Rescuing The Faerie of Thunder


cardinal_icon.gif elle_icon.gif gabriel_icon.gif warren_icon.gif

Scene Title Rescuing The Faerie of Thunder
Synopsis Warren, Gabriel, and (Sort of) Cardinal are action heroes. Elle is wet and in distress!
Date October 30 2010

Subway - Ruined Tunnel Networks

Without electricity in this portion of the subway tunnels, there's no ambient light to help people along. The tracks are empty and dirty. Some patches of the walls and ceiling have fallen away, leaving behind chunks of rock intermittently. The tracks curve a little in places, but stay mostly straight for long areas. A large pile of rubble blocks the way to one of the stations, somewhat conspicuous because the ceiling seems stable around it. Almost as if this blockage had been intentionally made somehow.

These stretches of subway tunnels spread for miles beneath the ruins of Midtown, some of them consisting of little more than collapsed railway passages filled with broken concrete and heat-melted steel girders. Other entirely vacant but debris-filled ticket offices, railway platforms and tunnels seem to spider-web beneath the city, collapsing into exposed steam tunnels and sewage passages that can make traversing these lightless subterranean realms hazardous for many reasons, from toxic fumes to collapsing floors or ceilings.

Curfew's begun, but Midtown isn't exactly the first place that cops patrol, especially not this part. Warren gave both Cardinal and Gabriel the time and place to show up, Cardinal the only one given the suggestion of 'Bring weapons'.

He's doing this tonight, getting Elle back and putting a stop to the Locos, and with the jammers finished, had the chance to roll out a side project based on his biker armor, but a hell of a lot better. Full body armor using the Spectra material, with a helmet that has a long black visor in order to keep his full range of sight.

It's certainly a long way from biker armor, but still rather low tech, with pouches full of… well whatever you put in pouches, canisters of God Knows What at his waist, silver desert eagles at his front, a shotgun strapped to his back with his long electrical sword. On the back of his left hand is a glowing hot heatrod attached to a small battery on his arm. In the other hand, he looks down at a remote that has a low rapid beating, and about 20 non-descript buttons. They can't see his face, but who the hell else would be waiting here dressed like this?

Well, maybe Magnes, but he'd probably be more colorful.

While naturally cocky enough to not be nearly equipped as any of the gentlemen due to be here at this time, Gabriel has stolen some equipment from the Remnant regardless — just a vest, one that is unseen at a first glance beneath layers of black cotton and wool. A knife, within boot. Experience says that both tools come in handy, no matter how many powers one has. His face is his own, tonight, despite moving through the streets of Midtown, with an owl flying silent and near invisible to map out the streets for him as he moves both beside buildings and through buildings.

It's this latter part that works as his appearance. One second, the grey face of a condemned building shows nothing by shadow and ruin. The next, Gabriel moving through it like Swayze, darting a glance up the length of the street as the owl comes to land upon a streetlamp that does nothing save for serve as an occasional perch for avian life.

An invitation was sent out for Richard Cardinal, but he doesn't seem to have showed up… then again, how can one be certain whether or not the shadowman is there or not? The shadows here are deep, and move slowly and strangely here in Midtown. He may have been here for some time, or he may have decided not to show up after all.

Warren needed Gabriel if Cardinal wasn't coming. He knew he could use one or the other. Cardinal for his strategic value, Gabriel for his sheer power. "I've scouted the area, and checked for any signs of my work. I pinpointed the location to a large former storage area. We're going to be outnumbered ten to one, more than likely, so we have to beat them with strategy." is explained through some sort of filter in his helmet, otherwise they likely couldn't hear him very well.

He reaches down and grabs a hidden handle in the ground, pulling it up to reveal a set of stone stairs. There's lights going all the way down, suggesting the entrance is regularly used. "This plan shouldn't impact the Ferrymen, since my base isn't that close to their tunnel network. I've set up polyurethane explosives in every direction the Locos could escape, so their exits will fill up with foam and close those tunnels off, but it won't actually destroy anything. We'll force them down into the old train network, where we'll have doors to hide in, cover, and the tactical upperhand. We'll gradually move in closer and closer, and if they try to use Elle as a hostage, your priority will be to get her to safety."

"Is it?"

