#it’s pathetic he thinks when he’s lying next to eris under the sheets

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {12}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Isn’t it uncomfortable being in that weird awkward angsty fluff phase of the story

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Angry people are not always wise.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice 

Rhysand walked through the front door of their apartment, Feyre right behind.

“Get in bed,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Rhysand didn’t have the energy to protest. Instead, he slumped through the hall until he reached his bedroom and slowly lowered himself onto his mattress. 

Every movement brought a stabbing pain, dominantly in his ribs. In his shoes and all, wearing everything he had been taken to the hospital in the night before, Rhysand laid back against his pillows. 

He could hear Feyre poking about in the kitchen. She hadn’t been the same after what she had confessed the night before. Now he’s using you to prove that even though I left him...he can still control me. It’s all my fault. No matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, she wouldn’t budge. 

She came into his room a minute later with a sandwich and a glass of water. She saw him lying pathetically on his bed, dressed in his filthy clothes, and smiled softly.

He loved that smile. 

“Maybe you should get yourself cleaned up,” she said, setting the plate on his nightstand. “After you eat, so you can take your pain meds.”

“I don’t need them,” Rhysand said, grabbing his sandwich off the plate and taking a bite, still laying down. 

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Stubborn ass. They’ll help.”

Shaking his head, Rhysand said, “I’m fine, really.”

“I could hear you cringing while you laid down from all the way in the kitchen,” Feyre shot back.

Rhysand said nothing.

He took another bite of his sandwich. 

“Listen to your woman,” Feyre said, stalking out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. He could hear the water running, filling up the tub, as he finished off his pb&j. When Feyre came back, Rhysand was drifting into sleep. “No, no. Bathe first. You stink and you’ve got blood everywhere.”

With a groan, Rhysand sat up and lifted his shirt over his head. Feyre must’ve seen the pain in his expression, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, because she was sitting on his bed, helping him take off his shoes, then his socks. Rhysand stood and unbuttoned his jeans as he walked toward the bathroom.

“You going to give me a sponge bath, Nurse Feyre?” he asked.

Feyre laughed from behind him. “Maybe. I even put bubbles in it for you.”

Rhysand grinned. “Now you’re just spoiling me.”

Kicking off his jeans, Rhysand slid into the bath, down into the steaming, bubbly water. He sighed, leaning back. 

Feyre sat next to the bath as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Come in with me,” he muttered.

“You’re in no condition for that,” Feyre mumbled, but he could tell she was smiling. 

Rhysand opened one eye and looked at her. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

With a look that said he was full of shit, Feyre slid off her dirty clothes and stepped into the tub. She sat on his lap, cautiously straddling his waist. Her fingers, softly and slowly, slid down his chest. With his eyes closed, and his hands resting on her ass, Feyre took a cloth and soaked it in soap and warm water before bringing it to his face. She dabbed above his split lip, erasing the dried blood, then moved to his neck, around his scratch, where Eris had pressed the blade into his skin. Once free of blood, she ran the cloth over his chest, his arms, his abdomen, being extra cautious around his broken ribs.

“Lower,” Rhysand begged, and Feyre’s body shook above him.

“You said you’d be good,” she laughed, quietly, dropping the rag in the water.

Rhysand sighed. “I lied.”

She was shaking her head when he opened his eyes. Beautiful, with her hair hanging around her shoulders, her lips parted, eyes watching her own slender fingers draw circles against Rhysand’s chest. 

“I love you,” he breathed.

Feyre’s head shook, slowly, gray-blue eyes growing weary. “You love me too much.” 

“Not possible,” he said, taking her hands from his chest and interlacing his fingers in hers. “I am so in love with you, Feyre.”

She smiled, but her eyes welled up with tears. “Rhys-”

“I love you,” he repeated, holding onto her hands. “I love you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I love you, too.”

With a heavy heart, he wiped that tear away, unable to say anything more. He knew she felt guilty, and he also knew that no matter what he said or did, she would continue to feel guilty. It was who she was. She couldn’t help it. 

He pulled her into him, even though she protested, at first. Eventually, she reluctantly obeyed, but the moment her head was lying on his shoulder, her hand lying on his chest, she melted into him. 

They laid like that for a long while, and they had remained silent for so long that Rhysand didn’t realize that Feyre had fallen asleep until the water started to get cold. He shook her body, gently, and when her eyes opened, he suggested, “Bed?”

