#((isayah: i hate every1 who breathes

[misfortuning]

@maljefe │ ғʀᴏᴍ

       Twining with the wind and rhythmic river waves he’d heard the splashing, choked struggles of someone in the god damn river, was tossing his sweatshirt (which was only for show; the odd looks he got wearing a t-shirt in the winter bothered him more than the cold) and leaping off the bank without a second thought. He’d found her in little over a minute of strong swimming, hauled her out in a little less, but as he spit the icy water that had slipped into his mouth he knew that even that had been too long.

       “Shit,” he mutters, casting about for his discarded hoodie, hearing the jagged and chopped word that forces its way from between teeth. Why weren’t there any fucking light posts out here? Who the hell jumped (for she must have jumped if she couldn’t swim) into the river at night? Why the god damned shit did he have to wear such dark clothes—he finds it, rumpled in the grass a ways upriver from where they’ve emerged.

       Within a breath he's back—and finally getting a good look at her. Are those ears? And..a fucking tail? Shit. Well, whatever, he’s committed. Carefully lifting her into an approximation of sitting, he peels off her soaked top with clinical, gentle hands, quickly replacing it with his sweatshirt. He hesitates for only a second before removing her shoes, pants, and socks as well, all with swift, practical motions—wet clothes would leech what little body heat she had left faster than cold air, but it still didn’t give him much time. 

       Thoughts race even as he picks the woman up (small but compact, like a fighter), sweatshirt hem easily reaching just past her mid-thigh, holding her close to block what he can of the wind and ignoring what words her cold-clenched jaw mutilates. The fact that she has ears, a tail, and, he finally notes, rather wicked-looking claws immediately dismisses the option of a hospital. Besides, he’s spent so much time avoiding them that he's not even sure where the closest one would be. That leaves two options, and he heads for the nearest.

       Arriving at his friend’s apartment he doesn’t bother knocking, simply going to open to door—only to find it locked. Shit! God dammit, sorry about this I’ll pay for it later— His wrist tenses, tendons flex, and the knob twists with a crack, door swinging open. No deadbolt, must be out. Kicking the door shut behind him, he heads straight for the couch and settles her with the same careful handling he’s used from the start. Pulling the throw blanket over her, he disappears into the bedroom and returns with more blankets (and even a pillow), depositing those before beelining to the kitchenette and starting some hot water.

       From the moment he jumped in the river to current time, Isayah has not stopped moving; now, standing a few feet away from the clearly inhuman stranger he’s brought directly to his friend’s home, his protector setting is able to organize itself, reorient from the previously paramount saveher-saveher-saveher and realize that he may have been a bit hasty. But, no, he shouldn’t decide so quickly. Unless she’d just finished killing his friends before taking a dive, pulling her from the river and getting her to a warm place hadn’t been a mistake.

       Still, he’ll let her make the first verbal move. Amber gaze is unwavering as he watches her, oblivious to the fact that he’s dripping water all over the floor. It’s obvious what she is; but can she sense that he’s more than he seems, too?