose them. he breathes in slow, and then straightens.
smiles. and firmly takes the lanky guy's hand off of his wrist. peels his fucking fingers away, digging his claws in, but - delicate. like the way someone who does not appreciate being touched by filth might do. he puts the thief's hand down on the bar, and pats it. condescendingly. ]
My apologies. Most wouldn't dare to contest me. You must be feeling dazed from your fight. [ his smile gets a little sharper. ] Our friend here is correct, I am a messenger. I am on loan, here. Perhaps you've heard of Hoolay? I'd hate to have to report to him that a group of distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves damaged his goods.
[ he adjusts his cardigan. ]
Now. If you'll please hand me the scarf and the blade, I'll be on my way to alert your lord. You'll get your coin.
[ there's a bit of murmuring through the crowd - some "who?", some hissed, "what the fuck, you wanna stay away from that guy, man", and, "it's the obsidians' poster anyway, it's not like they give a shit what we do, lord darius is the one who set the bounty" and a variety of other reactions from a bar full of drunk thieves. some of the others take that as their moment to mind their business.
the lanky guy bristles up the second jiaoqiu bares his teeth, and scowls when he pats his hand, and looks like he's about ready to stab him, tense everywhere and a second from a fight, because there are a lot more thugs than there are pretty boys in here. however, between them, the bartender nods, trying to back up jiaoqiu's story because he was nice to him, and a tense, long moment passes in the bar, the leader of the thieves staring at jiaoqiu.
but, finally the leader of these thieves decides whatever jiaoqiu said passes enough muster - the namedrop helps - and he snorts, rolling his eyes and pushing the switchblade back across. fine, take both. "Bring it back when you're done, messenger boy. My trophy."
but with that, jiaoqiu's free to leave. in fact, several of the whispering, muttering thugs even part like the red sea to his sheer presence, slightly in awe and slightly terrified. ]
[ he's going to come back and give the bartender all of his gold, honestly.
he has to drag himself down under to not react to the mention of darius. he can't, right now. he just meets that long gaze with a smile, his usual. the world is blurry and the whispers of the thieves are distorted and wobbling, and he has to go, he needs to leave this bar right now because nothing is more important than finding therion. so, he takes the scarf and the switchblade, tucking them neatly into his bag, and turns. walks out of the bar, back straight as a rod, not making eye contact with the thugs, because this persona is above them. distinguished. spoiled.
it does not feel good to have people be terrified of him, even when they're his enemy. it does not feel good to put himself back in that mindset, of being hoolay's tool. he holds his chest a little once he's outside of the bar, once he's far enough, like he's going to cough or have a panic attack or - something, and then it passes. it passes.
and then he walks as fast as he can manage without looking strange, right to the church. ]
[ out he goes! jiaoqiu can feel the leader of the thieves' gaze on his back the entire time.
northreach is cold and miserable, so no one thinks much of the way he holds at his chest, if people were able to give the time of day beyond little glances and murmured whispers, people avoiding making eye contract for too long lest something goes wrong. lest you become like the former leaders of the town who got gutted as obstacles for speaking up against the abhorrent behavior of this gang called the obsidians. lest you end up made an example, or dead in an alley with no one to save you.
as jiaoqiu walks to the church quickly, he might notice an alley that smells particularly bloody nearby. the site of a confrontation, likely, but there's no one there - instead, there's a smeared trail of blood in the snow, thick drag marks where something or someone was dragged through it, and footsteps surrounding the trail of more than one person. the trail leads up the main path to the church, and all the way up the stone stairs leading up to the front entrance of the building.
the church itself has seen better days: aside from the bloody front stairs, there's a hole the siding where it's crumbling, and the stained glass window appears to have been smashed open. the front doors are currently closed.
there's not any sign of a person, though the drag marks continue through the snow beyond the front doors. ]
[ there's something in him that hurts, as he walks through this town. this is the sort of place that needs help. needs fixing. he's always hoped to help people live better lives. he's always tried, before he burned out so hard that he could barely stand. the only thing that had given him hope was his general, and she burned away, too. but - years later, in a choked-out city full of industrial noise and static, he'd found something to hold onto. he'd followed a blood trail to that, too.
he feels sick. he feels like he could collapse. this city is broken, and he itches to tear down the gang from the inside out. he wants to set fire to people's insides. if they've done the unthinkable, if they've killed therion - if he's dead, he's genuinely not sure what he'll do. the nausea rolls over him, down his spine, makes him dizzy.
