Morbid Angels

[Uriel Seraphim]

Long elegant fingers pulled back the slowly decaying curtain of a grimy window on the fourth floor of Kingsley Manor. She looked down on the three young candidates for their Covenant. They stood like soldiers under inspection, with their hands pressed firmly against their sides, sporting backs held to a stronger stiffer angle than the very building she now stood in. 

The first in line caught her attention. He was too tall and broad shouldered for a boy of his age, unevenly proportioned and thin. She compared his body to a carrot, weak, breakable. He'd last a minute, maybe two when the time came for his first fight. His dark brown hair was combed back and a pair of sensitive, light blue eyes squinted out into the distance. He looked pensive, and though wandering thoughts were discouraged, Gwendolyn wanted to know what it was that occupied their minds at a time such as this.

The smell of dried blood and sweat drifted up through the cracks of the moldy floorboards below her naked feet; the way it always did on a Wednesday morning when the sun was high and the clouds far away. Slightly bruised white roses waited on a small coffee table towards the centre of the room, wrapped in oil smudge cellophane, and propped up in a cracked grimy crystal vase; graced only by a few inches of stale murky water and a few occasional rays of sunlight. Folded in half, the underground newspaper lay beside it and a cup of steaming crap colored coffee kept it from springing open to the front page. There must be something Logan didn't want her to see printed on the front page; not that what he wanted would stop her from reading it.

She scowled at the dainty dying flowers; they were nothing but physical representations of Logan's 'heartfelt' apology. A perfect representation in truth, because they were short lived and distorted compared to what one would consider to be 'normal' flowers. Though truthfully Gwen doubted they even existed anymore, normal flowers that is. And after the massacre Gwendolyn had witness last night, not even a bottle of aged red wine and a box of Belgian chocolates could sooth her bitterness. But coffee and decaying roses was the best someone in Logan's position could possibly do these days.

Gwen didn't allow herself to think about what Logan had done in order to obtain them; the thought was too frightening to even begin contemplating. Death, money, drugs, blood or sex were all that could buy him such luxuries. Though, he did have plenty of followers to do the dirty work for him, of course. A cold shiver ran down her spine; the thought of Logan forcing one of the lower circles to make dealings with such filth repulsed her more than the idea of Logan doing it himself. After all, at least she knew he would be safe.

She sat down on one of the low multi-stained couches directly in front of the roses, listening to its springs squeak in protest. With cold diligent fingers she pulled out the small off-white card nestled between the bunch's buds. On one side, her name was written in a soft yet elegant form of calligraphy. But as she flipped it over and scanned the harshly printed text on the opposite side, what perhaps could have felt like real sentiment turned to bitter ash in her hands "with all my love, your darling, Logan."

The corner of Gwendolyn's lips turned up into a scowl. She ripped the card. And then, she ripped it again... and again, and again. She ripped it until she was left with nothing but small snowflake-like paper shavings with which she promptly disposed of. Logan was a hard man, rough and tough in ways only the Covenant could truly understand. Had the flowers actually come from him they would not have come with a card that included words such as 'with all my love'. And there is no way on earth Logan would ever refer to himself as 'her darling' let alone her anything. She was his property, his object. Not the other way around. 

Gwen sighed and brought the cup of coffee to her lips. No, Logan hadn't retrieved the flowers for her. But whoever had must have seen the two of them together intimately. After all, she called all the members by pet names. But Logan was the only man she would call 'darling'. And there were few moments in which she would ever refer to him as such in public. She took a sip from the deep brown liquid, and after a short two seconds it came rushing back out. 'Well, it tastes about as good as it looks' she thought to herself. The coffee was probably just a cup Logan had left behind. If anything, thinking he had brought it for her was wishful thinking, stupid wishful thinking, childish even.

She set down the coffee cup and raked a set of shaky fingers through her long raven locks. The underground newspaper had sprung open to the first page when she removed the coffee cup. And though it escaped her attention, the outrageous headline caught her attention. 'Morbid Angel found dead in stairwell'. Gwendolyn lunged forward and took the paper in her hands. She read the article over and over again until the words started reeling through her mind.

