Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Bloodstone Medical Center

"Grand news," Desmond replied with a grin. "All went accordin' to me plan. Don't suppose we could celebrate it wi' some food before I drop over dead on the both of you?"
 
Skye shrugged. "Can see what's around. Dunno if there's a lot 'ere. You two 'ang 'ere and I'll go see what they've got." Skye pulled her head back through the crack and shut the door behind her.

"Think we can bottle up her energy and sell it for a profit?" Chloe asked. Her own head was pounding, and she still looked and felt like a truck had hit her. Her sleep hadn't come easy, and her dreams had been restless, for the short while she'd been out.
 
"If I knew 'ow to do that, the whole pack would be set for life," Desmond answered with a snort of amusement. "Come on, I've 'ad quite enough of this room. Let's 'ead after 'er, an' see 'ow the others are 'oldin' up."
 
Chloe stiffened slightly at his answer. Reluctantly, she stood up and threw on her jacket. "Alright then.. Let's go."
 
Aimee slowly slid open her eyes, glancing around with a slight grunt. Somehow she had fallen asleep outside, which wasn't the brightest thing to do, but she was pretty exhausted still. Sliding up to her feet, she wanted to find a mirror and check out her face and arm, wondering if it was healing and just how bad it looked. Moving into the building, she closed the door and stretched out her body, still a little sleepy. Her gaze fell on the room and she glanced around it at the rest of those still resting before making her way towards a bathroom. "Fuck." She managed, fingers twitching a little at her side.
 
Over the few hours since the pack's return from their run, Snow had finally found sleep off in one of the side rooms. By the time that Skye, Desmond and Chloe emerged from Desmond's room, however, he had emerged back out into the lobby and was now stood off to the side of the room with his phone out. He glanced up when the trio entered, giving Desmond a nod of greeting, but saying nothing.

Seri was still curled up on one of the chairs at the side of the room in his cat form, dozing, but Quinn and Connor were nowhere to be seen, having retired to rooms of their own elsewhere in the building.
 
Ragenard awoke in a start from his short nap. A building growl was locked in his throat as reality slowly filtered out the images his dreams had brought. He felt ridiculous as he sheathed his sword back in it's baldric and was glad he'd snagged a room for his own and hadn't dragged Julienne to bed with him. She'd never let him live it down.

Getting up with a grunt, he made his way to dinky vanity set that had seen better years and gazed at his reflection in the leftover mirror shards of it. A frown furrowed itself deeply upon his brow as he noticed the corner of his right iris shifting from an unnatural electric blue back to its natural hazel color.

It seemed not everything he dreamed was merely an echo of the past. He'd have to talk to Reinhard at some point in the near future, make sure the cage was ready in time. If that would even work anymore, he thought.

"If I get any larger how the fuck would I fit? And fuck will I do if I grow tentacles this time...," he muttered to himself. Had anyone been around to hear, they would have caught the rarest glimpse of Ragenard that there could be, as the abject terror quietly suffused the tone of his muttering.

With a sigh he stepped away from reflections both physical and mental and got dressed before making his way out of the room.

After a short pit stop, he arrived at the room he'd ordered Bast to set up and unlocked the heavy door to the armory.

Not much time to arrange the new additions from his personal collection, but soon enough they'd be put to use so it was a moot point. He grabbed a large gym bag full of identical illegal (and untraceable) large caliber handguns, and another bag full of boxes of various variations of .45 ACP ammunition.

Immersing himself in the troubles of the moment and the plans for the immediate future helped him dispel the quiet personal horror his dreams had awakened.

By the time he made it to the 'lobby' of the Medcenter and plopped his bundles in the floor, he was whistling to himself.

"Good morning folks. Someone do me a favor and go gather everyone who's not too fucked to stand to join us here."
 