but he puts it away. he doesn't have time for it. instead, he follows his nose - the smell of blood is so pungent to him right now that it makes him gag - and makes it to the stone stairs. the front entrance.
there's no people he can see, but he puts his mask back on anyway. he is hoolay's right hand, and he will be making sure that this bounty is suitable. he pushes the door open, and walks into the church. where do the drag marks lead? ]
[ the drag marks lead all the way inside the church. it's drafty in here - the wind flutters through the open window, blowing in snow crystals and ice from the outside. this church clearly hasn't been used much, at least in recent days, because the inside of it is a mess. the pews are knocked over and broken in some places, the floor strewn with debris. the carpet leading up to the altar is molded in a few spots and torn in others, but as a church, it does have an altar table.
the altar table is bloody, too - in fact, moreso than anywhere else, a small pool collecting on the warped wood. coincidentally, it's where the drag marks stop.
there appears to be nothing behind the altar itself at first glance. however, looking around at the marks to try and figure out what happened here, he might notice that there's a smattering of blood to the side that looks like it's been wiped away, or at least attempted. places that didn't get cleaned up fell in drops and small splatters, as opposed to someone being dragged around - whoever cleaned it up didn't do the best job.
that trail leads over to the broken pews closest to the stained glass window. there's one that's knocked over entirely on its head, and debris from a few others here, too. ]
[ it'd be wild if he had the ability to tell if this was therion's blood or not by smelling it, but alas. he cannot. ]
... Therion?
[ he calls out, cautiously, just... in case.
but - he thinks he maybe has some idea of what's happening, or what did happen. so, carefully, he makes his way over to the broken pews. follows that trail, ears pinned back. checks behind and under the one that's been knocked over entirely. ]
curled up underneath the pew, squished into the tiniest space possible, is a person curled up into a ball. though his head is down, that shock of white hair is unmistakable - it's therion. he looks even smaller than usual without his big scarf, and its hard to tell where one part of him ends and the other begins, between the shadows and his too big, torn clothes.
it smells like blood under here - he doesn't respond to his name being called. ]
[ yeah, that's about what he expected. the stab of fright that he feels is overwhelming. ]
Therion. [ he says, without meaning to - the panic in his voice is vibrant and loud. unmasked, as he pushes the pew away, as he shifts to check therion over. but he's a doctor. he's a combat medic, specifically, and so he knows how to do this. he knows how to stay steady handed even when it's someone he loves that is broken and battered. the panic only gets out once, and then he's taking a deep breath (the smell of blood in his nose all over his hands he can practically taste it) and slipping into focus. nihility serves him well.
he checks, first, before moving therion. first, breathing. second, if he can be moved. those are the two most important things. ]
[ the good news is that he is breathing. this becomes very obvious the second the pews move, because his eyes snap open as if he were electrocuted, his response just as panicked as jiaoqiu saying his name. have to get away have to get moving have to not die have to not die, he draws in further to himself, ready to kick and bite if he has to --
but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
[ there's blood on his hand where it touches jiaoqiu's face - his fingers are cold, palm is cold, and they twitch and curl as he holds his hand there, breath coming in short and sharp as he tries desperately to actually figure out what the fuck is going on. he's real, solid, and that's fucking terrifying in this shitty place he decided to spend time in. this was his own fault, righteously deserved, and the last thing he wants is jiaoqiu to get dragged into it, and he manages eye contact and then it fades away, the world threatening to go dark as he moves too much - this is distracting enough that jiaoqiu can examine him the best that he can. he could laugh. he could cry. he's not sure which.
but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
[ jiaoqiu catches him, when he falls forward. of course he does, he's waiting to. ]
You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
[ there is a back door! or, well, there's a spot where there's not a lot of rubble. it's a little rough, so he might get cut up by fallen glass and debris here and there, but jiaoqiu can make it out through the back of the church and out into northreach once more.
as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
[ he's so like, annoyed, every time that therion gets him to hide. he knows it's necessary, he knows they can't afford to be seen, but every second that they're out in the cold, there's more of a chance of complications. therion is good at staying awake, he's good at suppressing pain, but that will mean nothing if he bleeds out, or if a wound is too deep. he's so very aware that there is always a time limit. he doesn't know the extent of therion's injuries, but a stab wound is enough that he's a little frantic about getting somewhere safe.