'Jezzika' Gwen thought to herself, 'Poor baby Jezzika, my little jezebel. It's no wonder Logan didn't want me to see that, he doesn't want me to leave the bloody den.' She sighed and got to her feet. 'Well to hell with him'. Today around lunch time she would make sure to see how her girls were coping with the news. She would make sure Alana had closed the house, as was done in times of great distress, make sure Alyssa was taking care of the girl's medical needs, and see to it that Aleisha would host a prayer circle for those in need of a little spiritual guidance. It was Aleisha she was most worried about in truth, for Jezzika had not been just another girl to her; they were sisters in blood, name and heart.

Gwendolyn stood and stretched, causing a crescendo of painful snaps to echo through her spine. Her skin was too tender from the bruising she endured last night to have a shower. But the thought of going without one disturbed her more than the idea of enduring a little pain. After all, it couldn't hurt anymore than what she suffered through last night now could it? With a reluctant sigh she trudged her way into the bathroom and began to get ready for what would likely be an emotionally draining day.

[jinkagai]

He twisted and turned, the spring mattress' rusty springs creaking with every movement, another nightmare. It seemed to be the same every night, soaking with sweat, he shivered as he sat up and ran his hand through his disheveled black hair. He stood, walking across a stained carpet, lightly scratching his feet. He reached for a chipped gold painted handle that belonged to what used to be a white painted door but now was more of a dull pasty color coupled with a thousand scratch marks some poor souls nails.

The door creaked open to reveal smashed porcelain tiles, a soap stained tub and sink, with a toilet that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in forty years that's how rusted it was. He turned the faucet on, cold water ran through his hands and it felt as if someone hugged him from behind, which was just his mind playing tricks on him of course, but the freedom of the water always calmed him. It reminded him of how he had to adapt to stay alive. He rinsed his face off, wiped some of the filth from his mirror and stared at his reflection.

His black hair swept just off the side of his right eye. His eyes, they almost seemed black in his mirrored manifestation, of course they were really a dark brown, but in this dimly candle lit room it only seemed to encompass his soul. He touched the marking that surrounded his neck, the noticed the matching ones on his wrists, causing him to reflect on his position, just as he was reflected in the mirror. His face hardened as he slammed his fist into the mirror, his muscles rippled and tightened, the perfect form shattered himself. His hand bled but it was of no consequence to him. He stepped in the shower and allowed the icy chill of the water to wash his body but not his soul.

Matted green slacks, matted white button down, black tie, matted green jacket, his uniform, Logan said that it was a man's job to always look professional. He chuckled to himself as he holstered his black, but somehow glistening M9  and stowed it near his side under the jacket. He did not like the firearm but did not discount its usefulness, he thought of the many times it had saved him as he took his large, again matted,  greenish trench coat and threw it over the rest of his garb. He picked up the last of his attire just before the opened the door to start his day, a stick.

The door to his room opened up into a hallway with more doors and it almost looked like it was some old hotel resort, whatever that was. He walked to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway and knocked three concise times.

"Mistress Gwendolyn!" He called out.

[Uriel Seraphim]

The sputtering brown water that had originally poured forth from the shower turned clear, but as always, the water was never quite warm enough to satisfy the Covenants Mistress. She had showered quickly, scrubbed her bruised and aching skin red raw and washed her hair with whatever the lower levels had managed to find. It was painful, but when something needed to be done there was little if any excuse to procrastinate.

As she did every morning, Gwendolyn had dried herself and dressed with delicate but precise action. Only this morning, she did not dress in black as she normally would to respect her husband's Covenant. Instead, she dressed in gold. Today was not a day for mourning, there was enough of that within their world already. As the Sisters of the Sanctuary had been taught, today was a day to celebrate and send their final farewells where they were needed most. Tears would be shed, but as Gwendolyn had learnt a long time ago saying goodbye was never easy, especially when one had to say it to someone they had known and loved so very deeply.

She did not allow herself many moments of weakness, but as she sat in front of her dresser, attempting to apply what little makeup she could, Gwendolyn allowed a few tears to escape. Had one of the Covenant seen such a thing... Logan would be less than merciless. She was the first woman to be allowed within their home and was now a pillar of Logan's power base. It did not make her infallible, but it did make childish things such as tears disgraceful.

