Atomica (RP OPEN)

[DarkWolfLove]

Paw's brow furrowed as her options appeared in her head. Neither of which were what she was hoping for. She wanted the nubs gone, today. She didn't want wings, she saw what happened to RedTeeth who disobeyed Wardens or passed by the wrong alleyway. They weren't much use anyway. What does it matter if they could fly a few feet off the ground? More like hovering than flying. Useless.

No, she wanted no extra appendages. "Hack them off," she growled. Her teeth were clenched with emotion. She really didn't wanna spend another night with the gods-awful things attached to her shoulder blades. She gnashed her teeth and wrinkled her nose. She wasn't gonna cry. No point. She'd get them off the next day, maybe. Hopefully.

She pulled the cloak around her shoulders again, and turned to face the Kylian doctor. She blinked at the way the woman was holding her nose. Looked like more than an itch. Hot Paw looked down at the drugs and immediately felt internal conflict. She could take them and sell them. If the Riders found her with them, she wouldn't get to take them anyway. The guys would take them from her and have a party all by themselves, even as she suffered. She clenched her paws in her clothes and turned red eyes back to the doctor.

"Shall I see you tomorrow then?"  

[Zeren the Morph]

Ran noticed a surge of emotion from the hybrid. It didn't take a telepath to see the woman looking somewhat distraught. Ran offered no resistance to the hybrid's decision. Not when the patient is sure it'll improve her quality of life.

"Alright. We're getting in some suture first thing in the morning, I believe. Simple amputation, shouldn't take long to remove the-"

A knock on the door, followed by Leela's head.

"I'm alive." The Qel said, peering at the hybrid for a moment before looking away.

"Good. Me and you are going to exchange words in a minute. In the mean time, there's a Redtooth that needs to be checked up on." She thought, habitually searching mentally for her missing bondmate. She finally homed in on him, sitting in the waiting room and holding a dirty paper towel to his nose to stem the bleeding. She didn't contact him immediately, relieved it was just a broken nose and nothing serious. She needed to finish with this Paw first. She waved the Qel away as Leela closed the door behind her.

"Sorry." She apologized to Paw. "Seven AM, sharp. You should be up and on your way before breakfast." She assured. "... Since the appointment's at the break of dawn, you can crash on a bunk in the crew's quarters if you like. A lot of people just do that for early appointments."  

[DarkWolfLove]

Hot Paw's head lifted at the knock on the door. She tensed for anything, but a Qel female is not exactly what she expected. Weren't they a little too rough for the medical career? Perhaps she just did paperwork, but even that was degrading to a proud female. She blinked the thoughts away as she made her statement and closed the door. It wasn't that funny a phrase when something like that could be untrue any day: being alive.

Her attention was brought back to the Kylian (what did Henry call them? Sheep people? And then he would laugh, weird humans) and she shook her head slowly. "I cannot stay right now. Is it possible for me to... Run an errand? And then return?" She had to deal with Lyra first. If the Qel wasn't met, Hot Paw would get more than a couple scars on her thigh. She was definitely what humans termed a b***h. Or Henry would spout off some words she didn't quite understand and when he explained them to her, it confused her even more.

She would like to stay, the Night Riders would not let her leave a second day in a row without some good reason (like meeting with Lyra, which she would not lie about). So, it would be best to stay, get it done, and leave. And maybe the meeting with Lyra would provide her with some extra, what did Henry call it, "bread".

And as she was thinking about how strange it was to link money with food, the lunch bell rang. A loud and low "dung" could be heard all across the Colony. She always wondered whether it was one giant bell or if it was automated. No machine could reverberate sound through the body like that though.  

[Zeren the Morph]

Crap. The lunch bell. The Kylian didn't eat much due to a low metabolism, but that didn't mean that the daily occurrence didn't bring her a different array of problems. Warden's handed out only so many rations. Once they were gone, they close back up and return to wherever the hell they came from. CP got firsties. Women, Qel men and children took next priority. As for the rest? It was first come, first serve. Which brought in more patients. Stabbings and beatings from people fighting over the slim ********. Yeah, yeah, of course. You better get going." She thought to the hybrid, making a mental note to break out the surgical gear early in the morning. She then mentally sought out her bondmate once more. He wasn't hungry. People who just got sapped in the face usually aren't. Nevertheless, a Fastback near Denver quickly exited the clinic. A runner to gather rations for the gang and the clinic's inhabitants.  