That gets Gabriel tilting a look up from the strange trapdoor in the ground, raising one dark eyebrow as he fails to move to follow accordingly. Should the shadows contain more than just darkness, one will note that Gabriel has gone through a couple of changes — uninjured as ever, but with silver shot through his black hair in wiry grey, a strange effect of life-force being siphoned out. Though pattern is hard to distinguish, it's where fingertips in a grab had set down that dictates the effect.

Healthy, though, and still thirty-something in age. "My priority is confronting the Locos and finding out what they want from me, or, barring that, putting an end to them so that stop dragging me into more business than I can handle. If I have to go through Elle, then that's her problem. She isn't exactly a helpless princess."

"If you hurt Elle, I'll kill you myself, don't think I didn't come prepared. I came here to rescue Elle, she's my priority. When she's rescued you can do whatever the hell you want." Warren points the glowing heatrod in Gabriel's direction, fist balled. "I'm not in the mood for a dick swinging contest. I need you to not be insane for a while."

That gets a lazy kind of smile, doggish in its inevitability, although his stare is flinty above that show of teeth, orange light from the heat rod glinting off wet both. "Then I'll go around Elle," Gabriel assures, in a richly generous tone of voice.

"Fine, let's go." Warren doesn't sound too happy either way, then starts heading down the stairs. It's not damp, or even all that dirty, not a hint of trash or the horrible scents that usually comes with these tunnels. "According to the radar I was scanning the area with, Elle's deep inside of the base. The closer she gets, the more my remote is going to beep, provided she has the…" He stares at the remote as the beeping suddenly stops, grunting. "The signal died."

Happy to let Warren go first, Gabriel casts one last look around the street, before the owl takes off at the same time he steps foot down the staircase, freed of its obligations. Tilting his head at the announcement of signal death, Gabriel pauses on his way down and shuts his eyes, briefly. Warren's nearby mind is a supernova of psychic proximity, almost difficult to see past — but he can at least see enough to know there's a whole lot of nothing ahead of them for the next two hundred feet.


"I can't detect anyone nearby, except a guardian angel," is faintly mocking, brown eyes seeking out the shadows relatively nearby, his eye line a little rough rather than particularly accurate.

"Fine, let's go." Warren is not amused, leading the way through the tunnels, following lights down tracks. The remote is slid back into a holster, and instead he grabs a canister. There's grenades on that belt too, but knowing Warren, they're probably not just grenades.

A few minutes pass, and right on the edge of Gabriel's senses, he'd get about three people down the long, dimly lit tunnel. "If they hurt her, all bets are off on being non-lethal."

"Three warm bodies ahead," is lazy report, after the last ping of psychic radar scopes out the space in all directions. There's a glance back down the tunnel, to where he felt Cardinal last, a frission of annoyance making a line in Gabriel's brow. Not so much for the man's presence, but for what it might limit when it comes to the time powers of Clara Francis. It is what it is, however, and Gabriel stoops to slide knife from its sheath.

Flips his grip around to wield, blade jutting out from between thumb and index, then around in a stabbing grip, idle and restless. "I could go say 'hi', but that tends to get lethal."

"I'm assuming that there's not many strategy lectures in serial killer school. We're drawing them out, and we're not going to let on how many of us there actually are. The more of us they think there are, the better." They walk a little closer, at least fifty or so feet, then Warren pulls the pin from the canister and tosses it pretty far. It explodes into a large mass of tear gas, and the men start coughing and running in the opposite direction.

"They'll come out with more men, and probably guns. You take that door, I'll take this one over here. When they start coming out, we start a sequence of firing, running forward to more cover, then firing again. We'll take them out as we walk closer. Try to disable them without killing, then the cops can come down here and get them." He grabs his shot gun, then loads it up, cocking it and walking up to the platform from the tracks, pressing up against the doors as he waits for sight of men coming.

Gabriel can already feel a good six men marching on their way, getting closer to the smoke.

There is a hard stare at that first comment, for all that it's been a long time since Gabriel's cared about being labelled a serial killer. Implication that he doesn't know his strategy, after all this time, gets a chilly demeanor — but it's among the lesser things that Warren can receive, at least.

"Yeah, that always goes according to plan."

Sarcasm, a little, for what the cops can and can't do, but Gabriel isn't disputing orders. For now. Nor point out that firing is not quite his forte, in the traditional idea of the phrase. "You want more people? I'll give you more people." Suddenly, long shadows are stretching down the tunnel, the appearance of men, vaguely FRONTLINE in appearance if not specifically, though their formation, three, maybe four of them, it'll be difficult for the Locos to see, are certainly militaristic.