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Having made it to the bathroom, Aimee stood staring at herself in the mirror, eyes taking in everything that she had been too asleep to notice earlier. Half of her face was covered in bandages and she knew that there would be gnarly scars where she had been clawed. That bitch would pay, she would make sure of it. Running her fingers through her dark hair, the female shoved it first out of her face before just letting it fall back into her eyes, the strands covering some of the bandage. “Going to go out and find her and kill her. Then get booze to celebrate.” Mumbling, she just sat down on the edge of the toilet, dropping her head into one of her hands, the other limp in her lap.

“Not a weakling… I can do it.” Her eyes closed a moment before snapping them back open again, knowing she couldn’t camp out in the toilet the entire time. Sliding back to her feet, she clenched her good hand into a fist before moving out of the bathroom and back to the main room just in time to hear the tail-end of Ragenard’s order. “Fucking fantastic…” Her mood was just a little sour all things considered. What made it worse was she did not see her father yet and that irked her immensely.
 
"On it," Snow replied, glad of the distraction. Having something to do meant his mind was less apt to wander and dwell as it did while he was idle. Slipping his phone away, he slipped from the lobby and into the hallways of the med centre, seeking out those rooms that he knew were occupied and rousing their occupants, sending them through to where Ragenard was waiting.

Quinn had barely achieved a light doze over the few hours of the night she'd spent lying in one of the centre's cots. She'd spent most of the time staring at the ceiling and thinking on the previous night's mess. So when the knock came at the door of the room that she and Connor were sharing, she was quick to rise to her feet and answer it. Connor, in the mean time, rolled over sluggishly and groaned into his pillow.

"Aye?" She eyed the white-haired man at the door. Snow, if she remembered rightly from what the other Bloodstones had called him. The little she'd seen of him had told her he was a man of few words.

"Ragenard wants everyone in the lobby," he answered.

"Guuuh," Connor moaned from behind her. "Five minutes."

"Now." Snow stated flatly.

"I'll rouse him, don't worry," Quinn reassured him. He gave her an assessing look, shrugged, and turned to move on to the next room. Turning back to her brother, Quinn walked over and kicked him lightly in the ribs. "C'mon, ya lummox."

"Whyyyy..." Connor ran his hands through his tangled hair, sighing huffily. "That wasn't even a night. That was a nap."

"Be as it may, the big man says mush, so we'd best mush. Or else we're only reinforcin' their belief that we're nay more than pansies who've no right t' be 'ere." Quinn rummaged through her bag for a moment for a hair-tie, and pulled her hair up into a short ponytail. While she did so, Connor managed to drag himself to his feet, and the pair of them wandered through to the lobby.

Seri, in the meantime, had cracked an eye open when Ragenard had entered, but not moved. He could listen just as well in this shape as in the other, and he didn't feel like expending the energy necessary to go and get dressed. He was comfy. Movement would happen as and when it was required, not before.
 
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Raquette was awake when Snow came to direct her towards the meeting-place, and was quick, maybe even anxious, to make her way there. On appearance alone, the youth had seemed to age a year overnight. Her eyes were getting soft, dark rings beneath them and her expression was tight and serious. She gently led Sophia along beside her by the hand, the girl back to human form and re-outfitted with Snow's shirt. Raquette had been nigh obsessively watching over the girl the whole night through, with little to no sleep of her own. Raquette needed to focus on her role as caretaker.

It was what gave her the strength to put on a brave front as she entered the room full of her pack mates. Her shoulders were squared and her strides sure as she found a space against the wall and kneeled down onto one knee to be at Sophia's height. Raquette took a long, steadying breath and glued her eyes to Ragenard, waiting for his direction.
 
Sophia remained pretty sullen by the whole affair, and had expressed more than once through the night a desire to go home. Aside from her clear unhappiness at the situation though, she remained relatively quiet and non-disruptive for the time being.

Meanwhile as word spread via Snow, others began to turn up as well. Bastien and Draaven among them. Seamus too turned up with the Iverians, the human oddball out among the pack of werewolves.

Vanessa and Carlisle both remained notably absent, as did Jacques.
 
Desmond and Chloe weren't far behind the others, the former of whom let out a groan as he heard Ragenard's words.