Gwen jumped at first when she heard the knock at the door, but sighed as she heard Xavier call her name. No one else would have spoken had they needed her attention. Most would merely knock and wait for a reply if she were feeling kind enough to offer one, though those of the first circle did have a tendency to merely wander in without so much as a cautionary 'hello'. And Logan... as with everything, Logan had no need to offer caution or a polite word. She was his object and this was his home, why should he care for her feelings when he had no need to?

"Come in!" she called in return, her voice showing little sign of strain.

She did not turn to look at her lover as he entered, nor did she move from her place to greet him as she normally would. Gwendolyn did not wish him to see her blood shot eyes or bruised and battered body. Instead, she merely muttered in a cold detached tone, "Were going to the sanctuary at midday. The paper on the table will explain why." Hopefully, he would understand. But as Gwendolyn had come to learn, Xavier had his own way of understanding. She may have loved Xavier in her own way, but even Gwen understood she could not expect or accept any form of sympathy. Yet... even the thought of Logan's justified punishments could not deter her from wanting Xavier's comforting embrace.

"Was it you or Jonathan who retrieved the flowers?" she asked once Gwen decided she was calm enough to speak. The first circle were the only group whom would have seen her call Logan by the term 'darling'. From the way the note had been written, she could only assume he who delivered them at least found her respectable. If nothing else, that was what shortened the list. "They are very beautiful..."   

[jinkagai]

The door creaked open as he heard her beckon him inside. He took a few steps in, closed the door, and set his stick against the same table that housed the flowers, the stale coffee, and the paper...that was uncovered and clearly disheveled. It took only a few seconds for her to instruct him on what she, correction, they were going to do today. He picked up the paper, rolled it up, and tapped his other hand with it. He already knew what was written.

"Yes, I knew." There was a somber tone in his voice, "I am truly sorry Mistress." He put the paper in his large trench pocket and started pacing around the room as she 'dressed' herself. He knew what she was going through, wanted to comfort her, but knew that Logan's business had to be tended to first.

"You can probably guess, but Logan sent me to make sure you were alright...also, to make sure you didn't do anything foolish.  He wanted me to assure you that he will bring whoever did this to justice. And that justice will be yours to call." He paused, "He sent Caleb to solve the case, along with any amount of men he wished to call...so you can bet he'll be messy."

He walked over to her, her back still to him he embraced her, lightly kissed the back of her neck, and said, "Jonathan gave Logan the idea of how to break the news to you, Logan acquired the flowers, but under my advice on what to do." He smiled, "And no, the coffee was not my idea." He let her go and walked to one of the old windows, looking out over the streets, "I was told to take you shopping today..."

[Uriel Seraphim]

Gwen shook her head as Xavier apologized. "Jezzika was never one to follow the rules. I doubt she would have been within the sanctuary when she was murdered." Gwen's voice trembled slightly at the last word. "If she left without one of the men Logan had set in place then she was gambling with her life. You should not pity my plight of losing a friend."

"If they are infected creatures Caleb can do as he wishes..." she said as she applied the last of her makeup, "but if they are human..." her eyes darkened then, as if storm clouds were gathering behind closed doors. "They will meet their end by my hands and no other."

When he came to her however, his arms around her and lips at the back of her neck, she stopped. His touch had been foreign at first, every careful caress and touch of the lips brought a tight tingling to her body. But now, at this point in time, his touch spread only warmth and love. She kept moments like these close to her heart, moments she could glance back to and treasure with time... She turned her head then so that she could hear the beating of his heart, and reached up with her hands to caress his powerful forearms. She pictured the flowers behind the couple with closed eyes. A gift from the man she loved that reminded her of the man she wished could love her... sometimes the irony of life amazed her more than the darkness it could produce.

She sighed when he pulled away from her, but then snorted as he told her of what Logan had decided. "Shopping? Is that Logan's Image of me? That I would honestly do something so frivolous when my own are in need of comfort? When his newest members need tending too after the beating they endured last night?" she scowled at the thought, "I may not have known much luxury within my life time, but I hardly think there is any point in throwing my time away when I could be doing something productive."

