The Shooting Lesson

[hazlogs]

7/17/02

Currently the moon is in the waxing Half Moon phase (52% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it's a sunny day. The temperature is 76 degrees
Fahrenheit (24 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the
west at 9 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.99 and falling, and
the relative humidity is 53 percent. The dewpoint is 58 degrees Fahrenheit
(14 degrees Celsius.)

Location: Concrete Bunker


Two Walker Philodox, one Walker kinfolk, and one Walker cub drive out to
the bunker in Rhiannon's SUV -- Rhiannon, of course, at the wheel.

...and they get there in record time as Rhiannon boredly ignores all
conventions for speed limits.

Jacob gets out of the truck shaking slightly. "Good freakin' god, woman.
Thank you for reminding me why I HATE riding with you. You're a maniac
with a car and a gun." He looks at Francisco and Salem. "Please, I beg
you. Let me walk home. Please? Please??"

The bunker beckons. The shelter's door is open, however, and the slightly
dimmed yellow glow that shine forth is a little more welcoming than the
darkness around them.

Francisco grins at Jacob. "That's why we love her." He heads for the
bunker.

Salem arches a brow down at the cub. He doesn't offer up a smile, just
gestures toward the bunker.

Rhiannon finds Jacob's unknowing allusion amusing, but she just grins at
the compliments, locking up the truck as they walk in with a click on the
alarm keyring.

Jacob follows along sulkily, hands deep in his pocket. "You may love her,
but she's trying to kill me, I'm sure of it," he mutters, shooting dark
looks at the kin woman.

Francisco says over his shoulder, "You're harder to kill than that," and
descends into the bunker. He might have said "And we're going to prove it"
as he vanished into the concrete room, but it was hard to catch.

Salem hangs back, letting Jacob and Rhiannon precede him into the bunker.
Only once they're heading down does he follow, thumbs hooked into the
front pockets of his jeans.

Jacob scowls more. "She'll find a way. I tell you, she's certifiable." He
pauses at the top of the stairs. "Um, a homo says what? What did you just
say?"

Inside, the shelter is an austere affair. A large, concrete box, it could
be described as. Lights hang along the centre and sides of the room,
unshielded dim bulbs. Large metal shelving - packed mostly with large
orange crates - line two walls, with the space in between filled with
cots, a radio, and a swept circle of chalk. A small tiled section set
against one corner houses a kitchenette. At the other end, a room cut away
into the concrete probably houses a bathroom - judging from the familiar
stall-door, and the beginning of tiles. Not meant to be lived in much, it
obviously has for the last week or so. Discarded clothes (women's), trash,
and that faint air of life.

In a somewhat comfortable-looking armchair (with an empty, cast-iron and
uncomfortable looking chair next to it) John sits, eyes focussed on the
approaching Tribesmates. The Ahroun rises to his full height, standing
tall and severe as he watches the others file in.

Rhiannon settles in towards the back of the bunker, and leans against the
wall absently, watching the cliaths, apparently waiting.

Francisco ducks under the top of the doorframe as he comes in. "John," he
says to the Ahroun, "this is Jacob, theurge cub of the Glass Walkers,
tentatively cubnamed Skywalker."

Salem closes the door behind him, solidly, and cracks his knuckles in a
slow, deliberate, and rather menacing way.

Jacob, drug bodily into the room by Francisco, eyes the large man standing
there. "Sir, glad to meet you," he says nodding. He turns back to
Francisco. "Um, what was that about proving how 'tough to kill' I am?

The grim Elder's face breaks into a sudden and openly good-humoured smile,
as he laughs at the deedname. He lowers his head a little, looking down at
the cub. "Boy," he says, gruffly, but warmly.

Rhiannon watches the interaction with a warm smile, but there's a
tightness to her expression, and she toys with the bandage on her left
hand absently.

Salem continues to hang back, staying to one side of the door for now,
perfectly calm, perfectly patient during these preliminaries.

Francisco grins. "This is John Smith," he tells Jacob, letting the cub go.
"Walks-Thin-Ice, Ahroun Cliath of the Glass Walkers, and alpha of both our
tribe and our pack. That means he's the boss."