[Zeren the Morph]

<>~~~~~<>

The street outside the clinic became busy. This was always a tense time, as it drew out the Fringers. Humans with shaved heads and weird-looking tattoos that their saner counterparts called "swastikas". Skinheads, they called them. Fitting name. Admittedly, every race had their share of xenophobic fringe groups. A cult-like cabal of Kylians kidnap people and turn them into mindless sex slaves or drooling battle thralls, a pack of Qel females armed with sharpened iron poles that kill anything remotely male-looking, and of course, a renegade tribe of Redtooth that simply just kills anything that's not one of them. The CP avoids the Fringes like the plague and when these hateful things emerge from their holes, the whole penal colony starts watching their back.

But this is Salt In Wounds' street. Even the skinheads know better than try to start anything.

The Redtooth, with red scales and fierce purple eyes, would be the last person you'd expect in charge of a human gang. But he didn't get to be a prominent figure in the Crimson tribe by being xenophobic. A bunch of greasy-headed aliens needed a leader, a unifier, and none of their own fitted the bill. The fact that they even accepted his leadership showed that even most of the humans around there held a modicum of respect for the aging warhorse. You don't get to the Warrior Caste without taking on five CPs at once with bare claws, after all.

One of the skinheads looked at him. The dragon-like male leaned against the side of the clinic, lifting a lip to bare teeth. The human shot him a derisive look before looking away. Luckily, nobody wanted any trouble. They just wanted food.

A Fastback made his way down the busy street and towards Salt, carrying a large armful of packaged rations. The people surrounding him gave the greaser space. Gangs usually are the sole upholders of any semblance of law and order, since CPs are too busy beating people for minor infractions to do such a duty. Screwing with a fastback was like provoking a police officer. The greaser stopped to pay his respects, bowing slightly. The Redtooth nodded approvingly at the human and plucked a ration off the top of the armful.

"Any problems?" Salt asked, his voice gravelly.

"CP, Sir. They were shaking people down again." The greaser replied.

Salt's snout grimaced in thought. "... They've been acting awfully spooked lately. Any idea why they've been doing these crackdowns?"

"Well... One of our boys got shook down himself earlier today. Denver, I think. He was with that Qel doctor. I think she said something about Invalids?"

The Redtooth didn't immediately reply. He motioned the ganger to carry on his business. The greaser bowed once more respectfully and hurried into the clinic as Salt tore open the ration bag. An Invalid? They were practically an urban legend, not unlike the preposterous claims of ant people who inhabit the old service tunnels. Why would a bunch of brainwashed idiots like CP believe in such nonsense?

"Pfft. Ant people." He huffed, staring at the meager portions in the open bag with mild distaste.  

[DarkWolfLove]

Hot Paw bowed her head in thanks and respect for the doctor. Not many others were up to the task of removing a RedTooth's wings, as abnormal as they may have been. She hadn't directly seen any doctors, as she had here at the Kylian's clinic, but she'd asked around and just received looks of surprise or abhorrence. 'What self respecting dragon alien would do such a thing,' humans would ask. 'Why try to rid yourself of who you are,' RedTeeth would scowl. She wouldn't dare ask a Qel for advice: females wouldn't take her seriously and males would just cower. No way she was gonna go to a Kylian to be ******** for some simple question (this little trip didn't count, she had no idea that Demorez would be Kylian, she was just told to come).

She pulled the cloak around her scruffy clothes and left the room with no further comment. She'd be back later, she'd already asked permission, so no more words were needed. She was lucky her thoughts didn't leave her blind to the world because she was able to spot the large RedTooth male outside the clinic. Not one she recognized, but she was still on alert. And some fright was in there too. RedTeeth didn't much like their hybrid brethren, especially with the promiscuous nature of the Qel'Dens. It just didn't sit well with them. Not to say they would never lay with a Qel, but the unusual xenos were still unusual.

She pulled the hood over her head and bowed her face away from his eyes as she opened the door. She hoped to leave down the street in peace. She'd have enough rough-housing with Lyra in a little bit. She hoped the Qel woman had picked up some rations. Paw always had someone else do it for her. She could do it herself easy, but with the way she looked, it was just best to stay out of the headlights of the Wardens or CP. She turned her back to the red RedTooth and hastily made her way down the block. Yep, nothing to see here; just a girl on her way to rations. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing of concern. 'Just stay there, Tooth,' she mentally prayed.  