it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
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jiaoqiu is not necessarily out of place in a bar, but in a rowdy one full of rough and tumble types, a delicate pink foxian in a cardigan and slacks probably looks like he doesn't belong. he ignores the bartender and the rest of the patrons to wander over to the wall, and - if possible - reaches up and takes the wanted poster off the wall. there he is. he's been here. ]
What did you do to find yourself on one of these? [ he murmurs to himself, ears pinning back slightly. he stares down at the poster for a while, taking in the details, taking in how much he's wanted for, and then turns to go right up to the bartender. shoves the poster in his face, because with the amount of numb he is right now, he has absolutely no fear. maybe he looks out of place, but with his calm smile and lidded eyes, he definitely has Presence. ]
How recent is this?
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anyway!!! the wanted poster itself has his name, of course. there's no list of his crimes or anything like it - underneath the "wanted", it just says, "dead or alive. may go by other aliases. " and includes a substantial reward. it's pretty hefty, which he can probably imagine therion was pleased about. the sketch itself is decently done, though it doesn't look exactly correct, which he can probably imagine therion is less pleased about. like someone who created it either had never seen him, or just didn't care enough about his appearance to render it well.
the bartender, once he's been addressed, blinks - startling like he's expecting to get hit - and then pauses, looking at the poster. his demeanor is more like the regular townspeople, a regular person, and it takes him a moment to properly answer the foxian with the scary smile, but he does. "...A few months, now, I think. Since the town was taken over, at least...""
one of the rowdy guys elbows one of the others, and he comes over to sit down at the bar by jiaoqiu, grin on his face, beer in his hand, clearly tipsy and egged on by his bro. "Pretty faces don't come around here that often anymore. Is it my lucky day you got lost?"
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in any case, he eases down the scary when the bartender startles like that. he's not looking to hurt or frighten people who are already hurt or frightened. his answer only gets him more questions, and he's going to ask them - the town was taken over? have you seen this person on this poster, have you heard anything? but then one of the rowdy guys comes over and grins at him, drunk.
jiaoqiu slowly looks at him, expression still calm. his ears flick in annoyance. ]
Hah. You're very funny. [ he says, flatly, clearly unimpressed. ] Have you seen this man? Any trace. Answer me now.
[ waves the poster in the guy's face. he's only interested in his thief!! ]
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"Nope. Right shame, too. I could use the cash." there's some snickering behind him. the guy sets his hand out to try and push jiaoqiu's holding the poster out down and out of the way. "That the kinda taste you got? Bad boys?"
awful! bad. the bartender does nothing to stop this. in the meantime, there's a bit of noise coming from the front of the bar. the sound of footsteps, and then out of nowhere, the door bangs open. all of the men inside make a fuss about it, yelling about the cold, but it turns out its one of their own. they're all laughing and shouting back, grinning and clapping each other on the back as they bound through the doors, and one yells, "Drinks on me, tonight, boys, we're about to be rich!"
this leads to more whooping and yelling. at the back of the group, jiaoqiu might see a flash of purple, smaller in stature - a long scarf, even. however, as the group parts, it reveals that there's just this guy at the back, face in his scarf, quiet but with a similar gleam in his eyes of something delighted. the group themselves looks roughed up, and as they all get closer, jiaoqiu's fox senses might pick up on the smell of blood. ]
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the guy pushes the poster out of the way, and jiaoqiu is about to genuinely just set him on fire, that's about how stretched his patience is, but before he can, the door gets kicked open. he startles, and his hand goes to his chest like an old man.
the flash of purple, the scarf - it gets him to push off the counter, even though he knows it can't be therion, because therion would never one, be in a group of people like this, and two, would never enter a building by kicking open the front door. jiaoqiu sinks back a little, holding the poster tightly - except then he smells the blood, and his brain kicks into gear. about to be rich, huh.
he turns to the guy that was trying to hit on him, and gives him a little smile, resting his hand on the man's chest and leaning a little close. he's counting on the guy being too drunk to realize that every muscle in his body is tense. ]
Oh, no. [ he purrs. ] I am, however, into rich men. Your friends seem to have come into a little bit of coin. Why don't you ask them how for me, hm?
