Welcome to Gaia! ::

Cat would awaken in a nice warm bed, safe, yet in somebody else's home. She could see all (yes, ALL) of her clothes clean and straight out of the dryer, folded neatly on the nightstand. She herself had on a nightgown.

(pardon for the liberties taken)

It was day, the sun shining extra bright it seemed through the bedroom window.

"This is comming from a medical point of view, so I beg your pardon. You are obviously not well enough to go anywhere." Jon had been sitting next to the bed, almost casually. "I've examined you as best I could. You are underfed and lighter than what a woman of your size should be. You had a fever, and were also bruised some from the fight. But all that really pales to the comparison of that you had been unconscious for FOUR days. And you still wake up weak from exhaustion." Jon's face was hard. "You're gonna have to give me a good reason to let you leave before you're well again."

"Oh yes, I've been wondering about what you are. I have worked with "lycans" before. I have also worked with supernaturals, to use a collective term. You are quite a...puzzler, shall we say. I say again, you'll have to do better than threaten me." Jon's hand strayed to his hip, alittle behind himself out of her view. "You never really know if silver affects one lycan or not, you know? But you, you need rest, if nothing else." Jon got up and closed the curtains. "Please, just get better before you leave." There was a tone in his voice that seeemed...sad. Jon headed for the door. "I'll let you sleep now."

Jon couldn't stand it. His curiosity was too much to handle. He sat straight down in the easychair. "I've always liked storytime." Jon hoped his boyhood rendition would atleast get her to smile. He felt better if they thought he was funny.

Jon merely nodded, and waited for her to continue. His expression unchanging.

Jon sat enthralled in silence.

I'm not gonna compare histories to see who's is worse, but you'd be surprised what you see in the military. No, I don't think I have seen what a soul-body separation looks like.
Jon brought his hand to his gun holster again, slowly, calmly. "You sound dangerous." There was a brief pause in his words before he continued. "I do not know the sorrow of killing my own, nor shall I ever if the fates be kind. I won't ask anything else. I guess if you really want to leave, I can't stop you." Jon stood, walked to the door, and stopped. Without turning back he spoke, "It must be terrible, living with yourself. I will go make some breakfast now." Jon did not wait for a reply, and left.
The entire time she spoke, his composure remained the same. He took her tale in stride.
She could see this was his room now, with many, many photos of him and others. These were obviously pictures of Jon and his commrads from the military. Cat could see the photos contained progressively fewer, and fewer, people. The most recent of which contained only three, on the nightstand. Medals decorated the wall with the pictures. And then, Cat noticed the wall oppisite the bed. This ons had no pictures, just words. These were death certificates. All of them. Five, ten, fifteen, thirty. Thirty death certificates left this wall with no space for much else. The photos were all full of life, the certificates, hollow. On the dresser, another happy photo. This one of apparently Jon and his wife at their wedding. And right next to it, The official divorce paper.