[Zeren the Morph]

Ran hurried out of the room after the hybrid left, catching sight of her bondmate laying on his back on the bench, staring at the ceiling. He sensed her presence, looking over as she stood over him.

"Hi." He said with a little wave.

"You got to stop letting her push you around like that." She chided at him, glancing over his nose.

"Citizen Protection did it. I answered the door." He replied.

She felt around gently the broken cartilage in the ridge of his nose. A twang of pain shot into her own muzzle, making her jump a little. The empathic link between them was strongest when they were close, like a radio signal. She composed herself and stroked his forehead a couple times. "... Was it about her old friends, again?"

"She used to be friends with the Invalid?" He asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"A long time ago. Back when things looked a little less bleak." She didn't have to ask Leela about what happened. The whole mess was resurfacing again, plain and simple.

Leela appeared behind her, arms crossed. "Yeah. I was." The Qel interjected. Ran turned and faced her.

"What's going on?' Ran demanded as Denver returned his attention to the ceiling.

"Some a*****e spreading rumors." Leela replied.

"You said that last time." She thought hostilely, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"... It's none of your business, okay. I told you that, before." She responded to the mental inquisition with a dismissive wave.

"My bondmate took a baton to the face. It's my business, now."

"How many times do I have to apologize to your male, Ran?" She rolled her eyes. "Here, lemme do it one more time. Denver? I am sorry you opened the door and got what's left of your functioning braincells knocked out of your soft ******** skull."

"Water under the bridge." Denver mumbled, not paying attention to the conversation as he moved his lips while counting the ceiling tiles.

"... That was very mean-spirited." Ran thought angrily.

"What? He's your male, and you sent him to my apartment. Besides me ******** him, what did you expect to happen?"

"... What?" Ran said, her head cocked at Leela's statement.

"Granted, he's rock ******** stupid and has a face that looks like it's been used as a cutting board, but I know good alien genes when I see it." She said quietly.

"I buy my jeans from Crazy Larry's Pants Emporium." Denver said, tilting his head as he resumed counting. Both Leela and Ran stared at him for a moment.

"... In my defense, he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer before we melded."

"Yeah, I'm sure you probably frying his right hemisphere with brain-sex had nothing to do with it. Look, it's... We'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, I got patients stacking up."

Ran held her glare for a few moments longer before nodding. "Fine. Get going. I'll see you in a little while."

The Kylian turned back at Denver. It was pointless to really ask since she already knew his answer. At this point, any queries to each other was merely a formality. "Alright, hun. I gotta go back to work. You're going to be alright until we can get some nanites into your nose?"

"I'm fine. Go to work. Ring my brain if you need anything." He said. "Dammit. Lost count. One... Twooooo... Three..."

She shook her head before pecking him on the lips. She hated PDA, so she immediately swiveled on her feet and returned to her office to check on her schedule.  

[DarkWolfLove]

Once she was down a couple blocks and turned a few corners, Paw looked behind her and was glad to see no one following her, yet. She really didn't trust Lyra to have rations available for lunch. Not readily available anyway. She'd probably make the hybrid do something horrible for a taste. Of food, of course.

She passed by some human children running down the street, perpendicular to her path. Her eyes followed them to find a large crowd bubbling up the sides of a Warden vehicle. She could hear their blaring recordings. Not saying anything useful, just the usual: "Report thy neighbor for injustices to the colony!" "Obey the laws or pay the price!" May as well be shouting, "don't forget to wash behind your ears," for the lot of good it did people. Oh sure, it was ingrained into them from childhood, maybe even infancy to "obey the Wardens and the State", but when innocent people were taken... There was only so much "obeying" an abused people could do.

She pulled the hood tighter around her head. Didn't wanna be mugged for her horn cuffs. Those would sell for maybe 15 rations. That could last a person a loooong time. It was best to hide the valuables at meal bells. People did crazy things. ********' Wardens. Gods-damned CP. A Kylian couple widened their eyes as they approached her, no doubt overhearing her mental bashing. She glared at them and mumbled, "Get bent." Something she learned from Henry. Such colorful language. Paw didn't understand half of it, but she liked his tone when he used it. Made him all tough.

She rounded the corner and spotted Lyra waiting for her. s**t. That meant the hybrid was late. The scars on her thigh began to sting again, which gave her a slight limp. She saw a human male stretch behind the Qel, bending his neck side to side and then arching his back with his hands above his head. Hot Paw could swear, the female Qel'Den was insatiable. Maybe she wouldn't get it so bad if the xeno had a previous engagement. The sounds of purring could be heard feet from Lyra. "Helloooo, dahling." Oh, great. More jargon from the humans. It was like a mouth infestation. Maybe she could understand a bit of it this time?

