Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Yer shittin' me," Dawson said just as the bird in question seemingly made its entrance. He looked at it, then at Rylan, back at the bird, and then gave a high-pitched forced laugh. "Jesus God Mary n' Joseph...You sprout wings too, dude?" Why not, right? Might as well start getting all the weird bases covered ahead of time. It did make for a good eye outside, though knowing that they had sealed the area off and had them all surrounded didn't make him feel the least bit better.

"Got no idea if anyone came by," Dawson added as he got up and dusted himself off. The first floor was full of people in various degrees of pain. "You got a number a'one of 'em? Think sendin' a text might get too distractin'?"

Speaking of--he nearly didn't hear the other man hailing him. Dawson perked up like a soldier at attention and pulled at his cap. "I'm alrigh', just a bit lightheaded. Lemme see if I cain' find ya some more stuff tucked around here. Be right back."

Toilet paper seemed a decent enough gauze to him, so he moved towards the bathroom to gather some supplies.

+21

Temperance leaned her head against the cool concrete of the closet's wall. Everything was happening so fast and there wasn't really time for this but she needed a moment before she snapped at anyone besides stupid Connor.

She was a nurse, she had to go back out there. She was a nurse; there were people who needed patching up. She was a nurse. She was... she was a nursing student who worked part time drawing people's blood and she'd never seen anything like this beyond glossy pictures in her textbooks. Temperance drew in a shuddering breath. Maybe if she'd been more skilled, had more experience, maybe if she'd done a better job, then.. She stopped the thought forcefully.

The bullhorn sounded outside, the words muffled, but clear. Taking a breath, she gathered the things from the med kit and turns around to go back outside. There wasn't time for her to think things. She needed to set up a triage.

"What the f-"

Rylan barely had time to give Imp a little scritch on the head to tell him what a good job he'd done when he looked up and felt all the blood drain out of his face.

Everything else he'd been thinking of doing - reminding Eve to be careful outside, helping look for medical supplies - slipped from his mind. He managed, barely, to avoid shoving anyone out of the way on his way over to Thorne, crossing the distance between them with determined steps.

"Thorne, what did you do?" He hissed, grabbing the man's face with both hands to stare into his hazy eyes. "JESUS CHRIST. Somebody - Get those medical supplies over here, now! ... Please."

Don't panic. You're alright. He's alright.

It was by sheer force of will that Rylan managed to keep himself under control, reminding himself that no good would come of losing him temper or going on a mad rampage upstairs to find the son of a b***h who dared put someone he cared about in danger.

"Alright, alright, stay with me. You're alright, Thorne. You're going to be fine." He looked up, waving for something - anything - that would help stem the blood flow.

Thorne had closed his eyes.

You're not supposed to do that, you know, someone had said to him once, but he couldn't remember who, they tell you not to sleep for a reason.

But he had.

The world around him, all of the shouts and prayers and pleas, had become a blur of sound and color, garish and unintelligible in those minutes upstairs that he couldn't remember - not clearly, at least. His breath stung in his throat, wet and loud, too loud. That was bad, that had to be bad.

He'd had injuries before, but he never remembered them being quite like this. Thorne wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. More than that, he just wanted to sleep away the pain. His head was heavy, and his entire body burned. He didn't know where it came from anymore.

"Thorne, what did you do?"

The question came from somewhere above him, and Thorne blinked, the garish lights fading and flickering in between black spots until they realigned and - Rylan?

Thorne surged upwards, his body screaming mutiny, and the strangled sound out of his throat wasn't human.

"No," he said, and his voice was wet and panicked and losing control. Because of all the people he didn't want to see here, it was Lucas and Rylan. "No, you can't be here - Rylan - "

Something screamed for attention in his abdomen, and Thorne choked on the words. His hand lifted to grab at the pain, stop it, stop it, but the movement jarred the cut from his collarbone to his ear further apart and he froze, an animal noise of pain in his throat.