She nodded, pulled the plug, and got out. He followed, and she wrapped a towel around his waist before drying herself off and following him back to his room, where they laid together, naked, beneath the sheets, clinging to one another as they fell asleep. 

~~~~~

Azriel woke up to the early morning sun peeking in through his blinds. He stayed perfectly still, though, because Elain was sound asleep, cheek resting against his chest.

But he really had to piss.

Slowly, he thought to himself, as he pulled himself out from under her. He let her down, almost as smoothly as he had hoped, but either way, she stayed asleep as Azriel scooted off the edge of his bed and tip-toed quietly to the door. He begged it not to creak as he opened it, slipped out, and shut it with a soft click behind him.

In the hallway, he finally let out a breath as he closed himself inside of the bathroom. In the mirror, his hair was a mess, his eyes still blurred, trying to wake up.

While relieving himself, a loud knock came on the door, making him jump.

“I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE!”

Azriel snorted. “Almost done, Mila.”

“Hurry up!” she cried. “Uuuuuuuuuugh.”

He opened the door and was met with a tiny human, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips, auburn hair in absolute chaos. 

She pushed her uncle out of the way and hurried to the toilet. Azriel cracked the door, giving her privacy. 

“Hungry?” he asked, through the crack.

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “I want pancakes.”

“Of course,” Azriel muttered, heading back down the hallway, toward the kitchen, where Mor was sitting at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Her brows rose. “My back is killing me. There’s a reason I sleep on the couch. Which, I noticed this morning, my dear Azriel, is empty.”

Azriel gave her a look before opening the pantry and pulling out a box of pancake mix.

“Not to pry,” Mor went on, “but when I went to sleep last night, I had offered the couch to Elain, where I know, for a fact, she fell asleep.” 

Azriel didn’t give into her interrogation. “Talk to Rhys this morning?”

“Yes,” Mor sighed, “he called on his way home from the hospital a little while ago. He claims he’s perfectly fine.”

“Of course he does,” Azriel murmured, making a note to call Feyre later to see how he’s really doing. 

“Are you really going to make me ask if Elain is in your bed?” Mor asked, setting down her mug, forcibly, on the table.

Silently, Azriel opened the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. “I would never.”

“Azriel,” she begged.

Azriel laughed. “You can’t stand not knowing shit, can you?”

When he looked over his shoulder, it was written all over her face: no, she couldn’t. 

Shaking his head, Azriel turned back around and found a measuring cup. “Yes, she’s in my bed. No, nothing...happened.”

Mor was instantly on her feet. “You hesitated. You definitely hesitated.” 

She threw open the fridge, grabbed the milk, and met him at the counter.

“I hesitate a lot,” Azriel said, opening the box of pancake mix. “People typically don’t read into it.”

“I’m not people,” Mor said, opening the milk and measuring it out before pouring it into the bowl. “I’m your best friend.”

Azriel glanced at her through his side eye before shaking his head. “I don’t know. We kissed, and we…..cuddled, and it was nice.”

Mor’s smile widened. “Azriel just said cuddle. How sweet.”

Azriel jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow before pouring the mix into the bowl.

Looking his direction, Mor’s smile softened. “Jokes aside, I do think it’s sweet. I like Elain. She’s kind and gentle. The complete opposite of you, and opposites attract.”

Azriel lifted a brow as he pulled out a whisk and pointed it at Mor. “Are you saying that I’m not gentle?”

Mor cackled. “Have you met you? Gentler than Cassian, maybe, but that’s not saying much. No, Az, my love, you are not what I consider to be gentle. Unless it’s with Mila, but everyone’s gentle with that little princess.” 

“Speaking of,” Azriel mumbled, hearing her run down the hall.

Mila came around the corner, bouncing up and down. “Pancakes! And chocolate milk, please.”

“Ah, getting sugared up first thing in the morning,” Azriel laughed, and caught his niece as she jumped into his arms. She climbed onto his back and held him around his neck. “I suppose since it’s Saturday, it’s okay.” 

“Yay!” she yelled, right into his ear. 

Azriel mixed what was in the bowl together as Mila jumped from Azriel’s back into Mor’s arms, who carried her to the couch to watch cartoons, just as Azriel’s bedroom door opened. 

As Elain came around the corner, her cheeks were pink.

Even having just awoken, Azriel was blown away by her beauty.

“Hi,” she said, quietly.

“Hi,” Azriel replied, biting down on his lip to suppress his smile. “You like pancakes?”

Elain hesitated. “Everyone likes pancakes.” 

“Well, you’re in luck, then, because I make phenomenal pancakes….that come from a box.”

Elain laughed, and Azriel noticed Mor peeking over her shoulder at the two of them. 

Mila, just now realizing there was another person in the room, jumped up on the couch. “Lain!”

Elain smiled, brightly. “Good morning.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, still excited, but slightly confused.

A soft laugh tumbled out of Elain as she hesitated. “I...couldn’t wait until later to come see you, so I came a little early.”

“Yay!” Mila yelled, sitting back down beside Mor. “Come on, Lain, we’re watching Looney Tunes.” 

“Looney Tunes still comes on?” Azriel muttered.

“Of course,” Mor called, as Elain joined the girls on the couch. “It’s a classic, Saturday mornings wouldn’t be the same without it.” 

Shaking his head, every woman in the house abandoning him, Azriel made pancakes.

And then the four of them sat down at the table and ate, together, laughing over the sugary breakfast of pancakes with syrup and whipped cream, and chocolate milk. 

Azriel kept catching Elain’s eyes, and all he could think about was the sweet taste of her lips the night before, and how he couldn’t wait to taste them, again. 