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it looks like he doesn't want to allow this at first, because, no, he wants the pretty fox? and for a second you get the feeling like this guy's going to argue about it, but luckily, he doesn't have to. the rowdy group pushes past - one of them goes to the left, and then frowns as the thinner guy at the back, clearly the leader, walks up to the bartender and holds out his arm up high above the bartop, then releases his closed hand.
a familiar scarf drips out of his palm, coiling up as it hits the bar top. it's purple, made of a fine knit that lightens in color the further down it goes, reminiscent of a fox tail - though the coloration is ruined by the blood soaking the fabric. a second later, there's a clunk, and at the end drops out a switchblade. familiar, a well loved knife with a dark handle that jiaoqiu has seen flipped many times. it's also bloody. the lean guy smirks at the bartender and says, "Tell milord I left a present for him at the church, and that I'll collect in pure gold for it."
the guy who peeled off from the group, in the distance, says something along the lines of - "Oi! Where'd the poster go!" and the drunk guy who jiaoqiu was talking to looks from that one to the guy at the counter to jiaoqiu again, realizing very, very slowly. ]
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jiaoqiu is not an angry person. he isn't. but the scarf makes his whole world narrow. his vision gets dark around the edges as he takes in the bloodstains. for a moment, he's standing in a stall, watching a little wolf flush beet red as he tucks the edges of a soft, new scarf into his jacket. he's got his hand in his own, he's being dragged through the city on an aching leg, he's gasping into his mouth in their bed, fingers laced. he's curled up under the blankets, letting that wolf pet his ears.
it's like rushing through an underground tunnel. like being deep underwater before your ears pop, the sound and colors a rush of nothing. he is a strategist. he's supposed to use his brain, he's supposed to sweet-talk these men into letting him into the church, a rescue mission, but the blood all over therion's things, taken by force, because there's no way he'd ever give them over - it makes a fury in him that he didn't realize he was capable of rise up in his throat and behind his eyes, and he cannot think of anything else.
he does not, for a second, hesitate to reach across the bar and take the scarf, and the switchblade. it does not matter if someone tries to stop him. that's the furthest thing from his mind, at the moment. those are his. try and stop him. see what happens. ]
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okay!!! well. listen. the scarf is definitely useless to the guy now. it's gross and bloody who would want that, but the switchblade is probably worth a pretty penny. and besides, their boss will probably want it as a trophy, so there's immediately a fuss. the lanky guy's hand snaps out to grab jiaoqiu's wrist - he's fast and has a tight grip. clever fingers. clearly a thief, too as he sneers - "The hell are you doing? Trying to steal the bounty? Didn't see you coming to help subdue the tea leaf. Who's this clown?"
the louder noises in the bar stop - this confrontation starts to draw attention. the bartender looks between jiaoqiu and the man, frantically, and says, "--Messenger, he's, uh, messenger boy. Delivering."
right?? right?? ]
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but. the bartender speaks up, and it catches his attention. calm down. this is not how you handle this. you have to be smart. you have to be cunning. you cannot take an entire room full of thugs down yourself, you are not moze, you are not feixiao, you cannot have a death wish while therion might be dying or dead - what you have is your smarts. don't lose them. he breathes in slow, and then straightens.
smiles. and firmly takes the lanky guy's hand off of his wrist. peels his fucking fingers away, digging his claws in, but - delicate. like the way someone who does not appreciate being touched by filth might do. he puts the thief's hand down on the bar, and pats it. condescendingly. ]
My apologies. Most wouldn't dare to contest me. You must be feeling dazed from your fight. [ his smile gets a little sharper. ] Our friend here is correct, I am a messenger. I am on loan, here. Perhaps you've heard of Hoolay? I'd hate to have to report to him that a group of distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves damaged his goods.
[ he adjusts his cardigan. ]
Now. If you'll please hand me the scarf and the blade, I'll be on my way to alert your lord. You'll get your coin.