The distant sound of a motorcycle comes from the street outside--muffled
by layers of concrete. The engine stops, close by.

John looks up slightly, and towards the closed door, at the sound of the
motorcycle. Almost as if looking /through/ the concrete walls and the
soil. "Sounds like my ride," he murmurs.

Salem glances up, wary until John comments on the sound. He glances at the
Ahroun. "Rina?"

Rhiannon leans up from her spot on the wall, watching the door
expectantly. John's description causes her to frown, but her expression
lightens when Salem says Rina's name, and she relaxes again.

Jacob stops badgering Frankie since it's not gonna get him anywhere
-anyway-. He turns to John fully. "I suppose I should add a -rhya on the
end of that, then, right?" He carefully keeps his eyes lowered.

A rattle of keys in the lock comes a few moments later. Speak of the devil
and she appears, with a black full-face helmet tucked under one arm and a
scruffy mop of dark hair.

Francisco lets Jacob make his first impression on the alpha, glancing up
at Rina with a smile for the kin, but looking concerned at the same time.
A neat trick only a half-moon can pull off.

Jacob glances at Rina and mutters, "Fabulous. Another one."

John turns his attention to Jacob, keen blue eyes narrowing. He smiles
grimly. "Not necessary, provided you know how to say a name with respect."
He returns his attention to Rina, smiling a little more warmly than
before. "Hey," he greets, then tilts his head up at Francisco. "Frankie.
S'your show. How d'you wanna run this?"]

Glad to see Salem's guess confirmed, Rhiannon offers Rina a smile and a
wave from her spot along the wall of the bunker.

Rina blinks, pausing in the doorway for a moment. Then she steps in and
shuts the door behind her, quickly, glancing to John with a touch of
suspicion. "You call a meeting without me, or what?"

Salem nods to John's fiance, his expression lightening up a notch. Then he
folds his arms across his chest and looks expectantly at the other
Philodox.

Francisco draws his .357, giving it a once-over as he speaks. "Jacob, it's
time for an important lesson. You're probably going to hate me for it, but
I have every confidence that you'll thank me someday. I'm going to shoot
you, and you're not only going to live through it, you're not even going
to be inconvenienced for long by it."

Jacob looks at Francisco. Looks at the gun. "Um, what? Say *WHAT*?! You're
going to *shoot* me? Um... No. No no no. Wrong. You are on purple sparkly
crack if you think I'm going to let you *shoot* me."

The leather-clad young woman gets a wary look, and the dark eyes travel to
Francisco. One gloved hand goes to the back of her neck, rubbing there in
a gesture more suited to a scolded schoolboy than a twentysomething
hottie. "Well," she says. "See... you don't have much choice about it."

Rina give Jacob a slightly pained look. "It's not fun, but... you'll be
fine."

"The pain," says Salem, deadpan, "is transitory."

Rhiannon speaks up, finally. "It's not that bad, Jacob. You need to trust
them, and listen to them. If you don't, you could die later on when you
didn't need to."

John smiles warmly at Jacob, now - though there's a very thinly veiled
showing of steel, in his gaze. "Jacob. We're Garou. Warriors. Warriors who
fight in the city... get shot at a bit more than others. But if you're
going to keep the veil intact, you're going to need to know how to react
when it happens. So you don't give the game away when people are trying to
kill you. We heal in moments. It's like plucking a hair from your scalp.
Francisco here, and the rest of us, if you like, will each take a couple
bullets to show you. It'll be fine. But you need to experience it."

Rina chokes back on a snort of laughter, one hand coming up to cover her
mouth. Under the stifled attempt not to giggle, she gives Salem a scolding
look.

Francisco considers Jacob for a moment, then glances at John and nods.
"I'll go first." He offers his gun to John. "Would you do the honors, oh
alpha?"

Jacob ums. "It's not a choice. Fabulous. Just mother-fucking *fabulous*.
You're right. I hate you, Francisco. You haven't even done it, but yes, I
hate you." He turns to John. "I honestly don't *care*. I didn't *ask* for
this shit. First I find out that I'm some giant slobbering animal and then
I get beaten into changin into said freak of nature and now I'm going to
get *shot* just to prove that I can. This is fuckin' *bullshit*."