She stood then, once she had said her piece, and came to stand at her lover's side; resisting the urge to hold his hand for fear of being seen. But still, she glanced at them and noticed the fresh cuts residing there. In that moment, she wished more than anything to be allowed the luxury of loving without consequence; to ask of her lover what she willed yet obey him with no qualms as to her own independence. She wished to know and understand the joys of being both two and one with a man without the fear of another ruining what they had found comfort in... but that was not the world they lived in...

"Today is a day for letting go," Gwendolyn murmured before crossing her arms under her chest, "not accumulating the materialistic... Perhaps it was too much to think my husband would understand that." What she wanted however would have little sway if it was as Logan had commanded Xavier to do. But nothing on earth would keep her away from the Sanctuary this eve. Nothing would keep her from the only duty she had besides that which she owed her husband.

Through the paper thin wall beside her she could hear the pitter patter of her daughters sleepy footsteps in the next room. Knowing her little Guinevere, Gwendolyn thought it would not be long before she woke the nanny. 

"Xavier, do you ever wonder ..." Gwendolyn paused to look at him, still uncertain of her next few words, "about Guinevere I mean." He knew as well as she did there was an equal chance the youngling had been his. But at times, Gwendolyn would see aspects of both men within her daughter. Her bravery and mesmerizing personality could make Gwendolyn think that her daughter was Logan's, but it was in those moments when the youngling would laugh and the light would catch at her dark brown eyes that Gwen thought Guinevere was truly Xavier's child.

"Sometimes I wonder how I could ever tell her what I've done... I don't want my daughter to call the wrong man father all her life, only to find out one morning that she has no hold on him at all..." Most days however, Gwendolyn was more worried for the child's safety if Logan ever were to suspect she was not his. She had seen the darker part of Logan and had come to learn that his cruelty knew no bounds... Gwendolyn did not want the blood of her only child to be spilled by her doings.

The thought was enough to bring a small tear to the corner of her right eye, intensifying the clear liquid blue she had not passed to her child.

[jinkagai]

"I do not pitty you for your loss. I respect you, and the fact you care for your women much unlike someone else I know." His hand traced her arm as he let her go. "We will find out what happened...what really happened." He emphasized the 'we' in his statement, making it clear he would not sit and watch someone else decipher the truth. This world was filled with more lies and corruption than could ever be thought humanly possible. His eyes hardened, "and I will personally hold them while you do what you feel is necessary."

He wished there would be some form of peaceful resolution, he knew that many innocent people would he harmed while others sought out what happened, Caleb had a reputation for being overly thorough, sometimes forcing others to lie just so their death was quicker. Some crimes, Xavier knew, were covered up by this. He also knew that Logan likely intended for this to happen just so his wife would have 'peace of mind' but Xavier knew this woman in ways that Logan could only dream of. He knew she was no toy, no trophy, and no fool.

"You know as well as I do that Logan's idea was solely based on me not allowing you to interfere with the case at hand...but...there are many stores near the crime, and many fine eating establishments, and Caleb is, a fool." It was interesting, his mention of the word hand as she stood beside him. His hand twitched, his finger brushing against hers, then returning to his fist. He was no coward...but he was no fool either...

"Honestly Gwen...I never wonder about such things anymore...I've come to the conclusion it doesn't matter. She will grow and age, and as she does so. She will decide who to call father. And who to call daddy." He looked into her eyes and brought his hand to wipe her tear away. "She has your strengths and none of Logan's weaknesses, the people around her will see to that, I promise."

[Uriel Seraphim]

It was strange, Gwen had always felt much more at home with Xavier in the streets than within Kingsly Manor, but perhaps that was because she knew less of the Covenant would usually be seen amounts the few places that had been able to reopen. Either way, the Sanctuary was the only place she could ever be herself anymore. No matter how much she loved Xavier, she would never risk his life, or her own, with something as petty as emotion.

His wish that they should find the perpetrator together appealed to her. Though his offer to hold whoever dare touch one of her girls was questionable. If Gwendolyn was to become even with such a person, their death would be anything but quick. It was one of her qualities that Logan did find appealing, the fact that when given the right motivation, Gwendolyn could almost match her husband's sadistic qualities...

"Their punishment will take much longer than you expect Xavier. I do not think my revenge is something I would truly like for you to observe."

