Who: Remy and Open When: Thursday afternoon Where: An alley near the safe house What: A crossroads
Remy was a mess. He had a few light marks still from the Sentinel attack, but he was freshly injured. A cut near his eye, a huge bruise on his chest, a burn mark on his cheek and hand that had come from his own powers. He had gotten into a small back alley near the safe house, but was nervous about going into the place where all his friends - or, at least, all his friends who were left - were hiding. The Cajun looked wearied and battered, even more than during the Sentinel attack. He slipped to a sitting position against the wall, breathing hard. What was he supposed to do?
It had been two different attacks. He didn't know who to fear more any longer. Against better advice from others, he had gone out, needing some supplies - he was almost out of cards, and he needed some clothes. The sunglasses and hat hadn't helped. Someone had recognized the mutant who killed Hunter Todd. He'd been chased out of a store, and only got away with minor injuries - the bruise to his chest and a burn on his cheek - because he had charged up a bag of spices hanging near the shelf he stood at, making an impromtu smoke bomb. A kick to the chest wasn't a bad trade off for not hurting anyone. He had lost the angry mob - it had been too small, too short a notice, to get to him. But it frightened him.
And that wasn't the end of it. He lost them, but the commotion had drawn attetnion to himself. And to someone who was much better at injuring people than the everyday grocery store customer. An Assassin. The fight had been short, bitter, and fierce. Remy wasn't sure if the man would survive long enough for someone to take him to the hospital. But he had to get back, had to recollect himself. If the Assassins had gotten to New York... the safe house wouldn't be safe if they found him there.
The alley was safe - but only temporarily, he knew. He had to catch his breath. Angry humans. Angry Assassins. Who knew who else was mad at him. What the hell was he supposed to do? He felt alone, safe enough to show a moment of weakness. He buried his face in his hand, leaned up against the wall, one leg drawn up and one leg stretched out. "Mon dieu."