Welcome to Gaia! ::

Cold.

Had to be around 40 degree's outside. She could feel the gust everytime someone would open the door to The Old Rig. When that door closed however, it was sweltering hot with the many leather-clad bodies and Molotov's being slid across the counter.

Dressed in jeans, black boots and black shirt, she broke into goosebumps everytime someone opened that door. She didn't verbally protest like most of her other customers. Only rolled her eyes and kept wiping down the bar.

"You aren't from around here, are you?," A smooth voice asked after draining his shot glass of Whiskey. Fern's eyes glanced at the stranger that had spoken, a fine red brow raising slightly. He saw her hesitance to respond, a charming laugh passing through his lips," I'm not hitting on you or anything. It's just uh," he pointed at his hair,"your hair. We don't see red like that around here,"

Fern's narrow shoulders gave a light shrug," I'm from Northern Ireland," she clipped, intent on keeping everything strictly business. He gave a nod, watching her closely. His buddies back at one of the tables were watching them closely, she noted, but didn't pay too much attention.

Whether it was the way a certain bit of light had hit her eyes, or the response she had given to their question, one thing was certain. The man at the bar turned to his friends and mouthed one word back to them.

'Peregrin'

----

Fern could tell you that The Old Rig was a pretty busy place, and some nights could be so loud that you’d wake up slightly deaf from all of the music the night before. That night was no exception and there was a whole herd of customers just filing in, playing pool or darts, drinking their wallets completely dry, and that was how it went for five hours.
At about 9 o’clock or 9:30, it started to rain. Not just a small drizzle, but a massive torrent of water that could have brought Noah back if it had wanted to. A few hours after that and the bar was almost empty. Apart from Fern, the owner Gordon and the other staffer, Ben, they were all alone in the place.

"Alright then," said Gordon, "I want you to clear up everything left here by the regulars. Ben, you’ve got the bathroom and table-cleaning duty. Fern, I want you to put the chairs away and wipe down the bench."
Fern nodded. Gordon was a giant of a man, standing at least ‘6”7 tall. He had a big, bushy moustache and could appear quite threatening if you saw him at a distance, but when you got to know him he was just like your old childhood teddy bear. He wasn’t that muscled but looked like he could win a wrestle if he wanted.

Ben Harper was about two feet shorter than Gordon and was a little bit pudgy around the edges. He was a little bit intense and didn’t like to speak unnecessarily, but was an alright kinda guy. As Ben went to go and get the mop and bucket, Fern started on packing the chairs away. Gordon went into the cellar to get some more beer and spirits for the top shelf and Fern heard him smack his head – hard – on a beam. She managed to stifle a laugh as his curses floated up the ladder.
"Hey, Gordon, are you alright?" Ben called out. There was a slightly pained grunt and then our reply.
"Yep... urgh, yeah, I’m fine. Just don’t..."
"What? Worry?"
"No, don’t laugh," he called out. Once again Fern was able to stifle the chuckle rising in my throat, but Ben let out an accidental chuckle.


As soon as Ben had put the bucket back inside, there was a mighty crash as something slammed into the main door from outside. Fern slammed the storeroom shut and headed back out there, only to see Ben and Gordon standing there. Gordon was still rubbing his head gingerly, and Ben looked panicked.
"What’s wrong?" she asked, golden eyes flickering between the two and the door.

"Don't know...," Ben responded quietly. Gordon was sorely tempted to get his shot gun, but instead he just stomped his big booted feet forward and snatched the door open, poking his head outside.

Nobody.

"Just the wind," he grunted, slamming it shut and went back to finish stocking the shelves. Fern watched him go before returning to her own duties. A couple of hours later, they were locking up the joint. Fern was on her way to her car and snug in her parka, parked by Gordon's old Harley, when a loud yell caught her attention, her head snapping back towards the bar just in time to see the door slamming shut.