The sound of gunshots ring out, quite suddenly, the appearance of flying sparks as memories collected from confrontrations, recent and not so recent, form to give the illusion of enemy attack. But only an illusion.

That's when the real gunfire starts. The sound of Locos firing AK47s at illusions, firepower Warren was not expecting. "Damn." He runs out, knowing full well those things can eat the crap out of his armor. But he fires, rubber buckshot, blowing one, then two men in black suits with their numbered biker helmets to the ground. Locos usually don't wear bulletproof vests… well, most of them. Rubber buckshot hurts. There's more men, four more on the edge of Gabriel's senses, but they're not getting any closer, they're strangely staying at the same spot.

Meanwhile, One is dragging Elle to the open vault doors, keeping her tied up with a ropes soaked in water. "They're here, sounds like more than one. Fourteen would never bring help, so it must be your boyfriend, or the Shadow." he says from behind his own voice filter, wearing full biker gear and his helmet with the blood smeared 1 on the front. Warren's old gear, meaning all sorts of crap hidden on it. "I think it's time for an explosive welcome, don't you?"

If the Locos had any doubt that the girl they had captured was Elle Bishop herself, it's certainly been erased by now. It started with her hair losing its color. Then, almost overnight, her features shifted painlessly back into their natural position. With her original face, Elle certainly won't be fooling anyone into believing that she's Madison Cole tonight. It's for the best, she hated not seeing herself when she looked into the mirror, her own face at least some small relief.

The Locos haven't treated her horribly, at least. She's been fed and cared for, of course, but sleep has been a rare occasion for her, sitting in a bathtub, chained to the pipes with mostly cold water surrounding her lower half. That, combined with the buckets of water splashed on her, and Elle isn't much for fighting back, any more. She's tired and cold, shivering in the skimpy faerie outfit that is fairly tattered after her tussle with the Locos a few days ago.

Right now, she really is a helpless princess. She hasn't had any reference for time, but she knows it's been way too long that she's been down here.

As One shoves her out, she sneers up at him. "I dare you to do this shit when I'm dry, you ugly asshole. I really hope you die soon." She might be exhausted, but she's still pissed off, and not shy about letting it be known, even going so far as to spit up at his helmet. "If it's any of the guys you think it is, you're shit out of luck!"

In a crouch as gunfire, fake and real, echoes down the tunnel, Gabriel watches intently at the figures coming through the smoke, the ones not knocked down by Warren's gunfire. One hand gripping the damp wall to balance, he waits until he can get a decent visual on the nearest, before— the Loco will know the feeling of a physical disconnect from brain to body, like the latter just stopped working, before swooning encroaches blackness in his periphery, and he falls sharply beneath the sedative effect of an ability that specialises in non-lethal attacks.

The illusion remains steady, although when one of the illusioned soldiers pantomimes falling back beneath the effect of a gunshot, it simply fades into shadows, a faulty hologram before Gabriel's impatience simply cuts it out entirely. The other three images keep up the act, however, although it will become clear that they don't seem to be hitting anything.

Now, the hard part starts. Canon fodder having done their job, with Warren and Gabriel getting close enough for the majority of the base to be sensed by his ability. There's a total of eighteen people still conscious. The ten coming from the base are still further away from the other four that recently showed on Gabriel's senses, the ones not doing anything.

Warren takes out the remaining men that they can see, using his shotgun, which takes it down to fifteen people. When Warren throws another canister deep into the tunnel, there's no one visible at all. Then the sound of something hitting one of the tracks is heard, something hard… then another… and finally a third one. "Shit, grenades!" He rams into one of the doors in the side of the tunnel, then slams it shut behind him and jumps to the side. Apparently Gabriel will have to fend for himself when those things explode.

"You shouldn't curse me for taking advantage of your weakness. And you may be pretty on the outside, but we both know how ugly you are on the inside." He yanks the ropes, standing inbetween the vault and the base as men start leaving with various weapons, getting into formation and preparing for whatever siege they're under. "I'll be drinking out of your boyfriend's skull before the night is over, little girl."

Elle shivers, her hair and dress still quite wet. "I'm not cursing you for taking advantage of my weakness. I'm cursing you for being a coward who is too afraid to face the pretty little girl who is ugly on the inside. I really want to see how you'd act if I weren't soaked. Bet you would be a snivelling little brat, sobbing as your nasty eyes melted." Elle sneers up at the man, turning to frown at the sound of the grenades.