~~~~~

The deep blue waters of the Sidra were sparkling as Cassian ran along it in the early morning heat, Bryaxis beside him on his leash, tongue hanging out as he jogged alongside his master.

He didn’t sleep at all, between what happened to Rhys and how he left things with Nesta.

Rhysand could take care of himself, Cassian knew that, but he couldn’t stop his anger. He knew it was a problem, that anger, knew it had often gotten him in trouble in the past, but it was stuck, simmering in the pit of his stomach, making his mind wander and, agonizingly enough, be alert at all times.

As for Nesta, he walked her up to her apartment after Azriel had dropped them off in the middle of the night. They walked in silence until they stood in the space between their doors. Hours before, they were fucking in his office, but before they parted, they just stared at each other awkwardly before saying goodnight.

Maybe it was because they were exhausted.

Or, maybe it was because she regretted it.

Or, even worse, maybe he was overthinking it, which was always a possibility. 

He almost texted her before he left for his run, but he decided against it, assuming he would run into her at some point during the day. 

Hoping to take his mind off everything, he leashed Bryaxis up and took to the riverwalk. It didn’t work, it only made him a little more tired and way more sweaty. 

By the time they reached the little park along the river, in front of the heart of the city, Cassian was exhausted. He must have run at least four miles without even realizing it, although the moment he started to slow down, he was definitely feeling it. 

He walked a little bit before sitting in the grass with Bryaxis and stretching out his long legs. 

“Good boy, Ax,” he mumbled, as the golden retriever laid down next to him. 

And then Cassian caught him, bright red hair, tall frame, jogging toward him.

Eris Vanserra.

Cassian’s blood turned cold. 

He was instantly rising to his feet, whistling for Bryaxis to follow. He did, the good boy he was. Cassian stormed in Eris’ direction, and by the time Eris saw him coming, it was too late for him to turn around. Cassian dropped Bryaxis’ leash, demanding he sit as he came upon Eris and tackled him against the sidewalk. Their skin scraped, blood instantly drawn.

Eris’ eyes blazed as his back hit the pavement. “What the fuck, Nazari?”

But Cassian had his hand against Eris’ throat as he pinned him to the ground. “Stay away from my family.”

Eris pushed back, not the scrawny kid he’d been in high school, anymore. He rolled Cassian over into the grass, his fist hitting Cassian in the jaw. Cassian spat up at him, saliva and blood tainting Eris’ light tanktop. 

To Eris’ surprise, Cassian grinned. Little did Eris know that Cassian thrived on confrontation, thrived on steady competition, thrived on the idea of giving Eris what he gave to Rhys.

They tumbled around in the grass, fists flying, ignoring the cries and glares they got from the few early morning riders that were around.

“Fuck you, Nazari,” Eris spat, elbowing Cassian in the jaw.

Cassian was quick though. He’d been in enough fights throughout his lifetime to make split decisions amidst the chaos. All the anger he had been feeling flooded him, ignited him. He pinned Eris to the ground, pinning him down with his knees as he landed a blow to his eye, another to his cheek, another, another, another, until someone was pulling him off- two someones. 

Eris laid in the grass, hands covering his bloodied face.

“Stay away,” Cassian warned again, spitting in the grass. He shook the joggers, who had pulled him away, off of him and whistled for Bryaxis. 

The pup came running.

Eris was on his feet, blood flowing from his nose. “You just made a huge mistake.”