"Some lessons you can be taught, Jacob," Rhiannon tells him flatly.
"Others, you have to learn. You're probably scared shitless right now, and
I don't blame you. But I can speak truthfully when I say everyone in this
room's been shot at least once."

Salem glances sidelong at Rina, one brow rising, and then turns his gaze
very sharply toward the cub. His eyes narrow, and then, with a tightening
of control, he forces his expression back toward a calm, bland, almost
bored neutrality.

John takes the gun and his smile remains, but turns very thin. "None of us
asked for this," he says quietly. He aims the gun at Francisco already,
waiting for his packmate to give the nod. "You'll deal with it."

Rina sets her helmet down rather carefully on a crate by the wall, and
pulls off her gloves to put them inside; then she covers her ears with
both hands in preparation for the shot. In these close quarters,
unsilenced gunfire is not so good for the hearing.

Francisco takes Jacob's vitrol fairly calmly, as he takes off his jacket
and shirt and lays them to one side, where they won't get too splattered
by blood. Quite an array of beautiful tattoos is put on display, a few of
them ruined by scars. "You'll get over it," he says to Jacob, and nods to
John.

Rhiannon follows suit with Rina, and suggests to Jacob, "Best plug your
ears, kid. That baby's gonna sound like a canon in here."

Salem likewise covers his ears in preparation.

John inclines his head respectfully to Frankie, before narrowing his eyes,
sighting along the gun, and firing at his gut.

Rina's admiring smile changes to a wince of sympathy at the choice of
target, and she lowers her hands almost immediately after the resounding
noise.

Rhiannon can't possibly supress a flinch, not from the sound--she's used
to that enough--but from the sight of Fran being shot. She swallows,
however, and doesn't move an inch from where she stands.

Salem's face hardly changes, barely more than a clenching of his jaws, and
he doesn't flinch at all.

Jacob snarls. "Fuck, I don't care how loud it'll be. And I'm -really-
fuckin' tired of being told 'you'll get over it'." He covers his ears,
though. "What..?" He ducks and drops to the floor to avoid the sound. As
the echoes die, he jumps to his feet and spins to face John. "*WHAT* in
the *FUCK* did you do that for?!" He goes back over to Frankie. "Dude,
jesus fuck! You just let him *shoot*--" He looks significantly pale and
pretty nauseous. "I don't... No, I'm not gonna get used to this."

The shot isn't too painfully loud--the silencer took care of that--but the
smell of cordite and blood instantly fills the room. Francisco grunts and
doubles over as if kicked, a nice spurt of blood gouting out of his belly,
and slowly swells into first glabro, then crinos. Teeth clenched, he
slowly withdraws his massive hands from the wound, which begins to knit
even as he crouches there on his haunches. ~Nice shot,~ he half-wheezes at
John.

John gives a sharp nod of respect, lowering the weapon. "Sorry about the
gut," he notes absently. "You're right?" It's not even really much of a
question. The Ahroun's eye is /really/ on the cub.

Rhiannon lowers her hands, reassured (and envious) as always at seeing the
healing process go by so quickly. "You're lucky he didn't aim lower," she
teases Fran with a slight smile.

Salem, lowering his hands, shoots an irritated look at the cub, muscles
tensing, and again, he restrains himself, saying only, "Use your eyes,
Jacob. Francisco is fine. The wound heals. It's _nothing_." His voice is
tightly-controlled calm.

Rina's dark eyes flicker to John, warning and guarded. There is a tension
about her now, something in the way she stands. Jacob's raised voice is
like bouncing dynamite in the small, hard-walled room. "Take it easy." She
might be talking to the Ahroun, the cub, or both.

John gives a nod to Jacob, watching the cub. His tones are low - an
attempt at soothing. "It's momentary pain. Except with this... there won't
even be a /bruise/. It's not even as bad as punching someone in the arm.
And the slug's going to pop itself out. His body won't accept it."

Jacob swallows hard and looks up at John, nearly all the blood gone from
his face. "Am I alright?" He just blinks. "You're asking me if I'm
alright. *NO* I'm not alright! Christ on a bouncing stick! I'm surrounded
by a bunch of insane *maniacs*." He shudders. "Fuck. I..." His breath is
coming in gasps and pants and he looks about to pass out. "I can't handle
this. I really really can't."