"Gordon! Ben!," she shouted, as the yells inside grew panicked, and something akin to snarls and growls were coming from the inside. Fern was quick to pull out her cell phone, and halfway of dialing through 911, the phone was knocked painfully out of her hands as a rock struck her wrist. She cursed under her breath, head snapping up, and bathed in the light from a nearby street lamp was the same man who had spoken to her earlier, crimson eyes gleaming in the moonlight, tossing a rock casually up and down in his palm. He gave a smirk," Nothing personal, Red," he quipped, before breaking into chase.

Fern fled, like a startled deer, her strong legs quickly taking her into the forest, her thick red hair flying out behind her. She had little time to think, only to respond. The further she went into the forest, the darker it became, though thankfully the moonlight was bright this particular evening. Her lungs quickly froze, but from years of Track she had learned endurance. Her jacket snagged on a branch and she quickly tore out of it, exposed to the cold as she heard howls and angry snarls not far behind.

She kept running.

Two pack members that had followed their leader to chase after the Peregrin quickly turned tail to face the Hellhound, jaws agape and ready to tear into the interloper.

Sensing that his hunt was soon going to be interrupted, the leader pushed forward, gaining on Fern and lashing out a clawed hand, snarling as it caught her ankle, watching her fall to the ground. He tumbled over her, unable to brake in time. Fern hit the ground hard, kicking away from the beast and scrambling to her feet, running down the muddy side of a creek to her left as crossing through the freezing knee-deep water. The werewolf wasn't far behind, tackling her into the frigid shallows, a clawed hand taking a fistful of her shirt and tearing away, leaving her left shoulder and left side of her ribcage exposed to the freezing water and even colder air.

Another werewolf was quickly catching up to his Alpha, stopping at the bank and giving a howl. The fight with the Hellhound was not going so well. The alpha snarled, briefly turning his attention to the other werewolf, and Fern took her chance.

She ran, scrambling up the opposite mud bank and her feet took flight again, running for dear life, jumping over fallen logs and ducking under branches until she found an old deer thicket, taking shelter for a moment to catch her breath. She was shivering, the adrenaline in her system starting to wear off into pure fear.
Through the thin twigs and branches that made up her shelter, Fern watched with wide eyes as the large beat scented the ground where she had been standing moments before. It wasnt until a moment later that she realized that this thicket was occupied. She felt porccupine quills digging into her back as the animal got into a defensive position, and the werewolf enged closer as he heard the rustling.

With a roar he tore into the thicket, jaws snapping. What he got wasn't the mouthful of sweet flesh he was expecting, but a mouthful of porccupine instead as Fern took off just to his left. His crimson eyes narrowed and he snarled angrily, flinging the poor little quilled creature out of his jaws and quickly pursuing her.

Fern's body was shutting down little by little from the cold, her toes and fingertips numbing first. She had to do something fast, or she would die. If not from the werewolf, then from Hypothermia. She stumbled out of the forest, and onto a familiar lone stretch of road. Just passed the horizon was her town- she could see the lights.

Out of nowhere a huge force slammed into her, like being hit by a truck, and it sent her painfully sliding against the asphalt. The werewolf growled and chuckled low in his throat as Fern lay panting and writhing in pain just a few feet before him,"Red really is a great color on you," he purred, leaning in close to take a deep inhale of her scent and the smell of her blood. He couldn't resist letting his tongue take a long, languid lick from her exposed collarbone, up her neck and up her cheek.

Fern grit her teeth, keeping him barely at bay with whatever strength she had left in her arms, red hair fanned out under her like a strange halo, the moonlight making her skin glow and contrast with her thick tresses.

"Now then, Red," he growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and jerking her body up into a sitting position with it, then yanking it to the side and exposing her long neck to him," this is going to hurt," he said with perverse glee, then opened his jaws and prepared to tear her throat out.

The two other pack members were easily felled by Alexandre, as they were no match for his speed, the third having left running with his tail between his legs. The last one standing was the Alpha, and he was a bit more of a formidable opponent. He was larger, and more vicious then the others.

The alpha werewolf snarled and bristled, warning Q not to come any closer. It was bad enough that Q had entered his territory, but now he was trying to steal his meal from him. He laughed deep in his throat, red eyes narrowed with a menacing glint at the tailed two-legged.