"What's buzzin', cuzzin'?" What? Paw was not related to Lyra in any fashion. Oh wait! Henry's asked this of the RedTooth leader before... "Um, not much is going on, Lyra...Baby?" Was that right? The female gave the hybrid a blank look and then grinned (which always looked like a grimace or snarl to Paw). "That's it, dolly! Ya' diggin' it!" Okay, whatever crazy lady.

And instantly all the humor and play was gone. "Now on your knees, freak. And tell Kitty how good she is to you."  

[Zeren the Morph]

Salt On Wounds was expressionless. Stoic, even. Fear was a bad thing to show to a bunch of skinheads standing before him, outside the clinic. Most were unarmed. One had an iron rebar. Weapons, and yet no Warden or CP in sight. They didn't care. The Fastbacks were hardly saints, but at least they kept these racist assholes from turning this street into a part of the Fringes.

"Out of our ********' way, freak." Their ringleader said. The bastards showed up out of nowhere, and of course, brought Trapper Frank with them. Stupid name. A hollow title.

"No." He replied flatly, arms crossed. "We don't treat your kind, here."

"Humans? Pfft. You lie, just like the rest of your filth."

"No. I mean angry pieces of s**t who didn't get hugged by their brood mother enough as hatchlings."

Salt watched the human pull out a wicked-looking shiv. Blood crusted the roughen, rusty blade.

"I take it that you don't know how to take care of your equipment." Salt remarked, unimpressed.

"We know you got food in there. Give it to us and we might not carve your lot up like Christmas turkeys." Frank threatened coolly.

The hell is Christmas? "Hah. No. Go away, little boy, lest you get hurt."

That set the skinhead over the edge. Salt watched the man make a dire mistake thinking a dull lawnmower blade would penetrate Redtooth hide. The tip caught into a set interlocking scales on his belly. An unpleasant sensation as the tip bit into flesh, but the skin underneath did not break. Salt then snatched Frank's hand with the agility of a cobra and snapped his wrist with one clean motion. Humans are so fragile.

The skinhead shrieked in pain, dropping the knife and staggering back, his backup tensing up as they prepared to attack the Redtooth. Before they could begin their approach, a large pack of Fastbacks congregated in the doorway of the clinic, armed with broken pipes and chains.

Frank seethed, gnashing his teeth and cradling his wrist. "... You ain't always gonna have ******** Westside Story to back you up, f*****t."

"f*****t? Someone has sexual insecurity issues. No shame in you being a bottom, Frankie." Bigballs said, borrowing a page of snark from Denver's earlier comment. Not that the zombie really cared about intellectual property.

The man's face turning almost purple in barely contained rage. After an awkward silence, he motioned to his entourage. "... Let's jet, boys.". They eyed the Fastbacks one last time before streaming away from the clinic entrance and down the street, disappearing into the crowd.

"They'll be back, boss." Muttonchops said.

"They always do. Pride makes sapients stupid. Return to your posts and stay vigilant." Salt said.

<>~~~~~<>

Denver stared out the window, palms against the reinforced glass. He wasn't allowed in combat, anymore. The stripes on his jacket nothing more than a foggy memory. Once, he was their go-to guy for when brute force was required. And he was damn good with his fists, nearly winning in a bout of hand-to-hand with Salt. Scars still dotted his knuckles from when he connected a series of heavy blows to the Redtooth's snout. He won the alien's respect, that day. But now? He was, for the lack of a better word, pacified. A Kylian's subconscious was a bizarre thing, almost a separate being. When her's connected with his, it saw something dangerously aggressive and... Well. Not even Ran was sure what happened. Or why it left him so... Off.

He left the window, already bored. He sat at a desk in Ran's office and twiddled his thumbs. Perhaps now was time for his favorite hobby.

He stared at a pencil on the desk, furrowing his eyebrows. After two minutes of him glaring at it, it suddenly caught on fire. He panicked a bit, blowing on the flaming writing utensil and extinguishing it. Not again. Last time, all it did was move by itself. He frowned, wondering just how much longer he can keep this a secret. He was discovering all kinds of things he can do with his head, like hiding his thinking from Ran. Why? Because she would be angry about the pencils. Pencils were hard to find.