“Fuck off, Vanserra,” he spat, taking Bryaxis’ leash.

The runners who had pulled Cassian off of Eris were standing between them now, but Cassian stayed, staring Eris down until his message was clear.

Stay away from my family.

Eris shook his head and turned away, walking back the way he had come.

Cassian waited until he was further down the walk until he turned around, too, heading back toward his apartment.

Bryaxis whined, looking up at Cassian.

“I’m okay,” Cassian reassured him, patting him on the head as they walked, along the Sidra.

By the time they reached the apartment complex, Cassian was about to fall over. Blood trickled down to the collar of his t-shirt.

He stomped up the concrete stairs, Bryaxis at his heels, worrying about his dad.

When Cassian reached the second floor landing, Nesta had just stepped out of her door.

She took one look at Cassian and cursed. “What the hell happened to you?”

Cassian shook his head, but Nesta stepped in front of him, blocking him from going into his apartment.

Reluctantly, Cassian stopped.

“I asked you a question,” Nesta hissed.

Cassian met her gaze. “Ran into Eris Vanserra.”

Nesta stilled, then took him by the elbow and pulled him into her apartment. 

“Sit,” she demanded.

Cassian didn’t see a point in fighting it.

He sat on her couch, Bryaxis lying at his feet.

She stomped into the kitchen and soaked a rag with cool water before meeting him on the couch. She sat beside him and pulled his chin toward her. Gently, Nesta wiped the blood from his face. 

“He got you good,” she muttered. 

“He looks worse,” Cassian muttered back.

“Not that point,” she said, adding more pressure as she wiped the blood from his lip.

Cassian hissed.

Nesta didn’t care.

“Be still,” she ordered.

“Then be gentle,” he snapped.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she continued to clean him up. Once she wiped him off, she pulled out some ointment and rubbed it on the parts of him that were split open.

“Violence often makes things worse, you know,” Nesta said, screwing the top back on the tube of the ointment. 

Cassian grunted, watching her walk back into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Going to scold me?”

“No,” Nesta said, drying off her hands, “but I’ll tell you it was stupid, because even you know it was.”

He did, he was grateful that no cops were around, but he couldn’t help it, not after what Eris and Tamlin had done.

“They can’t just get away with doing bad shit,” Cassian mumbled.

Nesta sat on the couch next to him, dressed in her running clothes. He assumed he caught her just before she left, herself, for the walk along the Sidra. 

Nesta didn’t disagree, but she said, “Just don’t do anything stupid.” Then, she added, “Again.”

Cassian looked at her, leaning his head back against the couch. “Holy shit. Nesta Archeron cares about me.” 

Nesta stilled. “No, I don’t.”

But Cassian was grinning. “Yes, you do.”

With narrowed eyes, she jabbed him beneath his eye, where a blue bruise was forming.

“Ow,” he laughed, pushing her back.

Even Nesta couldn’t help but smile as he crawled on top of her and pinned her down.

“Mean,” he muttered, and her eyes lit up. “Cruel.”

“I was going to go for a run,” she said, but her legs wrapped around his waist. 

“It can wait,” he said, voice muffled against the warm skin of her neck. 