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the lanky guy bristles up the second jiaoqiu bares his teeth, and scowls when he pats his hand, and looks like he's about ready to stab him, tense everywhere and a second from a fight, because there are a lot more thugs than there are pretty boys in here. however, between them, the bartender nods, trying to back up jiaoqiu's story because he was nice to him, and a tense, long moment passes in the bar, the leader of the thieves staring at jiaoqiu.
but, finally the leader of these thieves decides whatever jiaoqiu said passes enough muster - the namedrop helps - and he snorts, rolling his eyes and pushing the switchblade back across. fine, take both. "Bring it back when you're done, messenger boy. My trophy."
but with that, jiaoqiu's free to leave. in fact, several of the whispering, muttering thugs even part like the red sea to his sheer presence, slightly in awe and slightly terrified. ]
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he has to drag himself down under to not react to the mention of darius. he can't, right now. he just meets that long gaze with a smile, his usual. the world is blurry and the whispers of the thieves are distorted and wobbling, and he has to go, he needs to leave this bar right now because nothing is more important than finding therion. so, he takes the scarf and the switchblade, tucking them neatly into his bag, and turns. walks out of the bar, back straight as a rod, not making eye contact with the thugs, because this persona is above them. distinguished. spoiled.
it does not feel good to have people be terrified of him, even when they're his enemy. it does not feel good to put himself back in that mindset, of being hoolay's tool. he holds his chest a little once he's outside of the bar, once he's far enough, like he's going to cough or have a panic attack or - something, and then it passes. it passes.
and then he walks as fast as he can manage without looking strange, right to the church. ]
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northreach is cold and miserable, so no one thinks much of the way he holds at his chest, if people were able to give the time of day beyond little glances and murmured whispers, people avoiding making eye contract for too long lest something goes wrong. lest you become like the former leaders of the town who got gutted as obstacles for speaking up against the abhorrent behavior of this gang called the obsidians. lest you end up made an example, or dead in an alley with no one to save you.
as jiaoqiu walks to the church quickly, he might notice an alley that smells particularly bloody nearby. the site of a confrontation, likely, but there's no one there - instead, there's a smeared trail of blood in the snow, thick drag marks where something or someone was dragged through it, and footsteps surrounding the trail of more than one person. the trail leads up the main path to the church, and all the way up the stone stairs leading up to the front entrance of the building.
the church itself has seen better days: aside from the bloody front stairs, there's a hole the siding where it's crumbling, and the stained glass window appears to have been smashed open. the front doors are currently closed.
there's not any sign of a person, though the drag marks continue through the snow beyond the front doors. ]
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he feels sick. he feels like he could collapse. this city is broken, and he itches to tear down the gang from the inside out. he wants to set fire to people's insides. if they've done the unthinkable, if they've killed therion - if he's dead, he's genuinely not sure what he'll do. the nausea rolls over him, down his spine, makes him dizzy.
but he puts it away. he doesn't have time for it. instead, he follows his nose - the smell of blood is so pungent to him right now that it makes him gag - and makes it to the stone stairs. the front entrance.
there's no people he can see, but he puts his mask back on anyway. he is hoolay's right hand, and he will be making sure that this bounty is suitable. he pushes the door open, and walks into the church. where do the drag marks lead? ]
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the altar table is bloody, too - in fact, moreso than anywhere else, a small pool collecting on the warped wood. coincidentally, it's where the drag marks stop.
there appears to be nothing behind the altar itself at first glance. however, looking around at the marks to try and figure out what happened here, he might notice that there's a smattering of blood to the side that looks like it's been wiped away, or at least attempted. places that didn't get cleaned up fell in drops and small splatters, as opposed to someone being dragged around - whoever cleaned it up didn't do the best job.
that trail leads over to the broken pews closest to the stained glass window. there's one that's knocked over entirely on its head, and debris from a few others here, too. ]
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... Therion?
[ he calls out, cautiously, just... in case.
but - he thinks he maybe has some idea of what's happening, or what did happen. so, carefully, he makes his way over to the broken pews. follows that trail, ears pinned back. checks behind and under the one that's been knocked over entirely. ]
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curled up underneath the pew, squished into the tiniest space possible, is a person curled up into a ball. though his head is down, that shock of white hair is unmistakable - it's therion. he looks even smaller than usual without his big scarf, and its hard to tell where one part of him ends and the other begins, between the shadows and his too big, torn clothes.
it smells like blood under here - he doesn't respond to his name being called. ]
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Therion. [ he says, without meaning to - the panic in his voice is vibrant and loud. unmasked, as he pushes the pew away, as he shifts to check therion over. but he's a doctor. he's a combat medic, specifically, and so he knows how to do this. he knows how to stay steady handed even when it's someone he loves that is broken and battered. the panic only gets out once, and then he's taking a deep breath (the smell of blood in his nose all over his hands he can practically taste it) and slipping into focus. nihility serves him well.