He stared at the ashes on the desk, wishing really, really hard for the pencil to come back. Nothing happened. He shot the small pile a baleful look before slinking guiltily out of the room.  

[Zeren the Morph]

<>~~~~~<>

The corridor was pitch black. Luckily for Frank and his gang, he brought along his shoulder-mounted flashlight.

"You sure this leads to the clinic?" A skinhead asked behind him. His group followed the deranged man down into the maintenance tunnels. He wanted blood for the lizard's insolence, disrespect for their genetically superior race. Frank touched his broken wrist, thinking of skinning the lizard's hide. Probably would make a good coat. But his fate would be merciful compared to what he'll do to the greasers. Traitors to humanity, interbreeders, just as filthy as the creatures they laid with. They'll get a very certain death to atone for their dishonor.

Of ********' course, you inbred ********. Why would I even bother if I didn't think this would work? These maintenance tunnels goes everywhere. It's a matter of following the directions on the wall." The man snapped a thumb irritably at arrows painted on the wall. One said "Penal Clinic".

"Heh heh. Penal." Someone chuckled.

"Shut the ******** up, Carl." Frank snapped as they followed the arrow. The flashlight flickered. "Damn shitty microfusion cells." He grumbled, tapping the flashlight against the wall. A bad move, as the flashlight conked out altogether, leaving the skinheads in total darkness. They cried out in protest as Frank cursed loudly.

"Hang on, you ********! Bunch of ******** children, all of ya. s**t." He grumbled. After a minute of an eerie silence, the light came back on.

"There, now, let's ge-"

Frank was talking to nothingness. The group that was behind him was gone. His eyes widened in fear for a moment before narrowing angrily. "... Okay. Where are you guys? This s**t ain't funny?"

"They're predisposed of at the moment." A voice said behind him. It sounded... Weird. And bizarrely courteous, as if it spoke of something helpful. The skinhead's knife was out as he swiveled on his heels, only to come face-to-mandible with a ******** urban legend. It looked like ********' ant people?" He staggered back, his back against the wall.

"Our friends told us about you and your type. They see all that goes on here." It said as it approached. It's body was banded like a wasp, yellow and black, it's shape vaguely feminine. It's wings glimmered in the dim light.

"W-Where are my men?" He snarled. His fear was betrayed in his voice. The thing's compound eyes seem to almost twinkle as it cocked it's head. This thing's demeanor was too friendly, talking to him like it was a bellboy or something. It was unnerving.

"You soured their minds. They were redeemable. We allowed them to begin anew. They will be free of your memory and their trespasses. You, on the other hand? I cannot say the same fate awaits you." It ******** you, my men won't abandon me!" He snapped, pointing the knife at it.

"They don't even remember you." It said.

"How!?"

It looked down, prompting his flashlight to follow. The thing's lower body was... It was like some kind of terrible insect centaur. It stood on six spindly legs, it's thorax revealing a large barb on the end. A stinger.

Frank, deciding he saw enough, immediately darted back towards where he came, his boots clomping as he breathed heavily in abject terror. He stopped finding himself facing a bulkhead that wasn't there, before. Did this thing seriously close off his escape? He swung around as he heard a noisy tittering sound. He blindly slung his blade, it meeting chitin with an ineffectual clank. The shiv flew out of his hand as he was slung into the floor and pinned. The flashlight flew off his shoulder in the tackle, smashing into a dozen pieces into the wall and leaving him in darkness again.

Then, a sharp stabbing pain in his abdomen. He cried out, snarling every racial epithet he can muster.

"I apologize for any discomfort. I take no joy in this." It said, almost as if it was trying to sooth him as a lethal dose of neurotoxins flooded into his blood stream, inducing a terrible burning sensation. "It won't hurt for long."

The last thing the vile man heard in this life.  

[shruikan]

The sound of pincers clacking and buzzing wings swirled into an almost deafening roar in the confines of the poorly lit tunnel. It was really beginning to piss Dyna off. But then again, pick a fight with one Vespoid, you pick a fight with the whole hive.