Nesta didn’t protest as her eyes fell shut. 

~~~~~

Rhysand was fast asleep as Feyre scribbled a note and put it on his nightstand.

Running to the store. Be back soon. Stay in bed. Love you.

She hurried out of the apartment, careful to keep quiet, careful not to wake him. 

As she got in her car and headed for the grocery store, Feyre decided to take the long way around. She stopped short at an apartment complex she was all too familiar with.

Before she could convince herself otherwise, Feyre hopped out of her car and walked up the stairs, down the landing, until she was standing in front of her old front door.

She pounded her first against the thick wood. 

He opened it, a minute later, looking like he just woke up. His golden eyebrows rose. “Feyre?”

She shook her head, fists shaking at her sides as she looked at Tamlin. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, but only one word came out, full of anger and hostility and judgment.

“Why?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[ultraviolentdiamonds]

King of Spades: Part II

Oh no. Oh no.

Bawd stumbles over to Droog and turns him over, checking his pulse and going as white as a sheet when she can't find it.

She hasn't even noticed that she's been shot, because right now the end of the world is a bit more pressing. She looks to Bones with an intense look to her.

"What do you need to do to get that spell to work?"

"No, no- fuck!"

Slick jumps forwards, but it's too late. Kingpin is gone.

He snarls and throws his sword to the ground, stomping his foot. Fire flickers over him, white hot fire with tinges of green. It's rather like a child having a tantrum, but with much more blood. And sharp things. And fire.

After the flames fade, he trudges angrily over to Droog, Tracker close on his heels. (Kite watches for a moment, then retreats back up the stairs.)

"Before the sun explodes, Bones!" he snaps.

Bones doesn't speak- of course she doesn't- nor does she sign. She merely points to Droog, then to the circle on the canvas. She grabs his collar and begins pulling weakly, dragging him onto said canvas, taking a break or two to spit up some blood, of course.

"Bones! You're hurt!"

Tracker can't seem to take her eyes off the bloody holes in Bones's back.

"How can I-"

Tracker's cut off when Bones points again to Droog and the canvas.

"Alright," she says in a small voice, and a moment later Tracker helps pull too.

Once Droog is on the canvas, Bones signs with shaking fingers: Give. Year.

"Give a year?"

Tracker repeats, clearly baffled.

"What...?"

Bones points to the canvas. Next, she taps a finger on her forehead, and then on Droog's forehead. She gestures vaguely to Stray, or to Bawd. Certainly not to Slick. Then, silently as ever, she collapses, right on top of Droog's prone form.

She doesn't move.

Slick swears.

"--A year of your life,"

Stray answers, abruptly shoving himself up off the floor.

"I'll-- I'll handle it. Done it before. Bawd, get Bones, use-- use some shadow magic shit before she bleeds out, you can do that, right?"

Once Bones has been moved he kneels next to the canvas, placing his hand on the circle. For lack of another arm to make a connection, he leans forward and, instead, gently kisses Droog.

The circle lights up, illuminating the room with a soft blue glow.

Droog's body is dragged onto the canvas, the world trembling and shuddering around them. Streetlight bulbs pop in a downpour of sparks outside in the street.

Stray moves close to Droog, activating the circle and kissing him.

The light from the circle softens the shadows in the room, and they seep towards Droog, his neck set back into place with a pop, the world going still once more.

When the light dies, Droog's eyes open, and he groggily reaches up, sliding a hand over Stray's shoulder. He breaks the kiss, looking up at Stray, and then to Slick, Bawd, and Tracker and Bones.

"...What the fuck is going on?"

Bawd has been keeping up pressure against Bone's wound with a sort of concern as she watches the proceedings.

That job almost immediately gets handed off to Tracker when Droog is brought back to life, because she flings herself at him to kiss him.

Not as delicately as Stray did, and a whole lore mot passionately.

"You fucker." She says, fondly. "I cannot believe you got kidnapped."

Slick snorts. "Yeah, that's pathetic. Even for you."

He grins.

"Long story short you let some has-been king snap your neck and almost killed all of us by proxy. Next time, don't go toe to toe with with a guy that wants you dead when you got an entire universe resting on your back, you fucking moron."

He gives Stray a look like, can you believe this guy? His gaze is redirected by Tracker's pleas of,

"No, Bones, no, no, don't die, it's just a little bullet..."

She keeps her hands, now slick with blood, pressed tightly over the wound, but it doesn't seem to be helping much. Bones isn't even moving, and her chest neither rises nor falls with breath. Tracker cradles her close, all but weeping.

"No, no, no, no, no,"

is all she can say, over and over.

"Looks like we got another one that kicked it," Slick observes dryly. "Such a shame we don't got a necromancy circle or nothin'."

"It was meant to be used once! For him!" Tracker snarls. She points at Droog viciously.

Nonetheless, nothing can stop her from bodily shoving Droog, Stray, and Bawd right off the canvas, which she promptly drags Bones's still form onto. Nothing happens.

"C'mon, you're my best friend," she mutters, then, "Wait! The give a year thing, right? I'll give you all the years you want, you can have them all!"

She places one hand on the circle, the other on Bones's chest, and then kisses her.

"C'mon," she whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens, but eventually the circle begins to flicker faintly with blue light.