he checks, first, before moving therion. first, breathing. second, if he can be moved. those are the two most important things. ]
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but while his danger senses are fine tuned as ever, his body is certainly not, at the moment, and it takes him a second to actually process what he's looking at through blurred, dizzy vision, dark at the edges. therion looks... bad. something under his bangs is bleeding down his face, and there's a smear of blood on the back of the pew where his head was. his hoodie's cut up and torn and the raw skin underneath doesn't look much better - there are bruises on his jaw. one of his arms is at a funny angle, but he's placed it firmly over his gut along with the other, and his hands are now gripping hard at the edges of his hoodie, clearly holding pressure onto an injury. in other words, it looks like he's been beaten to shit. worse than jiaoqiu has certainly ever seen him. it's rare that therion loses a fight.
concussed, he stares at jiaoqiu like a wild animal, feral, poised. isn't this familiar? but this time, his first response isn't to snarl and run away: no, it's a moment of stunned, shocked silence, his expression flickering from defensive to realization - to confusion, and then to fright, briefly, as vulnerable as he's ever looked. therion realizes that the figure in front of him is not fucking gareth again, or any other of those jackasses, or even darius.
he hisses, from between his teeth, just barely able to - ] What're - get out... here, 's not - safe.
[ the first response here is not concern for himself, but concern for jiaoqiu. maybe he's hallucinating! he's clearly extremely unsteady despite the initial panic reaction, and he lurches a little as he frees up one hand and reaches out, just to - just to make sure, try to figure out if this is even real. ]
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[ is his instinctive response, gentle, soothing. this is the worst he's ever seen him, and that's absolutely terrifying, it could choke him with the feeling. but he's a doctor. this is what he's made for. therion is alive, and that means that jiaoqiu can fix him. he will not lose someone else. he will not watch someone else he loves die. the panic that he's feeling is dull and hidden under the nihility, under the void that he wraps like a blanket around himself. just for now. just to function.
the fright on therion's face makes his heart squeeze and wither up into dust.
carefully, jiaoqiu takes his hand when therion lurches at him, and he holds it, shifting so that he can start to figure out how to pick therion up. he doesn't do it quite yet - just brings therion's hand up and rests it against his face. presses a kiss to his palm, and then lets it sit there against his cheek as he takes stock of these injuries. broken arm, some sort of injury at the front that he's putting pressure on. concussion, cuts. he's barely conscious. ]
Trust me, love. [ he murmurs, gentle. ] I know it's not safe, but I've handled it. It'll be alright.
[ he can carry him at least far enough to find somewhere to hide, to put him together. he has medical supplies in his bag. they just have to find somewhere to go, and they can't do that here, when someone could come looking for them. so, carefully, jiaoqiu slips his arms around therion and pulls him into a bridal carry. ]
Put pressure back on your wound. I'm here.
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but jiaoqiu says - trust me, love. and even like this, his heart lurches, uselessly, and in his basal instinct, beyond every fear he has, beyond the horrors of trust and what it's done, he slowly, slowly pulls his hand back, and manages a nod, hand dropping back down so he can put pressure back on whatever new stab wound in his gut gareth got on him. he nods, again, blurry and dark and tunneling, and he pitches himself out of the spot he's in with a grunt. with no grace, he falls, forward, just a few inches, but it's the most significant fall of his life, beyond the cliff face.
he falls right into where jiaoqiu's going to carry him, and puts his life in his hands.
therion is cold when jiaoqiu gathers him up. he's clearly been outside for a while, and the church did very few favors against the biting cold of northreach, and he struggles for a second to put his thoughts together, curling into the warmth like he's done hundreds of times, in that old ipc city, in the little room in sunshade. jiaoqiu's got it handled, he said. that doesn't quite make sense. ] How did...
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You and I owe Primrose a nice dinner and a night off.
