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The Fae and the Huntsman

They are angry. They are angry and they are not speaking. It is fine with them for now. They do not care, not one bit. They are stubborn. But they also know they will have to go home....eventually. But eventually is not right now, and silent feet meet the cold concrete of the sidewalk. Shoes quickly slid onto bare feet, as wings fade into the ether. The leather jacket in their arms settled into, hood pulled up to hide their long unnatural white hair. And none to soon, they step out of the alleyway.

Walking among the aging, always seems to help. They do not know why. They do not particularly like the aging race. The race as a whole are selfish, and arrogant, and greedy. A disregard for life, and a hatred for things not understood. But they must remind themselves, the aging race is young. The aging race still has much to learn.

They turn a corner, hands stuffed deep in their pockets. Heels clicking against the snow covered concrete at a slow, undetermined pace. They have no real destination right now, they simply wish to be where Ari is not. Their mind closed off, their thoughts singular. In so much as they can be singular. And so entirely wrapped up in their self, they have not noticed they are being watched.

Watched and hunted.

#gunsnguinness #aedan 01 #[[here you are sweets!]]

Most Unlikely Place // Aedan + Ion

For all his preparedness. For all his caution. He has been taken by surprise. While he can count upon his luck it seems, yet again, that he is still breathing, he is gravely injured. The werewolf had been running panicked, it is perhaps the only thing that gave him an upper hand. Or in this case claw.

Had this occurred in his other form he is sure the fight would have gone very differently Perhaps ended faster, but as it is it did not. And the half breed struggles to breath. Coughing up blood, and who knows what else, as he tries to drag himself away. Leaving a trail of blood, and flesh in his wake, in the soft dirt of the wood.

His right leg is all but shredded, bones broken and protruding from the tattered remains of his jeans. His right arm and shoulder shattered and useless for the time being. Deep, gashes across his chest, gushing red that seeps into the white of his t-shirt. The werewolf punctured his lungs, but his body already mostly repaired that, as it fought to repair everything else. But healing wounds of this nature takes time, and he is weak.

The landing that had ended the werewolf's life had also snapped the half breed's neck in two. Thankfully the downward movement of the werewolf's body had been all the force needed to see his claws impaling its heart. and pushing it clear of the monster's body. His own heart left quite untouched. Bones and nerve endings healed, a removed heart did not.

Another choking cough, and Ion takes a ragged breath. His mind reeling with the fear that the werewolf was not alone. He stills in his struggling, trying to catch even the smallest of sounds around him. The faintest of scents. But his own injuries are far to grievous. His ability to smell, hindered by the death of the body he has only managed to inch away from.

He is a sitting duck. Any threat that happens upon him now, will have little trouble dispatching him. Another drowning cough and his gaze catches sight of something. Something not animal, or werewolf. Something human. Well this is just not shaping up to be his day, at all. First attacked during his evening run, and now happened upon by a human that shouldn't be here. With a naked, heartless body resting beside him no less.

This is not going to end well, but the half-breed is powerless to stop it. Dark blue eyes watching the colorless form, as yet another chocked cough wracks painfully through him. Words falling from his lips, though he doubts it will be of any use.