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Meeting Old Friends
Dorian watched as the place filled up. The strange man smelled of sulfur, the distaste of rotten eggs was all Dorian could smell as the man walked past them. It seemed to linger in the air even as the man had past them and took a table two or three away from them. It was hard to tell with the vantage he had.

Martin told him that things were to remain the same. They just wanted intel on the things they chased, he supposed that was doable. But being in Moscow was going to be different. Having to obey both the law and the Atharim to the letter was going to prove to be difficult. In all technicality he couldn't shoot a criminal, but the Atharim believed in shoot first ask questions later. Both were ingrained in him with his training. It was difficult to deal with.

The Inspector took his leave of the lovely doctor, he knew that was to be his life again soon. Today he had a free moment. Today he should have spent with Cruz, but Cruz had his own things to attend to. Cruz would be home for at least the rest of the semester. Hopefully he'd come to Moscow, It would be good to have him around, but Cruz was less inclined to hang out with is father these days. His friends were always busy. But a dad could always hope.

Dorian shoved the food around his plate even more and the sulfur smell got stronger. It was almost near impossible to smell anything else. Dorian put his hand on his pistol at his hip, something was truly wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Connor watched Jensen blush as he stood to greet Charlie and his smile turned into big grin. Poor guy, all ambushed like this. He took a swig of his drinks as everyone got settled, and his eyes drifted over the bar. Those two mudaks who were always harassing Ayden were missing, which was probably good for them. He was feeling a bit...frisky tonight. It had been a while since he'd worked off some energy. Definitely he was gonna hit the gym tomorrow.

There was that guy in the trench coat again going to sit. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but he seemed....odd. Maybe he was on something. He raised an eyebrow considering even as he took another swallow of his drink. Movement caught his eye and a man about his size and build a few tables over left the bar rather quickly, leaving a young girl at the the table by herself. Huh. All kinds of interesting stories, people had. The woman at the bar chatting up the kid who looked to be about half her age. The guy in the corner with his wallet out reading. Two guys, one impeccably dressed, talking. People came to these places for a lot of reasons.

Jensen's question brought him back to their table. He started to answer but Charlie jumped in. "Gracie's is a gym. Kickboxing, Jui Jitsu. Stuff like that." He point at Connor with his chin, a grin on his face. "Your boy here came in with a mid-life crisis on his hands and figured getting his ass beat was the best way to deal with it." He shrugged. "What can I say. I try to help people, you know?"

Connor laughed dryly. "Yeah, something like that. You just wait, buddy boy."

Charlie laughed, taking a drink from his own beer. "Oh I know, gramps. Trust me I know. Give me another 40 years and I'll be right there with ya."

Connor busted out laughing and shaking his head. Then he looked at Jensen. "Nah, Charlie's a good guy. Terrible comedian. Ugly ass woman. But a good guy, a good friend. You should come down."
His grin became somewhat wicked but he held his tongue. Jensen was his friend and while he and his buddies busted on each other all the time, he wasn't sure he'd do that to the guy. Not yet anyway. Maybe if he threw back an actual drink or three.

Edited by Connor Kent, Apr 30 2015, 10:35 AM.
The dynamic between Connor and Charlie was clearly one of friendship. The two connected in a way that went deeper than trainer and trainee. Their jokes, although harsh, were received in good fun. They each seemed to want to out-harass the other. It was an alien relationship to Jensen. Certainly, he teased Jessika, but their jokes were passed in flirtation more than anything else. They never fought, even in play.

He shifted, but his discomfort was more from being the odd-man out on the inside jokes than disapproval. "Thank you for the offer, guys, but I'll pass. And there's a gym in my building that's a bit more my speed. Less... punching."
He chuckled, but really the idea of that type of workout was not something he would enjoy. There was no need for violence to work the body, even feigned violence. He knew himself too well, and he would be paralyzed in such an environment.