"She doesn't smell of you," he pointed out, dropping the red head back onto the hard street. He was not worried of her trying to run. He felt her weakening as the minutes passed, growing colder and slipping deeper into the darkness.

"I would reccommend high-tailing it out of my land, pup," he snarled, turning to face Q, standing at his full height, tail raised.

--

Fern was vaguely aware of another voice. She lay on her side, facing the scene unfolding between the werewolf and the hellhound. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, her breathing visibly shallow from the short rise and falls of her chest.

She felt numb, not even the warmth of her own blood trickling from her wounds was registering in her mind.

What on earth had attacked her? Ben and Gordon....She wondered if they were alright. Her heart wrenched as she thought of the possibility that they had been killed, and from what she had endured, she didn't doubt it.

She attempted to move her hands to get up, just so she could get some warmth flowing back into her limbs, and jerked in pain as her wrist throbbed angrily in response. It had swelled from where the rock had hit it, a bruise already forming. She cursed repeatedly in her mind, struggling to move any part of her body. She gave a violent cough, her body spasming, blood sputtering from her lips. Her abused lungs had finally given out.

A black fog started to surround her vision, slowly ebbing it's way towards the center.

Her body was going into shock.

The hybrid had no time to react, yelping as he was tackled to the pavement, clawed hands flailing to fight back. His yelps and whines soon turned to painful howls until his throat was ripped out, instantly being silenced.

---

She didn't want to die.

She internally screamed at herself to move, even if it were just a finger. Her blurred vision flickering towards the large dog. He was unlike any other canine she had ever encountered, but her mind was so sluggish from the cold that she couldn't even begin to guess what sort of creature it was.
It was ripping her attacker to shreds. A bit of movement in front of her made her eyes snap towards Q and she saw what appeared to be a shadow crawling towards her.
She visibly stiffened, her throat constricting as she tried to swallow some of the remaining blood on her tongue, to speak, but her mouth was so incredibly dry that she could barely manage it. Her heart was beating rapidly inside her ribcage, like a scared rabbit that had been cornered. Small swaths of damp red hair lay on her face, the rest of the thickness fanned out under her head.

Wide green/gold eyes were locked on Q's approaching form, red lips slightly parted and contrasting with her quickly paling skin. Her fingertips were already a light blue, and it was was starting to form at the corners of her lips and under her eyes.

If she couldn't get her body to move, surely she would be the next to die.

(( Gross, short >< ))

Her vision was fading in and out like bad television reception. She had missed Q placing his coat over her until the sudden coldness she felt was cut off like a hot knife through butter.

One moment she saw the dog stalking off, darkness, and then...

Warmth. She felt it spreading from the middle of her back outwards. Much more heat would probably be required to thaw out her frozen legs and hands, but she would take what she could get for now.

She huddled closer into the coat, relishing the warmth, her eyes closing momentarily. As far as she was concerned there was no need to worry. They weren't going to hurt her, so just a bit of her guard was let down.

She opened her eyes slowly, the golden/green iris's catching the moonlight, as warmth from under the coat helped circulation return her face. She saw Q a bit clearer now, noting his startling green eyes first.

After the eyes, she noticed his head full of downy gray hair. Strange color for someone who looks so young...

Her eyes caught and followed the scar going across his nose, noting others on his cheek. Did he live out here in the forests? Either way she was in debt to him.

She shifted slightly though pain rippled through her muscles in protest, moving the longcoat from the lower half of her face.

Her lips parted as she attempted to say something, but all that came out was another violent cough and more blood. Her brows furrowed in pain, eyes shut tightly as she attempted to hold in the next series of coughs, blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

In her chest, her lungs were still full of frozen air and constricting tightly every few seconds.

She curled in further on herself, not wanting to sputter blood onto the man that had saved her, needing more warmth to get her system back on track.

Fern woke slowly to the sound of a running car, indistinctly aware that they were moving due to the light jostling her body made as the vehicle kept it's steady pace down the road. With blurry, unclear eyes she made out two figures sitting in the front seats.