It would be really, really nice if whoever it is that's come doesn't die, and succeeds in rescuing her. She'll happily take any hollering that is headed her way, so long as it means that she can curl up in a bed that is warm and dry. And get out of this damn fairy costume that would look much less out of place on a stripper.

There are two things that Gabriel does.

One is pure instinct, flinging a hand out, and then— an echoing boom as concussive energy funnels out from his palm, rippling and distorting the air, and slamming everything headed his way with a wall of force that extends some ten, fifteen feet. It lasts a second, sending one grenade bouncing back, but the others are swiftly clear of it it, bouncing along the concrete.

The second, more defensive — intangibility floods up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, automatically squinching his eyes shut as he does so.

At the fringes of Gabriel's perception, the presence that's been lurking along beside them finally separates from the group. The living shadow that is Richard Cardinal sticks to the natural edges of darkness in the tunnels, darting ahead of the other two in search of the hostage. Hopefully, the Locos will be distracted enough with Warren and Gabriel kicking in their proverbial front door to keep an eye out for the shadowman.

God knows that Gabriel's being loud enough.

Once the grenades have exploded, Warren swings his door open and starts running across the platform, pulling and throwing one, then two of his own grenades. They both explode into a mass of hundreds of compressed rubber ball, causing plenty of men to either hit the ground or back up a bit. The AK47s continue shooting at illusions, then suddenly Warren stops, looking over at

That was loud. So loud, in fact, that Elle jumps a bit, struggling at her bonds. "They're going to kill you all. You really need to learn that a healthy sense of doubt is a good thing sometimes. I mean, seriously, your plan sounds like it's falling apart rather miserably." Elle sneers spitting at One's helmet once more. She'll save the 'I told you so's for once her knight in shining armor shows up, whoever that may be.

"You make a good point, that's why I only keep half the gang here. No point in all of them being taken out if the base suddenly gets found and raided. But it looks like I might not have a base after tonight. Your boyfriend, or that shadow guy, it looks like they're doing a bangup job." One suddenly shoves Elle to the ground, then starts closing the vault behind him. "Don't think there's not a backdoor. Goodbye, Elle, if you live through this. They have orders to kill you." Apparently he does know when to escape, since the vault seals behind him. But as far as Warren knows, he sealed the potential escape routes… at least the ones that showed up in the old maps he had.

Can he kill the lights?

Gabriel darts a glance up towards where the lights are set into the ceiling of tile and cement, long consideration, before he lifts a hand and concentrates. The air around them smells abruptly like a storm, bizarrely damp but electrical as well, with foggy wisps of water vapour swirling like an over-steamed bathroom around the glowing eyes of illumination. Abruptly, silver-blue lightning leaps from Gabriel's palm, blows two lights in two darting forks of electricity, a surge of power that sends sparks flying and glass breaking.

Another hit has the ones in conjunction bursting from overload, throwing the tunnel into darkness.

The lights go out, but that doesn't bother Cardinal at all… rather the opposite, in fact. The large group of thugs standing around the 'hostage' are noticed, as is the woman behind them, the living shadow slithering up one wall and waiting a moment to see what they're going to do.

Elle sneers. "You won't. You'll be hunted down." Then, she's suddenly shoved to the ground, landing with an 'oof' behind the ten fellows who stand between her and the ones who have come to kick some ass. She struggles for a moment, before rolling up onto her feet, pressing herself back against the door of the vault. Damn water. Damn skimpy faerie outfit. Damn asshole Number One, whose eyeballs she hopes to melt one day.

She lets out a small squeak as the tunnel is plunged into darkness, pressing up tighter against the vault door. "I'm by the vault door!" This is shouted out for those who have come, the electric blonde frowning as she glances about frantically. She's vulnerable right now, and she hates it. At least she has the adrenaline to keep her going, wiggling her hands in the ropes.

Two men turn around ready to shoot her, but when the lights go out, more or less all of the men panic and start firing wildly, which causes rapid flashes of light and plenty of distraction for Gabriel and Warren.