He turned to Connor, "I was thinking of visiting a hospital. Just to visit."
He wasn't sure if Charlie was aware of their history, but he didn't want to delay asking. "Do you think you'd want to go?"
He would understand if Connor turned him down. He wasn't sure what purpose he might serve in coming anyway, except perhaps to keep him company.

And maybe keep a lookout.

Martin watched as Dorian tensed up, every movement he saw of his friend spoke of danger. Martin was always armed, but a gun was not his tool of use much these days, though it was a hard habit to break. Martin turned around in the direction that Dorian was watching. It seemed that moments later the man in the trench started screaming. He was crawling like crab towards the wall to get away from whatever was in front of him.

Everything slowed. Martin stood up slowly, it felt slow to him, but he was sure that it was as fast as he could, but there was nothing in front of the man, but Martin saw the leather cushion rip into three course ribbons with stuffing sticking out of it. The smell of rotten eggs was much stronger. Sulfer...

Dorian was on his feet next to him his gun and badge out as if it were something he could stop. There was nothing to shoot. The man screamed and crawled away hitting his back against the wall and then forcing himself to slide up the wall into standing position.

A large crash and the table splintered as a huge force pushed forward. Martin had never seen a Hellhound. Never been this close to one, and he prayed to the heavens that he never did see one. The look of abject horror on the man's face meant that Martin was certain he did not want to meet his death in this way.

There were frantic screams from everywhere as Martin watched, he could vaguely remember Dorian starting to usher people out of the restaurant. It was his duty to make this less of a scene.

The man stood, seconds, minutes, it wasn't long before his blood curtling scream raked Martin's ears as three jagged marks appeared on his abdomen his intestines falling from their place of entrapment. The man crumbled to his knees and Martin watched as a chunk of his flesh on his neck was spirited away. The man fell limp on the floor and there was absolutely nothing Martin could have done to save the man. Even if Martin could have saved him, the hell hound or another would have found him. No one has ever survived a Hellhound once it had been sent after you.
The rising smell was unmistakable; Torri recognized sulphur immediately. It reminded her of chemistry lab in school. She wrinkled her nose and looked around her for the source of the odor. All swung into motion in the next few moments like a battle suddenly erupted in the restaurant.

Her chair flung backward from the table, and she barely acknowledged the sound of it hitting the floor behind her. A male was screaming like he was about to spontaneously combust, and Torri's shocked heart went cold with focus.

The cops that Drayson recognized herded people away from the scene, any whom did not rush away on their own. She wasn't one of them.

She hastened to his side, meeting Dorian's intense companion there. Together she made to lay the man down. The left carotid spewed blood, which she tried to divert with her palms laid across the wound in his throat. Enormous lacerations were opened in his chest. If he was already laid out on an operating table there would be a chance to save him, but before she could ask for emergency aide, the spray of blood slowed to a trickle, then pooled in the wound, and finally stopped altogether. The heart stopped, and Torri sat back on her knees. Her jeans and sweater were splattered. No human could survive an attack of that magnitude.

She met the other man's eyes, frowning as she did. Wordlessly she pushed up and retrieved a napkin from an empty table, wiping off her hands as she did. The instrument of the man's death was no where to be seen, yet Torri examined the area anyway. Finally, she noticed the smell of sulphur was gone, as were most of the people.

Jensen's question left Connor considering. The last time the man had contacted him, they'd ended up in the middle of trying to rescue some kids from a human trafficking ring. He had snapped that night, had just lost it on that man. For a moment, the anger that had spiked his blood then returned, and he felt his fists clench and unclench. The man was dead, beaten and stomped to death with his own hands and feet, the little girl saved.

But how safe? Jensen's words indicated that it might not have been enough. Still, it had felt good to do something, to make a difference, to save people. He realized that he hungered for that. He wanted his life to mean something, to matter. In the back of his mind, he imagined Hayden sat there, watching him, believing in him. He wanted his son to be proud of him.

He looked at Jensen. Hiss eyes were intense and earnest. He recognized it. The hunger to help, to do something. If Jensen needed his help, it was worth doing.