[ he says soft, tucking therion close. he's so cold - jiaoqiu is useless for body heat, he's a bone of a thing, and he's never hated that so much as he does right now. but he tries to warm him up regardless, slow and easy. not too fast to shock his body, but not too slow to be too late. his fur will help when he can sit them down, he thinks distractedly, carrying therion out of the building. through the back, if he can find an easy exit, but if he can't, he will just break the fucking stained glass window by kicking through it, and climbing out with his prize, broken glass be damned.
off he goes. he's looking for anything. a shack, a house with someone who looks like they might be kind enough to take in a stranger, an abandoned building. he doesn't imagine the frightened villagers will want to allow someone with blood on their face into their home, but. maybe he'll get lucky.
he swallows hard. his vision narrows in and out again, and he has to take a deep breath. which doesn't exactly help the nausea, but he handles it. so, so careful, jiaoqiu holds therion tightly to his chest, and looks for a place to hide. ]
Keep breathing, darling. [ he murmurs against therion's hair. he maybe sounds weird - scared, but it's dull. he has to numb himself out. he's numbing himself out. ] I'll take care of your wounds as soon as I find shelter.
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as for therion, a lot of these words slur together in the soup that is his very concussed brain at the moment - he's forcing himself to stay awake, which is more or less what he's been doing this entire time. if he passes out, that'll be bad. not like it was before, where passing out meant he might wake up any second to a smug face and a cockney accent before he died, which is the last thing he wants, but now it's just the medical principal of the thing. a small change, but a nice change nonetheless.
he listens to the rumble of jiaoqiu's voice, and keeps his eyes open, staring dully out into the cold. shelter. shelter... right. ]
Heath - [ there's a wet cough, and he grunts, screwing his eyes shut. in his fractured brain, he tells jiaoqiu that heathcote was the one who found a hiding place here. left an old car, a place to patch up and get out quickly, no matter how disapproving he had been when they met up. he does not explain any of this or finish his sentence, and instead just lifts a shaking hand to point in the correct direction. ] ... abandoned... house. Edge of town. White fence.
[ he'd have to pick the lock, but his tools are gone. therion makes a little face - even like this, he still manages to look cranky. ]
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[ he's calm, but every so often - like when therion coughs - there's a violent stream of thoughts, of what he'd do to darius if he could. completely ruin him. strip him of all of his status, embarrass him publicly. toss him to the wolves off a cliff when he was completely humiliated. that's a nice thought. maybe he can do that once therion is recovering.
but he is present enough to follow directions. abandoned house, edge of town. white fence. he'll be able to find it easily enough. getting in is going to be a struggle, but it doesn't really matter. if he has to break a window, he'll do it. off he goes, holding therion tightly. he's not really made for carrying something this heavy for a long period of time - and therion isn't even heavy, he weighs like ten pounds soaking wet. he does it anyway. keeps an eye out for people following them, or looking at them.
they just need to get inside this house. don't pass out, he thinks, nosing a little at therion's hair. walks a little faster. don't go. ]
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the house is unassuming enough, and the way there is quiet, too. he might have to duck around a building here and there - if therion hears someone coming, dazedly, he grabs onto jiaoqiu's clothes and tugs with his free hand, teeth gritted, trying to get him to go around a corner or something until the threat passes. even like this, he's aware, clinging with all of his might to his own survival, to making sure both him and jiaoqiu can get to that house. therion's survival instinct is as strong as ever, but it's for the both of them, now. heathcote had told him how stupid he was being. maybe now he's starting to really understand it.
as they make it to the little house, tucked away - in a stroke of irony it has a white picket fence - therion pushes himself up where jiaoqiu's holding him, enough that he can lift his other arm, slowly, carefully. he brings it up to the back of jiaoqiu's head, fingers catching lightly in his hair, curling some. it seems like he might just hold there, at first, but those thin, clever fingers of his find one of his hair sticks, and pull it out deftly.
he looks up when he does - and for a second, there's a look on his face that's a little more normal. almost a little smug. and then the movement makes him feel really dizzy again, and it fades, as he gestures to the door. go. ] Lock. Get me... down by the door.
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it's kind of funny - therion thinks to have survival instinct for both of them, and that's a nice step forward, because jiaoqiu is not thinking about himself at all. jiaoqiu can rot, for all he cares.
there's a little hiss and some scolding noises when therion reaches to grab for his hair stick - but he doesn't stop him from doing it. instead, his ears pin back against his skull, and he moves to the door, crouching carefully to put therion at eye level with the lock. the problem, he's finding, is that when he reaches for the void, it is a little difficult to grasp. it was so easy, the last two weeks, when he was alone, but with therion in his arms, he feels so fucking awake.
jiaoqiu barely responds to the smug look, he's so distressed. the second therion has the door unlocked, he's going to go inside, slam the door behind them, and find the closest surface to lay therion out on. ]
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