"You have to get out," he said, wetly, closing his eyes because it was too heavy, all of it, red and black popping like stars in his vision, "you have to get out."

"Eve, wait!" Nasir called out, pushing himself wobby up to his feet. His head swam and when he came towards her he ended up having to reach out and hold himself up with a hand.

Okay, no more blood loss for him.

"I don't think ... It's a good idea for you to go out. I mean, can't we just send someone else outside? You could help more in here or upstairs or ..." The young man looked worried at the idea that they might hurt Eve because she really was one of the weres. Eve who looked after Lily and who gave him a hug first and-

"I mean, I'm hairy?" Thank goodness for watching medical shows while occasionally stoned with Wil. "There's a patch on my arm that's really thick and ..." His arms were held out and there was, indeed, a particularly thick patch but it wasn't-

"You might get hurt," he finished lamely, straightening himself up.

"Oh Christ, ya, fine. Go. Find me if you happen upon anything ******** useful." Connor growled as yet another of his potential assistants decided instead to wander off. Somewhere deep inside, he understood. They wanted to find better supplies, something that could help more than their sparse supply of bandages, alcohol and water. It was hard to tap into this more rational part of himself, however, when all around him people were dying and he'd just been hit with the news that supernatural s**t was real.

It was only moments after both Dawson and Temp had left that There was a commotion at the stairs. People were being brought down, and he could immediately see at least one that's situation was dire. Someone from nearby had already run over, and were calling for help, and Connor took a deep breath, both to stifle his nerves and to keep himself from yelling something smart a**-y back in response, while gathering up the bandages, towels, ice, and bottle of alcohol.

Standing up, he turned and rushed over as quickly as he could, sliding down to his knees beside the two, putting down everything he held in a small pile while his eyes scanned for the wounds that were most immediately apparent. "I'm Connor, an EMT." He decided to not mention the in training part, or the fact that he wasn't yet certified. "I'll do what I can to help," <********, ********, ******** <********>, the guy was a mess.

"TEMP!? BIG HAIRY GUY? LITTLE ******** HELP?"

He called around him, not actually sure where either one of them had gone off to, before setting his hands to work, running through his training in his mind. "Get his knee's bent." He muttered, and then louder, for Rylan to hear him better. "Grab some of those bandages, apply them to his neck wound, firmly, try to hold that wound shut, just until the others get here." Scooting down a little, he pushed against Thorne's legs, trying to get them in the proper bent-at-the-knee's position before moving back up to his stomach area.

Reaching forward, he began tearing at Thornes shirt, attempting to peel it back so that he could have a better look at what was going on.

There were so many people shouting and talking and Thorne's mind couldn't follow. Someone pushed at his legs, and he made some sort of animal sound, but nothing more, trying to help - but the pain burned more and more whenever he moved and he just wanted it to stop.

He hissed and thrashed when the sticky pull of cloth peeling away from wounds came into his consciousness, face warped in a mixture of pain and shock. "Who's yelling," he choked, eyes opening to stare blindly at Rylan and the other man.

"Sorry," he slurred when Rylan told him to shut up and stop moving, shoving his face back towards the ground. He was okay with this, apparently, because laying down sounded like a smarter idea suddenly then trying to sit up and haul Rylan's a** out of the building. (Oh wait, the cops had them corralled in. s**t.)

"You can't murder me!" Thorne said, eyes flashing to Rylan, wild and unfocused, "You're a firefighter. It's - contradictory to your. Nature." He hummed, the sound silhouetted by the wetness of blood caught in his throat. Rylan sounded panicked - why was he so panicked? Thorne did suppose there was a lot of blood. Was all of it his? His mind felt sticky and thoughts came in spontaneous bursts of clarity, fuzzing in and out on whim.

"Rylan," he said, one hand tapping limply against the other mans chest. "You're alright. It's alright."

He huffed and tried to keep his eyes open, half-lidded and tilted back to stare at the ceiling above them. He'd ******** up this time, real bad.

"Sorry I never got to make you dinner."