"So much for eatin'," he whispered to Chloe.

There was a hint of his jovial self edging back into his voice though, and the words came out light-hearted.
 
Brendan was in a much better mood. The only thing he’d have complained about right now was his sore neck. Out loud, that was. Internally he was still struggling against his ‘forgive and forget’ attitude that was being tested to the limit. He was still stretching, yawning and tugging at his hair was he made his way to the lobby. It was only when he drew a deep breath before entering that he was hit with a scent that had him wide awake. He’d been so wound up and angry for so long that he seemed to have forgotten what had made him that way.

He bounced around in a weird excited jig on the spot as he spotted the familiar faces that outshone those of his secondary family.

It was a strange show in a room that was already pretty full.

His celebration had knocked the person who’d been trying to enter behind him, and something had dropped to the floor.

“Sorry love” he said, patting a confused and disregarded Cass on the head as she looked at her fallen, slightly-stale food. Brendan then squeezed through the bodies to snatch up Skye in a crushing hug. Now really wasn’t the time for the heart-warming reunion, but there hadn’t been much time or patience for it before.

“Wasn’t much of a breakfast anyway” Cass muttered.
 
"Brendan!" The Iverian bloodstone's arrival was followed by a cheerful cry of greeting, as Connor's face split in a grin. The youngest of Skye's bandmates had just walked in through one of the other hallways, and he hurried over to where Brendan and Skye were exchanging their hug. The events of the previous night had put thoughts of a reunion on hold, the atmosphere oppressive enough to have dampened his excitement, but seeing Brendan again brought it back. "Thought you were avoidin' us, y' arse!"

Quinn followed not far behind Connor, smiling at them. "Kept askin' me if I thought he ought to go look for you," she said, folding her arms. "But seemed like y' were in need of some recovery time, not interrupted by y' one-man fanclub there."

"Oi, shut it, you!" Connor shot an embarrassed glower back at his sister. "It's been a while, a'ight? Bugger me for showin' a bit of enthusiasm!"
 
Ragenard took a few seconds to survey the assembled crowd before beginning to speak. He couldn't help but feel the contrast rising from his memories sharply. Whether from a trick of recollection or grim reality, he couldn't help but feel that compared to the Bloodstones of yesteryear, the current make up of their family were woefully unprepared for what was coming.

Worse yet, his remembrance did not include the newfound feeling of responsibility his new position imposed upon him. Children, some in age and others in mind. Softened by long years of content before a rude reawakening most. Wounded and bitter the rest. But killers? He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't the only one in the room. And this was the lot he was to take to war?

No, I'm being unfair to them, there's fire here; he thought as his eyes roamed deeper.

They weren't the same manic howlers he remembered bleeding among, but they were Bloodstones nonetheless. They would rise to the life, or the life would leave them. That was still the same.

"Alright, listen up people!" he roared. "First things first," he exclaimed as he shook out a cigarette and lit up. "We're alive. We all got hit with some heavy shit in one way or another recently, but we're alive. They sought to tear us down and apart, and while not all of us made it...we're alive. We persevered, together, as pack."

He took a drag of his smoke and exhale slowly, the silvery white smoke billowing above him.

"We are The Bloodstones and pretty soon we're going to show those Scion motherfuckers, and anyone stupid enough to work for them or through them, that there's a price to pay for fucking with us. You do not start shit with us with impunity, and you sure as fuck don't leave it unfinished if you know what's good for you.

"By the time we're done with them, they'll understand who we are. Whatever dregs of theirs that through dumb luck or divine intervention manage to survive our coming retribution will be able to pick up from amidst the rubble of their lives a stone, and squeeze from it the blood we'll make them shed," he roared out before pausing for another drag.

He could feel his blood heating up as his rage began to build up, could feel it begin to slowly radiate out of him and begin to permeate the room.

Unlike the conflicting cocktail of the leader dispute from the previous night, this was a milder and more focused sensation. The embodiment of his strength and will as pack leader being unconsciously shared with his pack.