All trace of banter and joking was gone. "I'm in. You tell me what you need and I'm there."
He heard Charlie shift and wasn't sure what else to say. His getting involved was one thing. Involving Charlie, though....come to think of it, what about Ayden? The last time, he'd been shot. Yeah, it was by her.

But they had turned a corner. No secrets. He wouldn't hide this from her. In fact, she might be able to help. She had a unique set of skills. A smile tugged at his face as he brought out his wallet to text her-

At that moment a scream tore through the restaurant and his head swung in that direction. Everything seemed to move so fast. That man in the trench coat was being savaged by...something. Connor jumped to his feet even as he looked about the ceiling. Was it an ijiraq? He didn't see the tell-tale signs. He looked at Jensen for a moment- they had met fighting an ijiraq- and then he pushed through the now panicked restaurant guests as they scrambled for the exit. He had to get to the man to....he couldn't do anything. But he couldn't just run either. That wasn't who he was.

One of the men was standing with his badge trying to usher people and Connor slipped past him. That girl was on the ground calmly, trying to stop the blood gushing from the man's throat. Connor felt his insides clench at the sight. Had to be a nurse or something. The lack of hesitation despite getting sprayed with the man's blood, reminded him of Jamie, of how she was able to compartmentalize her emotions to take care of what needed doing. She had things in hand.

Connor looked around, trying to figure out what had happened, what had killed the man. He suddenly wished he had Aria there, to ask her what other creatures were out there. Between the ijiraq and now this, he suddenly felt an understanding as to why the Atharim were needed. At least, in regard to this. The realization made him sick- perhaps it was also all the blood and the man's entrails that hung slackly to the side of the man's torso.

Whatever it was, the thing was gone. He looked down at the body feeling a deep sadness. It was a torn piece of meat, a husk, the face now nearly white, the silent agony permanently etched on it. The girl had been sprayed with blood and got up to get a napkin to wipe off. The quiet in the room was deafening after the screams. He looked at the other man. Roughly the same age and build as himself. Connor's voice was soft but seemed loud in the emptiness. "Did it get you?"
The girl returned. "Either of you?"
His eyes scanned both of them....and noticed the tattoo on the man's arm. His eyes narrowed. Of course. The man carried no sword, though he suspected that swords were only one of many weapons Atharim must carry.

He looked the man directly in the eye, understanding finally coming. This man must have been the target. "What was that?"
The bar erupted into a commotion of such magnitude that the screams of the dying man was not nearly the most distracting of things. Dorian pulled the covered badge from his belt with his hand gun he'd kept on for good measure. It wasn't like he was even on duty right now, but he still carried both out of habit.

The smell of sulfur was the only thing that Dorian could smell, the pungent smell of rotten eggs was everywhere. The screams coming from the hell hounds victim pierced the air and the was drowned out by the screams of the other patrons and employees. Dorian's first reaction was to lessen the bystanders. They should be relatively safe from the creature itself, but the less he had to explain the better the situation would be. Dorian almost wished that the Cheif Inspector was here, to see how he handled the situation. Dorian knew what to do, he'd been doing it the past fifteen years. But this, this was different, he'd not actually been in the middle of an attack such as this.

The man had walked eerily into the bar and now he was flailing the last of his life force all over the floor and table he had sat at. By the time everything calmed down there were very few people inside. Dorian had managed to contain most of the damage from innocent viewers. How does one explain an invisible dog sent by some unseen force to kill just one soul for whatever reason the universe deemed worthy.

Dorian finally made it back inside and saw that the doctor had tried to stop the blood from the dying man, she was covered with blood. Martin stood with another man questioning him. Martin was staring at the body on the ground, Dorian head the question. "What was that?"

Dorian could have explained it but this man was not Atharim. There was some story to be told, he just had to think of it. The world was distraught with magical beings, a bomb, an invisible creature? The world was going up in flames and the Atharim were the only ones who knew the full truth. How did you save the world from ignorance?