Stray helps move Bones onto the circle, after giving it a quick glance.

"... Should still be enough for one more," he tells Tracker. "You-- you have to keep touching her. You don't have to kiss her, but keep your hand on her forehead, or somethin'."

He looks to Droog.

"You might wanna help out with some shadow magic if there's any bullets left in her," he says. "You were easy, but it might have some trouble moving a solid object."

Then he allows himself to sit back. He presses a hand to his side, wincing when he pulls it back and finds it slicked with blood. Looks like somewhere in the spray of bullets one got him.

"... Everyone else alright?"

Droog has to force himself to stay up when Bawd flings herself into his arms, kissing him. A little surprised, he returns the kiss, before she breaks it to tease him about getting kidnapped. Droog smiles, a little crookedly.

"Thanks for coming for me, Bawd."

Slick begins to heckle him, before Tracker shoves all of them aside, dragging Bones onto the circle and trying to revive her. It begins glowing, faintly, and Droog looks over to Stray, nodding, before his eyes flicker violet, the bullets in Bones pushing themselves out of the wounds, the holes themselves beginning to close up.

"You three need me to take a look at you?"

Bawd blushes a little and ignores him in favor of watching Tracker and Bones with worried eyes. They've both helped so much it would be terrible for one to die.

"I'm...alright. Just a bullet wound and some cuts, those will heal in time. But...."

She glances meaningfully off to the side where Stray's arm is lying.

Slick's arm hangs limply at his side, but he shrugs.

"More concerned with that, really," he says, leaning over the tipped table. He grimaces. "That's gonna be real fun explainin' to the sand queen."

He curls his lip and mutters rude things under his breath, then turns a sardonic eye to Stray's wounds.

"That gonna hold you up much?"

Tracker continues to hold onto Bones, begging her quietly not to stay dead, please, whatever she did not to die. The circle's blue light flickers a few more times, then sputters out completely. Tracker holds her breath. A few moments later, Bones coughs and blinks. Tracker shrieks,

"You're alive!" Immediately she pulls her close, sobbing with delight. "You're alive, thank god, I was so scared!"

Bones, held crushingly tight in Tracker's arms, can only shrug apologetically.

"I wasn't," Slick says.

Then Tracker shoots him a death glare and he takes a step back. He decides, instead, to go across the room and scoop up the knives he’d dropped.

Stray smiles a little, when he sees Bones is alright. Everybody came out of this better than he expected, honestly.

"... I've had worse. Think it went out the other side," he says to Slick, before he turns to look at Droog. "Be better off if you could fix it. I gave you two doses of the magic booster shit, shouldn't be any problem for you."

He grimaces, heaving himself up off the floor to go collect his other arm.

"But if nobody else minds I'd rather get the fuck out of here. Go get the guys upstairs and regroup. Probably gonna have to call somebody to come clean up the place."

Droog watches as Bones revives, Tracker seems happy at least, and Droog looks over Bawd's wounds, shrugging and turning to Stray. She was a Shadow mage. She could heal herself.

Droog looks over Stray's bullet wound and runs a hand over it, the wound closing up quickly.

He grabs his arm and Droog nods, the bar around them shifting into Droog's Foyer.

Kite, Clutch, and Dust are deposited into the foyer as well, and Droog looks around to make sure everyone's in one piece, before waving them off and heading up the stairs.

"Do whatever you want. There are extra rooms if you all want to sleep. I need a shower."

Bawd kind of collapses onto the couch, immediately beset upon by Droog's little kitten.

She's perfectly ffine with this, especially since it seems as though her healing is taking its sweet, sweet time. Eris must not consider it very dangerous to her overall health.

That went. Better than was expected, but the fact that BK still managed to escape really wasn't great. In fact, they should probably let Droog know about that before any of them leave, because god only knows that big asshole will try to do something dumb like, burn down his house or something. Just awful.

"He ain't the only one that needs a shower,"

Slick mutters darkly. To the somewhat confused and nervous sand people, he says,

"You all are staying here tonight, unless you want to walk all the way to a transportalizer and then all the way to the hideout.”

He narrows his eyes. None of them say anything.

"Yeah, I thought so. Spare rooms are that way, kitchen's that way, figure out everything else for yourself."

He messes with a few buttons on his transportalizer watch, then presses a final one and vanishes. His last muttered words hang in the air:

"Can't believe the bastard got away."

The sand people sort of disperse after that. Tracker bears a barely-conscious Bones off to a guest room, with a bandaged-up Dust hobbling after them.

Clutch ambles off in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt to get himself a meal.

Kite goes nowhere, instead drifting to a nearby chair and setting to work on cleaning her rifles. "Nice night," she comments dryly.

"That makes three of us,"

Stray says, after shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over the back of the couch.

"Gonna shower an' get some fucking sleep. You're free to stay the night too, Bawd, if you want. First aid kit's in the kitchen, if you or anybody else needs it."

He rubs his face, turning to follow up the stairs after Droog.

"See you tomorrow."

What a night.