"From now on, the tense stalemate you've all been used to for nearly a decade now is over. We're now at war, open and hot. We'll make them pay for what they've the gall to do to us, and show them the error of their ways before they go down and burn in hell.

"From now on, every single one of you old enough is to be armed at all times. Doesn't matter if you don't like it. Doesn't matter if you're scared. We're one pack, one and all. If shit goes down next to you, you're expected to be ready to back up your brothers and sisters, bullet or fang," he paused to bend down and pick up the bag full of guns.

After extracting a lock-box out of it, he lightly threw it at his feet.

"Arm up, folks. Two magazines each at all times, that gives you 17 chances to put a mangy Scion down. It goes without saying, these pieces are illegal and not traceable. Do not get caught by the LPD with them. Speaking of which...

"If you were at the Den when the incident went down and are questioned keep your response simple; 'I was drunk, I didn't see shit' or something to that effect. If you have police trying to get you to say anything about anything pack activity or otherwise; 'I ain't gotta talk to no pig, I know my rights'. You old-schoolers know how this goes, new arrivals take note. They are them, and we are us. We handle our business," he paused for another drag and another look around the room.

Eyes roaming; probing for weaknesses, seeking grit.

"Now, we ain't gonna achieve our purpose overnight. We aren't going to half-assedly bloody the Scions noses, no. We're going to fucking exterminate them, take back our territory, and leave them neutered permanently. And we'll be doing this methodically and systematically. All of you will have a part to play, and the work begins today," another pause, another drag.

"This ain't just a peptalk, everybody is going to be busy pitching in, whether you're brother or cousin. Everybody pulls their weight, so listen up!

"Julienne, Bastien, Quinn, and Connor. You four are going to go get us our 'war room' set up. Go to that old warehouse of Jean's near Rue Vive. Julienne knows the one," he added with a wink at Julienne as he remembered a particularly well used mattress on the top platform.

"Split up the work how you see fit, there's only a rusty old chain chain and giant padlock blocking it up. You need to get in, get the truck in there running and back here, and load most of our armory here and truck it over," he paused to crack open the lockbox he still held, and from within extracted a hefty bundle of cash in a rubber band.

"You'll also need to stock the place up with basic living essentials. Water, non-perishable food, camping gear and what not. Prepare it for the long haul, that's going to be our base of operations for the foreseeable future," he finished before tossing Julienne the money.

"Oh, and take the cat. He can work as lookout while you guys work," he added with a pointed look at Seri.

"Now, not everyone is going to be hanging out over there. Our wounded obviously have to stay here, as do the pups. And there's also work to be done around here. Ulrich, Damon, and Jean Pierre. You three are on security detail here. Take a rifle or shotgun each from the armory and plenty of ammo. Keep the place secure and orderly so Reinhard and Jesse can do their work.

"Raquette, Humbert, and Re'Altarm. You're in charge of stocking up the Med Center," he paused to throw another bundle of cash for Raquette.

"Similar deal as the warehouse list, but also tack on medical supplies. Bandages, antibiotics, whatever else. Re'Altarm can make a list, she should have an idea of the basics.

"Desmond and Brendan," he said with a pause as a grin spread across his face. "You're on cleaning up detail. I want all outside evidence that we were ever here disappeared. That means the wrecked cars, the puddles of blood as we came in, everything. We've been lucky so far that the LPD had their attention on the casino and I haven't picked up any chatter looking this way yet, but not taking any chances.

"Cass, you're to stay around the place and help as needed. Whether that's helping the louts clean, or putting stuff away when the supplies get here, or making the pups lunch. I dunno, be useful wherever."

He took another pause to take a couple of drags off his cigarettes before his face took on a more serious pall once again.

"Draaven and Snow. You guys go pick up some more serious firepower from the armory and wait for me here. I got a couple of things to take care of here and then we'll be going out to find where Jacques disappeared to," he said, shooting Aimee a look.