She sighed then, her back against the windowsill as she spoke. "I will stay at the Sanctuary tonight and let my girls know that they are loved and protected within their walls. Few will sleep tonight I bet, merely gather around their fallen sister's funeral pyre and pray..." she looked to him, the hint of a shy smile, the childish desires within peaking through. It was Xavier's gift to her: that she could even feel at all anymore.

"Give my husband a night to enjoy his whore while I am away," she muttered, "and give me a night with the one man I want to spend my time with." She kept her eyes on him, trying to judge his reactions. It was a stupid thought, but there were days when Gwendolyn could never understand why Xavier would take such a risk with her. She was not ignorant to her form, but it took more than looks to appease most men. She could not believe Xavier would be so stupid as to risk his life for something so momentary as sex. At times it was difficult for her to understand what else he could truly see in her. But as always, she merely conceded that it was his life to do with what he willed. Whether it was power, lust or privilege he wished her to fulfill, she knew it would be his to have.

She worried then, that his answer may be one that she did not want to hear, or that his answer would be one given by duty and not honest truth. "I do not wish to ask of you something that is unsafe Xavier, and if you wish it you can always return to the Covenant. The Sanctuary walls are protected of course, even more so now I would wager; it is not as if I shall be unguarded."  She turned from him then and lowered the venetian blinds so that no one could see the two speak. "I do not wish to cause you trouble with Logan if it can be avoided my love." she stopped then, stood motionless as her fingers still clung to the stressed adjuster. It was not every day she would forget her place and mutter such a pet name within the Covenants walls. Such things were saved for the Sanctuary where she could feel truly safe and secured.

"I should not have said that," she whispered. Gwendolyn turned quickly and headed for the door. "I cannot stay within this house today," she said as she grasped the door handle.

It was time to leave.

[DoctorRed]

The number three was an agitating number, in his eyes.. No creatures he knew of were identified by the number three save for the Triceratops he'd seen in picture books as a child. But that was hardly his favorite dinosaur. He'd always loved the King, Tyrannosaurus Rex, the monster that devoured the smaller. The one who crushed weakness underfoot and demolished packs at a time. Or whatever it was he really did. The books he was dreaming back on were long gone, but it didn't stop him from wondering the implications of being the number three. What was before it? The top and the second, number two. The right hand. But being after the Right Hand didn't make him the Left Hand.

But even the number two wasn't the King. That was reserved for the First. The Prime. Sometimes he wondered what he'd have become if he'd remained on his own. He had no interest in organization  until he'd met Logan and he'd sought to simply enhance his own power and strength. Others had nothing of value if they stood on even ground, let alone above him. He dreamed before of being the Tyranno, but now he wasn't sure what he was dreaming of. Maybe there was another one, like it. Who knew? Not him. Not Caleb. He growled as he made his way from hovel to hovel, looking for rumors, for a whiff of who had killed whats-her-face. 

He'd beaten a man bloody then maimed who'd lied to him, his hints had taken him too far out of his way and the three he'd taken with him hadn't had the sense to question his responses to the interrogation. He didn't know their names either. They were hardly of note, but when he'd summoned them, they'd jumped to his side and armed themselves. He supposed that was better than nothing, and since he was warned often to not undertake assignments on his own, more the better. But being  commanded to take soldiers to command... It didn't sit well with him, but they had their uses.

As he stalked, his coat billowed out. It was thick but the pace he took made it flutter the way lesser cloth might have. Crimson was the color he'd chosen for himself. Long ago he'd heard rumors that he'd dyed his coats and pants red with the blood of his enemies, but it wasn't true. He'd met a few people who worked cloth from other things and altered them and he'd traded their lives for a chance to have some interesting clothes. he wore not shirt under his coat, and the breeches he wore were from a bygone age and thick, resistant to thickets and thorns, they didn't stop snags, but he didn't get cut on burs on smaller spikes. The boots he'd found ages ago, and were harder in the toes. Steel-Toed they were called, but it just made them heavy. He liked them well enough though. His belt had an interesting buckle to it that bore some words that'd been scratched off and scoured away by tome. His fingers bore rings and jewelry he'd found, his necklace a few pendants and his wrists a few bracelets. He'd paid for them in blood and violence, like everything else he owned. The only currency he knew.