She swung hard, hitting the Vespoid just under it's mandible, flooring it. She kept her eyes on the floored insect for a second too long and was side swiped by another advancing Vespoid. Hit her right in the side of her thorax. Caught off balance, she stumbled and then was punched in her face. Her head swung back from the hit, forcing her to step back, but in doing so, she recovered her stance and while barely glancing at her newest adversary, she grabbed one its arms and ripped it clean off. In the same motion she used it to beat in the face of the first Vespoid, flooring it as well, and then sweeping the four legs of the second Vespoid. It hit the dirt floor with a thud. She reached down and with her four arms, ripped the thorax clean off the Vespoid, causing its mucus colored organs to spill out in a gush. With a slight grunt of effort, she drove the wasp-like barb into the head of the first Vespoid.

Dyna leaned back up and spit yellowish blood from her face on dying Insectoid and wiped her mouth with the back of one of her fore arms. "That all you got, you stripy ********> The female Sheathed Wing could do this all day. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

The angry buzzing and chattering grew even louder as the surviving members of the Hive became even more enraged. Dyna grinned. "Bring it."  

[Zeren the Morph]

Ran stared at the pile of ash on her desk. She made a mental note to chastise Leela for smoking in her office again. Filthy habit.

She brushed off the pile onto the floor, shaking the ash from her fleeced hand as she glanced over patient records. Three more humans stumbled in the clinic today. They wore nothing but pants, with large, weeping wounds on them and strangest of all, no recollection of anything. Every once in a blue moon, this happens. Last time, it was a bunch of Qel females that bore marks of a Fringe gang, but didn't even know who they are or where they're at. And every wound looked the same. Some kind of massive welt that disappears overnight with minimum bleeding. They didn't have the equipment to analyze the substance that seem to coat a small radius around the wound.

Samples were collected, anyways. Maybe one day, they can analyze them if the Wardens deem them the resources and the equipment. Which was about as likely as them letting the penal colony go. She peered at one of the sample vials on the desk, eying them with a curious glance. Some kind of drug, perhaps? Leela thought so. Who knows what the hell is going on in the Fringes, anyways?

She sighed and placed the records down. Dusk was setting in, and she was feeling somewhat lonely. She got up and slid the chair under the desk, before walking out of the office and towards the back. The air had a breakfasty scent to it, raising an eye curiously as she opened a door in the back of the clinic. The door waft a stronger aroma towards her, making her salivate a little. The room used to be a small cafeteria in days long past, but now she and Denver lived there. The greaser stood over an old commercial stove in the back of the makeshift studio apartment, his jacket hanging on an old meat hook by the door. His raggedy tank top revealed more scars up and down his right bicep and forearm. He looked over his shoulder at her as she closed the door.

"Eggs." He said.

"What kind of eggs?" She asked.

"... I dunno." He replied quizzically. It was better not to ask, anyways.

After dinner, she went to shower. In an adjacent room was a unisex bathroom with what was supposed to be an emergency shower stall for when you got chemicals on you or something. It had be jury-rigged for regular use, pulling on the cord and spraying her with cold water. At least it was clean, she always thought to herself. After the frigid experience ended, she spent a good ten minutes toweling off her soaked fleece. It was at that point where she hoped she locked the door, since Denver liked to peek and joke about how she looked like a wet poodle. When asked what a poodle was, he'd look confused and wander off.

Suitably dry, she left the bathroom and returned to the studio without any clothes. Not that she slept in the nude, but her loneliness has escalated into something far more carnal. Her bondmate was way ahead of her, laying on their bed in his boxers.

"Remember when I said I was going to make it worth your while?" She asked him as she slithered into bed.

He scratched his still-tender nose. The nanites repaired the bridge, but he had yet another new scar from the experience. "Is it candy?"

"... No."

"What is it, then?" He asked, his tone genuinely inquisitive.

She rolled her eyes, playfully straddling him. "Weeeeell... When a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"Oh! Sex!" He suddenly replied.

She giggled at his response, leaning in to kiss him. She never stopped feeling pangs of guilt for what happened to his mind, but often assured her he was happy this way. She couldn't really argue with him on that. Not many can return to a state of innocence like he has, a renewed sense of child-like wonder that she reveled with him in. It was endearing, but innocence came at a price. He was not very good at defending himself, anymore. People avoided him purely out of reputation, given that he was once a brutal bruiser that bordered on psychopathy. Nowadays, he was too pacifistic, too afraid to inflict harm on others. Which is why Ran never lets him leave the clinic without an escort, which Salt On Wounds was more than happy to do, most of the time.

He touched her hips, caressing them. "Waiting for an invitation?" He asked. She had drifted off into thought.

"Oh. sorry."