Scenarios coursed through Dorian's mind as he tried to think up an excuse, something that could possibly explain the situation. How do you explain a smashed table, a man with giant claw marks through his chest, a bite taken from his throat. Clearly an animal attack. But unseen and gone now? There was nothing Dorian could think of, and then he smiled. While not perfect, and it would take a little covering up on his part, but it was possible. "I would imagine it was a drug overdose of some kind that sent him into a panic. Self-inflicted wounds."
Dorian shrugged and took off his jacket and covered the man's torso and his neck with it the best he could. There was no need to let anyone else take a better look at it.

"I'll call this in, I'd appreciate it if you all backed away now. There is nothing more any of you can do."
Dorian flashed his badge at them, including Martin and stepped over the body to separate them from further viewing.
The place wasn't full, but neither had Jensen been paying attention to everyone around them. He didn't know anything was happening until it happened.

He didn't understand at first. A man was screaming, but they weren't close enough to understand why until it was practically over. Jensen jumped from his seat, frozen in full disbelief until he started to search the ceiling. He once witnessed an old woman rip men to shreds, but there was no one to pin the slaughter upon.

He started to move forward, but Charlie's hard grip grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Most everyone in the restaurant ran, or was herded, outside. Jensen, by way of Charlie, was one of them. "What are you doing? Stop!"
he raised his voice once outside, trying to free himself of Charlie's grasp. "Let me go back! I can help."
Charlie looked at him like he was crazy, and Jensen found himself released.

He hurried back inside, but everything was over by then. He stopped short of the body itself. "He's dead?"
He asked, but in his heart he didn't need to. The looks on everyone's faces told him the answer.

Connor confronted one of the men standing guard whom Jensen took as an off-duty police officer. Meanwhile, Jensen crossed to the woman that seemed to go to the man's aid. She was covered in his blood and looking none too pleased with the outcome of the situation. "Are you okay? None of this is yours, right?"
She seemed fine, but he asked none the less.
She looked up when the biker guy from the other table came over. He was decidedly more soft-spoken than she was expecting, and on any other circumstances, she might have been flattered by his concern. "That's kind of you, but I'm fine. You're right, none of this is mine."
Her smile was grim.

The napkin didn't help the situation on her hands much. Instead, she excused herself and flat out walked around to the inside of the bar and found a sink. Her shirt was sticking to her stomach in a decidedly disgusting way, but there were no options to change into that she could see. She might just strip out of it and consider the sweater a casualty and go around in her coat insteaad, but Drayson's police friend stopped her. More precisely, his assessment of the situation stopped her.

She looked up from pumping soap into the palms of her hands. She called out, "You're the doctor now, Detective Vega?"
She wasn't impressed, but neither was she ignorant of the ways of the world. Either he was an inept detective, or he was covering up. "With what weapon were those wounds self-inflicted? It's not like he had time to stash a knife."
She had a feeling this was an itch she shouldn't scratch, but the situation bothered her. Fittingly so.

Martin watched as the doctor tried to save the man's life. The hell hound would not have left if the victim were to survive. Why not finish it off? Martin knew the man was beyond saving.

Dorian was a true officer of the law, his first reaction was the people and he'd done a decent enough job of trying not to bring too much attention to things. His explanation was not nearly so perfected, but how did one explain a hellhound to someone.

Martin laughed at the doctor's questions, Dorian looked at him like he'd gone mad. "Well I don't know what else could have done this, short of magic."
Martin continued to laugh, "As if magic truly existed. I saw nothing but blood and heard only screaming. Dear Doctor do you have a theory?"
It was his attempt and seeing what the by standers knew. Dorian raised an eyebrow at his friend and he knew that both of them would be watching the reactions of the others. There were now three innocents standing around the body of a dead man despite the fact that Dorian was doing his damnedest to get them the hell of out. Three heros, Martin thought to himself. God save the world!

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