Jezzika, her name had been, he recalled hazily. And she'd been one Morbid Angel. He'd had whores before, but to his understanding the Angels were supposed to be more than that. He really hadn't investigated that too much. Surely there was something that'd been left out the last time someone had taken the time to explain it to him. He supposed that one day he'd sit a few men down and have them draw it out for him. Maybe the next time he had to go exploring with one of them. Yeah, that would break up the monotony a bit.

Hours had passed since he'd set out and the momentum of the search had irked him. Whether it was the informers stroke of luck or if it was something else, he'd come upon the the tunnel he'd been talking about, but the mess he'd left behind wouldn't be of any use. When the man implied that only a monster would believe the things coming out of his mouth, Caleb had turned and slammed the mans head into the wall behind him. His head had erupted in blood and his eyes had rolled back for a moment before he cam sputtering back and roaring curses.  When he raised his hand at him, Caleb had cut a few fingers from the hand with his dagger. The children who'd been watching from the other room rushed out, and he let them tend to their maimed father as they left. Serves him right, Caleb reflected. If he'd have come at me with a knife, I'd have just killed him.

Of of the soldiers he'd taken with him looked like he wanted to say something after that, but a hushed word with one of his partners had convinced him otherwise. They made their way to the place where the Angel had been slain earlier and it had caused the other three to retch and scurry away. Death was no stranger to Caleb and he drank in the smell without gagging. Once he'd considered it a loathesome quality, but now he reveled in the ability to wade past Death and feel... nothing. When he slew a man, he need not turn his nose from the erupting bowels and never had he turned his eyes outside of combat from the convulsing creature he brought down.

Rats scurried from their arrival but they had strayed from more common paths, and Caleb drew the long dark scarf from his coat and  snapped its' knotted end at a fleeing vermin before he wrapped it around his neck. Swathed in his rage, he followed the crooked tunnel with smears of blood on the sides, and claw-marks on the edges. Or at least they looked like claw-marks. They could have easily been from anything with an edge, but what man swings a sword thrice where one stroke had fallen? He wandered a while, before his frustration was like to set him upon the men who trailed behind him, their knives and rusted swords drawn. Caleb had a sword on his back, but he saw no foe, so felt no need for it's weight in his hand. Still, when he turned abruptly, and one of them stumbled back, his sword flailing a bit. Perhaps he ought to turn on a few, and make them aware of his feelings on the matter at hand. No, Logan would probably frown at it the way he always did when the Number Three got a chance to cut loose.

Eyes of terror looked upon him from the tunnel where they'd come from as he stood there, leering at them. The walk had made them all filthy, and none so much as Caleb.  He growled the order to send them scurrying the way they'd come, up ladders and down alleys and tunnels. His rage consumed him, finally and he roared for them to get out of his sight. A fruitless search irked him, but not so much as the sight of them tottering before him, glancing back at him. He leaned on the wall, leering down the mazes. He knew these places, and he'd lived there for a while. He wondered if the surface would ever be like he'd been told. He doubted it. Still, his anger had to be sated. He slammed his fist into the steel and bricks and iron as he passed, the loud clangor raised by his dented rings and fist rang out as he made his way towards the place where the only thing above him would be blue, blue skies and grey clouds. The Sun. The Moon, stars. He drew his bloodied fist back and wiped it off on his coat before stepping out of the Undercity, and onto the packed dirt.

[Uriel Seraphim]

Gwendolyn and Xavier had driven to the crime scene silently. There was no need for words right now. After all, their plan was well laid out and idle chit chat had been discouraged for so long within their home that neither party entertained the idea for more than a moment. When they arrived near Oleandrias biggest bizarre, the two climbed out of Logan's armored vehicle and traversed the crime ridden streets. Gwendolyn spotted the whores immediately, their sickly thin bodies clad in little but handkerchiefs. She wanted to send them to the sanctuary, give them a place to stay and something palatable to eat... to save them from a life that could have so easily been her own. But she could spot the illness' covering their bodies, accumulating around their mouths and... lower regions. She could not risk the infection of any of her girls, nor the patrons who came to her Sanctuary in search of security in their indulgence and simplistic peace of mind.