Warren holsters his shotgun, then draws his Desert Eagles and starts firing rubber bullets that seriously aren't fucking around. One smashes right through one of the men's helmets and breaks his nose once the rapid firing dies down, and their ammo's mostly run out. Many scramble to find handguns, but Warren and his heat vision have opted to start jamming his heatrod into arms, fire shots into elbows, and just generally beat and shoot the hell out of anyone in front of him. "Get the hell out of my way! Elle!" he calls out, loud enough for her to hear down the tunnel.

Panic smells good. Panic smells like cookies, maybe, kind of sweet, a little bad for you, and impossible to not want more.

A glimpse through Warren's eyes, a short burst of sensory feedback, has Gabriel moving in his wake, following that glowing arm of ultra-heated metal, and the muzzle flashes of guns going off. The leader of this piece is able to move faster and more effectively, but the sheer amount of fear in the air dictates that Gabriel can't just do nothing. A hand finds another, one gripped around a pistol, with superhuman strength, the Loco is flung off his feet and driven with a crash into the wall, the crack of concrete fast to follow.

A gun goes off, earning a grunt of pain from Gabriel, before hands find the attack, and a sickening, tearing feeling is followed by an animal shrill of pain. Dissolving into inky shadow, he blindly sharks along the tunnel, curling around the leg of someone in his way and— after being pretty sure it's not an ally— becoming physical.

His knife finds purchase, and a bleeding body slams hard into two still moving ones.

This is kind of fun— ow. Who did that.

A pair of black-gauntleted hands emerge from the darkness in the middle of the confusion, grabbing hold of Elle and dragging her down towards the floor and out of the way of the gunfire just as some of the wild bullets ricochet off the door where her head was. "Keep low, girly," Cardinal's hollow whisper slides against her ear, "Just let the crazy people do the hard work."

Well, there's Warren. The electric blonde isn't quite sure if she's happy that he's here, or if she still wants to kick his ass. At the very least, it's nice of him to have come to rescue her. But there's someone else, who definitely isn't Richard. Must be…Gabriel? Elle stiffens, pressing back against the vault as tight as she can as she attempts to work at the rope.

Then, Cardinal grabs hold of her, and she lets out a shriek. First, she struggles, pulling against the hand; then, she lands on the ground with another 'oof', blinking through the darkness. "Richard?" She hisses, and suddenly scoots closer to the sound of his voice, peering out at the darkness, and the chaos that is occuring behind the shroud of darkness.

Punch, crack, snikt, are the numerous sound effects that ring through the air are guns are forced out of hands and both Gabriel and Warren fight their way through ten men with a mixture of combined intuitiveness, and just plain innate physically honed crazy. One can take the crazy out of Warren's mind, but he still has the body and skills of an insane person.

When the two step out of the other end, they're surrounded by bodies, both dead from Gabriel being particularly zealous, and those who are simply unconscious. He reaches into one of those pouches, then turns on a red flare and looks down at Elle's form. "You alright?" he asks as he walks over and reaches down to cut her ropes off with a combat knife.

There's a scuffing sound, someone tripping over, perhaps, a leg, and a muttered, gravelled curse from Gabriel. Rapid glimmers of psychic seeing confirms that probably, most of everyone is done for, but he remains tense and wary as anyone might should they expect something to spring from the darkness. Finally, a burst of yellow-edged light emits from his palm, a wavery, very thin beam of light that he uses to scout out his surroundings.

It briefly darts over the three shapes of Cardinal, Elle and Warren, although only those equipped for seeing in the dark will see much of him than a weak flashlight-like beam.

"Who were you expecting, Doctor Livingstone?" As the others arrive, Cardinal withdraws back into the shadow with a whispered hiss of breath, "I'll yell at you later… later…" As that beam of light spills over them, the shadow twitches nervously.

Elle flinches at the red flare, before relaxing against again as she hears Warren's voice. As her ropes are cut, Elle rubs at her wrists, frowning up at him. "I'm fine," she mumbles, moving to raise to her feet. "Tired and wet." She grumbles this, peering quietly up at Warren with a somewhat unsure expression on her face. She flexes her wrists a few times.

Then, Elle's eyes turn to focus on the light, and moreso, that familiar voice. She leans over, attempting to see better, a fascinated, if not slightly concerned look on her face. Warren and Richard seem to be forgotten for the time. "Gabriel?" Apparently, she is aware of the others' presence enough to edge just a little closer to Cardinal's shadow.