"Finally, there's some serious work for you remaining Iverian cousins. You ain't from around here, and that's your strongest asset in this. Skye, Fiona, and Kian. You three are going to scout out Cascastel. I don't expect any of you to be reconnaissance experts, but I want you to go see what you see. How many Scion drug pushers are at the corners, tacky blacked out SUVs moving around, whatever. Get a feel for how Scion activity is out there. But keep a low profile.

"As for you, Seamus, you're going to go scout out the casino. Take note of whatever you can there. Maybe play up the part of sad tourist and see what the LPD lets slip out. Visit some nearby shops while you're at it, see how business is going. All the money flowing there is Scion money, and want to know how they're moving it without their casino," he paused once more and took the last hit of smoke left, down to the filter.

"That about covers it, any questions?"
 
Brendan ruffled Connor’s hair but it really didn’t have the same effect as it used to. The angle of his arm made him frown. It really had been too long. He threw it around his shoulders instead, forming their own gang, and appraised Quinn with mock contempt.

“Ey, what you mean one-man fanclub? He’s one o’ many and you know it. No need be jealous because he took the number one spot.”


He wasn’t too sure how he felt about Connor being sent to set up a damn ‘war’ room. Things really were changing. On the top of that list for him was his and Desmond’s relationship. Well, it seemed like they’d be getting it off their chest pretty soon, much to Ragenard’s apparent pleasure.

Brendan rubbed his face with his hand when their new leader finished his reel and tried to plaster a smile on his face.

“Any maid outfits? Feather dusters?” he asked jokingly, not wanting to let the imminent awkwardness phase him.

“Look at you gettin’ the cool job Con. Better be saving me some of the good stuff… Anyway guys, don’t seem like we’re gonna be gettin’ much family time until things blow over. I’ll try pop around and about when I’m not busy. But unfortunately I got bigger dogs to fry. Right weiner?” he said, removing his arm from around Connor’s shoulder and giving him a little shove.
 
Aimee found a place to sit down, tucking both of her legs against her chest with one arm wrapped around them. She sighed softly, chin resting down against her knees while her gaze slowly roved around the room, taking in everyone that had gathered, making note of those still absent from the group. Her stomach hurt and she was still a little apprehensive about being tossed out on her butt for her stunt, though she figured if that was going to happen, her butt would already be acquaintances with the ground outside. Still, it was best to just keep her head down and be as invisible as possible. Then, she would find out information about that Scion bitch Sasha and find her and destroy her piece by piece. "Going to kill that bitch for what she did..."

Muttering, Aimee turned her attention towards Ragenard, listening intently to his speech, growling low at the energy radiating throughout the room. She would prove that she wasn't just a weak pup. No, pretty soon they would look at her differently and she would have a true place in the pack. Making a mental note of what to tell the police if they questioned her about being at the den, she couldn't help but snicker since in truth, she was drunk that night. For once she wouldn't have to lie. Sliding up to her feet, she moved towards the guns, thankful that she would finally be able to get something since her own guns went missing while she was asleep. Grunting at that thought while making a mental note to hit up Bastien again about her knife, the nineteen-year-old paused when Ragenard's gaze shifted towards her at the mention of her father. Wait, she wasn't being allowed to go? Bullshit. Grabbing two magazines, she put them in her back pocket before snatching out a single .45 caliber gun, she stuck a magazine in it and placed it in the holster that somehow still remained on her side.

"Ragenard... please let me go with you to go find Jacques. He's all the family I have left and I won't be a liability. I'm completely sober now and I can help even though I'm injured. I'm a good shot with either hand and could be useful in the search. Please give me a chance to redeem myself... please."
 
"Weiner yourself, grandpa," Connor fired back, grinning. "Didn't realise you two're just the pack's janitors. All them stories o' danger and crime, an' you're actually just fightin' grime."