She sighed, looked away from them and continued down the street. It was not long before she heard the whispering. The people had spotted her, noticed her burn mark, her tattoo's that symbolized her involvement in the Covenant and marriage to Logan. She had never much enjoyed that lime light, but it was something Logan encouraged her to embrace. She knew if she could portray the image of a perfect woman to the people, both Logan and the Sanctuary would benefit. But when Gwen could see no worth or truth to such a misleading façade, she found it impossible to cope with. It was then that she moved closer to Xavier, closer to someone she knew could protect her.

It was then that she spotted Caleb, frowned at the burly bear of a man. Had he been less brash, less aggressive Gwendolyn thought she could have excused most of his personality. But truthfully, his impolite psychotic brutality sickened her. There was a time and place for everything, and though Logan's Duel personality annoyed her, she knew that at heart Caleb and Xavier were true manifestations of his heart. She glanced between the two, green and red, yin and yang, serenity and rage. For a moment she almost felt as if it was a truth she had been ignorant to for centuries. But the moment passed and a stoic expression covered her face.

She came to stand before him, bowed her head in acknowledgement of his position. "Caleb," she addressed the others who had followed him, surprised for once that she had actually remembered a few of the hundreds of names she had come across while serving her husband. "I take it your searching for the culprit has been..." she glanced over his appearance and allowed a smile smirk to peek through, "less than fruitful." It was then that she spotted his hand, 'what innocent has he harmed this time?' she asked herself.

She reached out for his hand then, took it in her own and examined the damage. "You should clean and wrap that before you get infected with something." Her voice was tender as she spoke this time, the slightest crinkle appearing between her eyebrows. She was worried... as much as she hated that idea. Knowing there was a possibility anyone could be disposed of merely because of a small scratch had always pulled at her heart strings. But underneath it all, Gwendolyn merely assumed it was her mothering instincts surfacing.

[DoctorRed]

The woman. The chief angel, the one who flew above her nest and landed with her beak in Logan's ear. He made a face in the shadows as he approached and dropped it when he was close enough, his fist hanging by his side, it's blood leaving a nice little trail now. His knuckles were thick and calloused, but still the skin wept when he raged. He liked it, a little. It reminded him how human he was. How fragile life could be. It made him want to crush things less, but the pain dulled his mind. He wondered idly what had made the match between the two. He supposed it was nothing he would understand.  Idly, he wondered which presence irked him more. The man, or the woman.

The red barbarian was used to the looks that she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking or paying attention. It didn't shock him to find that she was disgusted by him, but he didn't much care. Whatever her opinions, she was courteous enough and she was high enough on her seat that it didn't  expose her to the verbal abuse he might have spouted off with should he have met someone on the streets.

"The world bleeds. I bleed, and yet  I am not the world," he growled, allowing her his hand. He said nothing of the search and even less of the murder at first and tried not to writhe under her touch. When he'd seen them, he leered at the pair, not pleased with their appearance in the least. If there was anything he liked less than someone telling him what to do, it was Green Xavier, who'd stolen his position. The one who stood above him, the Right Hand. He ground his teeth as he listened to her, and flexed the bleeding hand when he had it returned to him. He flicked the blood on the wall beside him and shrugged. The spattering there blended right in with all the rest and he thought nothing of it.

" There's probably something down there, but it's too far gone for anyone to go with so few men. I need more supplies to hunt anything that far down." he admitted. He leered at her a moment before glancing between her and the men who were making their way past, fleeing him, as it were. He figured it was time he be rid of them anyhow, and he was sure they'd taken his rage for a dismissal. They weren't wrong. He found his eyes lingering on the two who'd arrived for a few moments and turned his eyes to the scene before them. He'd left bodies in worst conditions, he was sure, but never someone who'd been one of those little birds. He produced a canteen of water and held his hand out, clumsily rinsing it off there, the water splashing on his boots as he did, taking a long gulp before flicking the mauled hand again, drying it a little.