Warren reaches down after slipping the knife back into a pouch, moving to take Elle's hand, sighing in relief. "The cops will be here soon, where ever One is hiding, he won't have anywhere to go. I'll take you home." He looks between her and Gabriel, but doesn't say anything, simply watching.

"Hi, Elle." Well. On paper, that seems friendly, but his voice holds a metallic, kind of weighted quality to it, as if irony were crushing it into a monotone. And it's probably not apathy. Gabriel allows the light to disperse, turning into glimmering, fairy-like points of illumination that distribrute light a little wider, and she can see more of his profile that way, the severe cast of his expression, and even the strange silver smattering peppered in his hair. In turn, he rakes a look over her. "Long time no see."

He switches a look towards Warren, and his mouth twists. Electricity— not so unlike Elle's own power, but maybe a different kind of mechanism to it, more storm than circuit— snakes a fork up one arm, barely suppressed aggression, but it snaps out in the same time he's turning his back.

Kick. He toes his boot against the flopped hand of one of the Locos. "If the police are coming, I need to be scarce."

"I'll make sure that she gets home alright, Warren… Warren…" A great shadow blossoms across the wall behind Elle, and though those glimmtering lights cause the other shadows in the area to shift as Gabriel moves - this one remains steady and unwavering, Cardinal's whisper touched with irritation, "…I think you've done quite enough damage. I trusted you to take care of this mess… the Locos…"

"…but we can argue another time. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Elle stares up at Gabriel as the light reveals his face, her brows raised. For a moment, it's as if she's rather dumbstruck, her jaw falling agape for a moment. It's really him. She has enough frame of mind, however, to pull her hand away from Warren's wordlessly. I still haven't forgiven you. She's up on her feet, then, stil staring at Gabriel.

Tentatively, the little blonde takes a step toward him. "Th— thank you for helping. Even if it wasn't for me…thank you, Gabriel." She frowns up at him. "And…for what it's worth, I'm sorry." She pauses, still several feet away from Gabriel. There's history there, that much is certain. Elle still holds herself responsible for creating 'Sylar'. Not to mention, she still beats herself up over it.

"Fine." Warren simply drops his flare, then starts walking. "Jammers are done, Gillian has the remotes. I'm gonna disappear for a while." He leaves them with that, starting to walk into the darkness.

There's a disdainful, kind of annoyed glance that Gabriel sends Warren's way. "You're welcome," cuts across Elle's apology— and also, conveniently, her thanks— like a knife, post-battle tension and renewed aggravation not being a particularly constructive mix for happy— or even unhappy— reunions. He has no choice but to glance back at her, standing his ground without retreat much like a wild animal who isn't sure if the latter is a good idea, or attacking might be better.

But there is really no threat involved. "I'm not." Sorry, he means. "Little late for that." He glances towards the one steady shadow in the space, as if checking that Cardinal is still there to play clean up crew— or white knight, however you want to frame it. Gabriel absently wipes the flat of his blade against his leg, before he's taking a step away, retreating not from a horde of psychopaths, but one diminutive, shivering blonde woman.

He implodes into inky black, taking those fairy lights with, and moves like a snake for the nearest out.

"That's entirely your choice, there, Warren… but for the record, I rather thought that your other work was quite productive… productive…" A sigh whispers from the shadows, and as the two other men depart through the tunnels, Richard Cardinal steps out into the sharp, sparking light of that single flare, the glittering reflecting off the visor of a closed Horizon helmet. One hand drops down to Elle's shoulder, head shaking slowly as he moves to step back the way they came, "C'mon, Elle. You probably could use a shower after all this. Lola's guarding the entrance."

A sneer is turned toward Warren, from Elle. Gillian? She can't help herself, reaching down and picking up a rock, promptly sending it weakly flying at Warren's back. Not like it'll hurt him, her muscles are weak, and she's rather exhausted. "You're not going to disappear. I'll talk to you later." That may not be a good thing, judging by the sound of her voice. At least she wants to talk to him? It's certainly a drastic improvement over heir last meeting.

Then, she's looking back to Gabriel, fidgeting with the rope burn on her wrists. "It is too little late, I know. But…that doesn't mean I can't feel the remorse for the past. I'm sorry, even if you're not." She frowns as he implodes, watching him with a melancholy look upon her face.

Then, Cardinal places a hand on her shoulder, and the fatigue finally hits her, the little blonde promptly leaning slightly against Richard. "Fuck water. I need warm clothes and a bed."

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