While Connor was talking, Quinn had stepped forwards to grab a handgun and some ammo for herself. She paused, glancing for a moment between Ragenard and Connor, before suppressing a sigh and a grimace and grabbing a second. She walked back over and stuffed the weapon into his hand, lowering her voice to murmur to him. "Don't even think about loading that thing till I get a chance to teach you how to shoot straight, y'understand? And having this is not a license to try bein' a badass. This is a last resort, an' only that."

Connor blinked down at the gun he'd been handed with a measure of bewilderment, then nodded mutely. "Yeah, sure. I'm not an idiot, sis."

Quinn just shook her head, her expression a mask of 'trying not to grimace'.

The younger Foley glanced back at Brendan and shrugged, flashing a slightly awkward smile. "Anyways, sure I'm mostly jus' doin' heavy liftin' on my end, by the sounds o' it." He paused, then frowned. "Wait, 'old on, did he say we're takin' a cat?"

"Yeah," came a voice from close by. "He did."

Seri had opened his other eye when Ragenard had started to speak, resting his head on his paws and keeping his gaze fixed on the big man. When he was mentioned, his only reaction had been to blink lazily a few times in response to the werewolf's gaze falling on him. So, he was an afterthought? As expected, then. Still, if it kept him out of any potential line of fire, he would quite happily remain as such.

After Connor had spoke, the werecat stretched out and hopped down from his perch, enjoying the baffled look on the young wolf's face as he took the few seconds necessary to attribute the words he'd just heard to the small black cat a few paces away. Before Connor could respond, the werecat shifted, his fur briefly taking on the appearance of thick shadows as he rose to his human height, and then receding altogether. He lolled his head to the side and shot Connor a thoroughly unimpressed look, before starting to shrug on his clothes.

Connor's eyes went from Seri, to Brendan, then back to Seri. After a good few seconds, the best he could manage was. "Right then."
 
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Brendan shared Quinn’s sentiment, but likewise, hid it. He hadn’t been doing too well at keeping his loved ones out of trouble lately, anyway. This was probably for the best.

“A badass grandpa janitor, thank yer very much. Which you definitely ain’t, more like a poet. Or a rapper. Crime n’ Grime could be a thing...”

As Seri came forward, Brendan gave Connor the ‘be nice’ look. But the werecat didn’t seemed to be bothered too much, but then again, he’d probably just grew accustomed to it. No one really enjoyed being ridiculed.

“Yeah, this is Seri. Smells weird. Wicked sneaky. You guys could have rap battles, or something. I dunno what kids do these days” he said, giving Quinn a shrug, fully aware that he was embarrassing himself and enjoying it.

“Shoot people” someone piped up out of nowhere. Most people would’ve completely missed the satire in Cass’s tone as she sidled by.

“That’s the spirit” Brendan replied, his cheery way a complete contrast.
 
"Ouch," Desmond murmured to Chloe. "Guess 'e's still sore about last night after all, eh?" he jested.



Meanwhile Draaven made his way towards Snow's side. The kid had grown up since Draaven's departure, but the stark white hair made him easily identifiable among the rest.

"Looks like some things never change, huh?" he asked. "Just like old times. The armory still where it used to be at?"



"Rue Vive isn't far. We driving, or we running?" Bastien asked Julienne.

"Running," she answered as she gave her shoulders a roll to loosen them up. "I missed out on the pack run anyways. I could use the stretch. Besides, it'll be good for people to keep seeing us out and about. Know we're not just rolling over for those Scion fucks." Her shoulder was still tender, but the wound had healed over. A good stretch would do it good.

"Sounds good to me," Bastien replied. "You guys coming?" he hollered to the Iverians. He couldn't rightly remember which ones where Quinn and Connor, but he figured he would pick them out by their responses easily enough.



Seamus meanwhile seemed surprised at having received his own assignment. In Iveria, human relatives were as much family as the werewolf relatives, but here in Lutetia things were different. Humans were dead-weight more often than not. That said he was more than ready to prove himself as able and useful as his werewolf brother and cousins.

"On it," Seamus said. "I don't suppose you have an address for the Casino? And is there anyone I can talk to, to get up to speed on Scion activity here?"
 
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