He sighed and looked at the blood welling up again before he held out his hand, in her direction, the thick liquid pooling before it coagulated in his rings and fell upon the ground. He ground his teeth a moment before speaking the words he was so loathe to hear spill from his lips. He opened his mouth once, and then spoke after a moment. "Would you do me a favor and bind this so I can go?" he asked, his fist tightening, which only deposited more of his blood on the ground between them as he waited to hear what she would have to say about it. He assumed she would heal him appropriately, but recently he'd been learning words that men who ruled used. Like 'please', and 'thanks'. Things he'd surely scoffed at years past, but now he was using them all the time, especially around these... others. He tasted blood. As soon as his mouth had closed, he'd bitten his tongue and rolled the copper taste around his mouth, silently.

[Uriel Seraphim]

She smiled when he asked for her help. "Of course. Better I heal you and keep you rather than refuse and watch Logan put you out of your misery." Even the insult in her sentence sounded sweet. She took his hand in hers gently, careful not to touch the tender wound bleeding profusely on his hand."If I had known you would be getting injured this morning, I would have packed rubbing alcohol to sterilize the wound."   She reached into the small bag she had brought with her and riffled through its contents before finding a small two pronged piece of metal Logan had referred to as tweezers. Diligently, she looked for any small fleck that appeared to be foreign to his body, removing small pieces of wood and brick. "I take it the object of your anger was not a person this time." She said with a simplistic smile. She sighed as the last of the foreign fragments came away, "Normally I would discourage violence towards the general population... but I think Logan would say better they then someone he thinks so highly of." Her eyes flickered up to meet his from time to time, making sure she was not causing him any further pain. She took the water canteen and washed off his wounds once again before binding his hand both quickly and tightly. Truth was he might lose some slight amount of circulation due to the degree of constriction now protecting his wounds, but she hoped he knew that to be normal.

She examined her work, making sure she did not miss any minor lesions that needed attending to. "I hope that was not painful," she muttered, more to herself than to Caleb, "Lord knows it was not my intention." She let his hand slip away and glanced up at him with pensive eyes. "You know, you're getting better at hiding your loathing of me. In time..." she suddenly became very aware of what she was about to say, and what she really shouldn't be saying when Xavier was standing so close. "I... I think if you keep practicing Logan will appreciate it." Well, that was better than saying 'if you keep practicing you could be as good at lying as Logan is.' Now THAT could have earned her one hell of a beating.

"When you get back to the manor tonight, make sure to pour some alcohol over the wound and re-wrap it, alright?"

[DoctorRed]

"Better you heal me, and we don't talk about it, than you heal me and we sit down to tea over it," he grunted as he let her set about his hand, her fussing tolerated for the moments required. He ground his teeth a bit more and tried to avoid her eyes, his temper rising in jarring bolts of agitation. He narrowly resisted the urge to snap his hand away when the tweezers came out. It wouldn't be the first time something had been lodged in his flesh or in a bone and it probably wouldn't be the last. But the last time he'd had some fool with forceps scraping around under his skin had been the first time he'd kept from beating a man to death for laughing at his anguish. The momentary grace of patience had saved his life, and he was hoping it would be doing the same.

He snarled a little when the flakes of wood and brick were torn from his fist and he made a face as she swaddled it in cloth. He flexed the newly freed hand a few times and felt himself  fill out the tied bandages as he worked his fingers with only minor difficulty beneath the bindings. As he turned, he looked upon the body a last time with some sort of contempt before he turned his eyes back upon her and spoke again. " If you know already, then stop noticing it out loud." he said, irritation in his voice rising as he made his way past the pair of them. He flexed his fingers a few more times before burying the wounded hand in his coat, making for the roads. "Yeah, we'll see,' he muttered. He'd had his fill of her for a lifetime but he was sure that so long as she lived, he'd be getting more helpings.

He thought back on the things he'd learned throughout the morning and late night, his mind drifting as he thought on the mangled body he'd seen before. Some part of him wondered if maybe he'd never feel much for that sort. He'd certainly never been keen on the Morbid Angels before or even now. He lived in the same 'society', but being human didn't make two men similar. When he'd been younger, he'd claimed to have been sired by one of the infected. It'd put a good handful of people off from screwing with him, back then. He wondered to himself what it was like to be cherished the way the Angels were. Maybe he'd lived his life wrong,and should have been like them more so. He could have been a caring man, and wept for the dead. But instead, he was a brute and he made the dead. Oh well. Such is life.