Her body protested, needing more time, and again she was out like a light, eyes slipping closed. Her dark amber lashes rested against her cheeks as her world became engulfed in darkness once more.

---

Fern awoke again, nearly two hours later and much warmer. Slowly she unfurled herself from the many blankets that had been covering her and sat up from the couch she'd been resting on, which she noted wasnt hers, flexing her fingers slowly. Her left wrist burned with the movement, and she saw the massive red and purple bruise that stood out against her pale flesh.

Ger gaze traveled up her arm to see criss-crossing scraped and cuts, most likely from the asphalt she had landed on during the chase. They went all the way up to her shoulder where the shirt sleeve had been torn away.

She practiced moving her legs, finding them a bit shakey and sore. She inspected the tears in the left side of her jeans, seeing gravel stuck in her cuts and scrapes from sliding across the street through the torn slits of frabic. She was always a quick healer, it was in her genes, the only concern would be getting the little rocks and dirt out.

She took a moment to take in her surroundings. She must've been in a small apartment or home. It was sparsely decorated, with only the bare necessities one would need.

From farther in the home she could hear two people arguing. One sounded angry, but was attempting to keep his voice down and failing miserably at doing so, while the other seemed to keep a much calmer head.

Curious to see if it was the same man that had saved her, Fern rose on shakey legs, limping over to the door slowly. She peeked through the crack, careful not to make a sound.

She recognized the white-haired man. He had been the one to save her. The other, however, was a stranger to her and that made her a bit wary. What had happened to that huge green-eyed dog?

Fern froze on the spot as both Q and Alexandre's eerie green eyes landed on her. They looked so strangely familiar...
She took a step back as Alexandre came forward and snatched the door open, blinking at him as he walked passed, tilting her head at his words.

Why did she feel like she had done something wrong?

She turned her attention back to Q, whom she recognized as her savior and gave a small nod, tucking a few strands of stray red hair behind her right ear with her good hand.

"I'm better," she answered softly. She had so many questions for them, but decided to hold them in until she had at least looked a bit decent.

"Would it...be too much to ask to borrow a pair of tweezers and your bathroom for about an hour?," she asked with hesitance, gold/green eyes looking up at Q who was at least a head or two taller than herself. She felt bad for asking, but if she didn't wash her wounds out soon they would become severely infected.

After Q had given her the tweezers and showed her where the bathroom was, she barricaded herself inside it, locking the door and putting the toilet seat down, running the sink water and taking a bit of toilet paper, rolling it up and placing it on the counter for a moment.

She shimmied out of the remainder of her jeans with a wince, kicking them aside with her good leg. She ran the tweezers under the hot water for a minute or two before sticking the rolled up toilet paper between her teeth and taking a seat on the toilet cover.

She took a deep breath, leaning over a particularly bad gash, taking hold of a bit of rock sticking out and pulling slowly. She grit her teeth on the toilet paper, tossing the rock into the garbadge then using her hand to give the surrounding area a squeeze. Three or four bits of gravel slipped from the wound, along with fresh blood.

This was going to be one hell of a process, she thought to herself, breathing harshly as she looked at the scratches upon gashes that ran down the length of her leg, peppered with bits of rock and debris.

---

After a torturous hour and a half, she had managed to clean out her leg, guiltily wrapping it in one of their towels to help stop the bleeding. She would wash it for them later. She had gotten a bit of her arm done as well, but was having trouble reaching up around her shoulder.

She would have to ask for help.

She rose on unstable feet, stumbling a little before managing to gain her balance back. She threw away the wad of rolled up toilet paper she had bitten, washing out her mouth and the tweezers. She grabbed her jeans but hesitated. She couldn't put these on again, she had just washed out her wounds...

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed her pride and shut off the sink water, opening the bathroom door, dressed in nothing but black brief-style panties, a towel wrapped around her bloodied leg and a black shirt ripped at the shoulder.

She limped back to the living room where she found Q. Hopefully the blush on her face was faint as she held up the tweezers," I can't reach the rest of it...," she said softly through red lips, eyes going from her wounds to Q.