"Stop worrying about me. I'm not that frail." Downside to a Kylian's mind was that privacy was a rarity when they were in physical contact with their bondmate. She ran her fingers along his scarred torso, feeling comforted by his familiar curves.

"I need something to worry about, Denvy. Now, how about we stop chatting and ********, already?"

He smirked. "I love it when you think dirty."  

[DarkWolfLove]

Hot Paw pulled away from Lyra's mouth with a scream. The damn b***h had marked her again. This time her other thigh was marked, almost identical to her left scar. She pulled away completely and glared at the being beneath her. "The ******** is wrong with you, she-devil!?" Lyra simply smirked and shrugged. She licked blood and other things from her paws while keeping her eyes on Paw. the hyrbid snarled. She left the bed and began hastily pulling on clothes.

"First, you wouldn't feed me. Now, you're marking me, AGAIN, after the Night Riders told you to cut it out. They'll get rid of me if I'm too beat up..." In her ranting, a thought popped into her head. She turned to give the Qel another glare and growled. "You're doing this on purpose... Why do you want me away from the Night Riders!?" Lyra shrugged and turned her head away. That stupid ******** smile stayed on her face. Paw clenched her hand into a fist, wanting to knock off that ridiculous expression so bad. "Tell me, you b***h!" The grey face looked at the hybrid and the grin grew, "You're getting better at that human speech."

Tired of all the tricks, all the games, all the lying, Hot Paw snapped. She leaped across the room, and landed on the Qel'Den high on her ******** horse. "Clearly, you forget yourself, Lyra. You might be a tough b***h, but I'm tougher. Just because once a week you have me in your bed, vulnerable to your sadistic ways, doesn't mean I'm always vulnerable. I can break your neck, right here right now." This was one of the few times Paw had seen fear in the xeno's eyes. It felt so good. She brought a white paw up to the grey throat and squeezed. "I will have Lava Breath on your a** in a second. He will come in here, rip you to shreds, and we'll both ******** in what's left of you." Bluff, but whatever. Paw never spoke to Lava, the Night Rider leader; Henry did it for her. She could easily kill Lyra and all her troubles would go away. Well, no, not all of them, but a good portion. Instead, she released the Qel (who was now crying and mewling). "Don't cry, Kitty.... Here, wanna romp again?" And the evil woman was all over her again.

Paw was really tired of this game. The back and forth of sadist and masochist. She'd take some injury from Lyra and then she'd play the b***h. It never last, her own sadistic role, but that was fine with her. Paw could never really hurt anyone, even someone like Lyra. After all, it was better that they played this game; Paw could take the injuries. She couldn't imagine what the Qel would do to a human. Lyra mounted her, Paw's thoughts went blank, and they were at it again.  

[Zeren the Morph]

Ran's attempts to tame the mass of curls on her body usually ends with a frustrated stalemate. This morning was no different. The mess did what it wanted. If she had a cowlick from the previous night, it'd stay there for most of the day.

She stood in front of a broken mirror in the corner of the studio, while Denver prepared yet more eggs. The Wardens got especially lazy this time, with all the powdered egg rations. While the eggs slowly sizzled, the human found himself behind Ran, who promptly buried his face into the back of her neck.

"Mmm. Soft sheepy." He cooed. Ran rolled her eyes and continued brushing. She saw pictures of human fauna, before. Admittedly, her kind does share an eerie resemblance to their sheep.

"Oh, stop it. Listen, I need you to break out the surgical gear and make sure it's properly sterilized. I got an amputation to do in a hour, got to prep." She said with a silent sigh as she plunked the brush down on a nearby counter. No point trying to control her fleece without shampoo. Denver reared back and blinked at her.

"... You know. The sharp things?" She pictured several components for the Auto-Doc for him. His eyes widened as he understood.

"Got it." He said simply. She pecked him on his grizzled cheek.

"Good. Get going."

The two finished getting ready before leaving the studio. Denver went to the store room while she went about her typical business. Several employees stood outside, appearing to have just gotten there as Ran unlocked the front doors, letting them in. She walked past a stirring Fastback sleeping on the bench next to the reception desk. At all times was the premise under patrol from the gang. Most went home, but some volunteer to stay on site until the rest returned. The ganger stared at Ran for a moment before processing her familiar face. "Mornin', Ms. Demorez." He mumbled before turning over, facing the back of the bench before slipping back to sleep.

Confident that the rest of her staff is capable of resuming the operation without her, she entered one of the unused patient rooms, prepping it for surgery.