"Jacob," Rhiannon says in a low, patient voice. "Just breathe. Calm down,
and breathe. Don't think about anything."

Sitting there in crinos for a minute or two, Skyscraper lets himself heal,
then runs his claws gently through his belly fur to find the bullet. It
drops, impacted, into his hand. ~There,~ he says. ~Easy, Skywalker. It
will be over soon. Look. Not even a scratch.~

Jacob's eyes fill up. "I... I don't think I can do this anymore. I can't."
He blinks hard to keep the tears from spilling over. "I don't *care*. I
can't do this."

Rina stays close to the wall, and the door. "You gotta calm down, kid,"
she says softly, with a touch of urgency. "Breathe deep. Take it easy."

Jacob looks around. "And *dammit*, you all know who the fuck I am. *Stop*
calling me kid. I have a name."

"You'll learn," the Ahrouns rumbles lowly, still watching. Louder, he
grunts out, "/Silence./" The tone has an air of command that seems to
include /everyone/ in the room.

Francisco shifts down into his homid form again, inspecting his tattoos
critically. None seem to have taken any more damage than he has, and he
sighs in relief, then looks up at John.

Rina wets her lips, slow and nervous. The dark eyes flicker from Jacob to
John, and back again--monitoring them for any sign of erupting violence.

Salem, his arms folded, flicks his gaze from John to Jacob and back again.

Rhiannon obeys John's order and stands quietly, noting Fran's vanity with
apparent relief.

Jacob swallows again and looks up from his crouched position.

The Walker Elder lifts his semi-gloved hand, with the prosthetic finger,
and slowly beckons Jacob closer. Slipping the weapon in his hand, behind
his belt, he shrugs off his jacket, and begins to take off his shirt. He
looks up to see that the cub is obeying and approaching.

Jacob doesn't move. "Are you going to hurt me?"

John shakes his head slightly. "This is a different lesson," he rumbles
softly. "Now come. Obedience to Elders is one of our laws." He takes off
his shirt completely, now, revealing a tapestry of scars so extensive, it
seems that you'd be better off trying to count the patches of skin
/without/ scars. Bullet-holes, slashes, cuts, tears, and burns. Most
notably, a gigantic red gash that stretches from under his right armpit,
down to below his belt. The right arm is the messiest of all the limbs,
with what appears to be thousands upon thousands of small cuts that give
the impression that he'd stuck his arm in a swirling vat of razor blades.
"This is important."

Jacob stands up and walks over to John, eyes on the ground. "Yes, sir."

Rina lets out a breath, slowly; some of the tension leaves her. She takes
a few steps closer, standing a bit to John's left, seconding him.

Francisco watches silently, approving of Jacob's obediance.

Salem unfolds his arms and clasps his hands behind his back, watching
blandly.

Rhiannon watches the exchange curiously, but is more interested in Jacob's
take on John's extensive scars, than anything else.

"It is difficult to kill us, Jacob," John rumbles. "Even when we are
incapacitated and nearly dead, our /rage/ can keep us alive. And every
time we die, and come back with our gift and curse... we are branded with
a scar." He pauses a moment to let it sink in. The sheer number of scars
on his body... "Garou have a hard life, Jacob. And not a one of us asks
for it. It's in our blood. It's who we are." The hand he used to beckon,
falls onto Jacob's shoulder. "It's our /purpose/ in life. Many humans
dawdle through their lives, uncertain of who they are, or why they're
here. /We/ have the luxury of knowing... and it is a kind of freedom -
from uncertainty and hopelessness. Our purpose is to fight. Our purpose is
to defend Gaia. Our purpose - /as Glass Walkers/ - is, above all else...
to /survive/." John takes a deep breath, and exhaling it is almost like a
sigh. His voice remains soft. "Do you understand?"

Jacob nods, eyes still down. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though," he
mutters. "I just have to 'get over it', huh?"

Rina's jaw tightens a fraction, and a pained look crosses her features--a
kind of understanding.

Salem's expression doesn't alter an inch; his posture is stiff and
straight.

Rhiannon grimaces, but nods in agreement. At least that much has sunk in.

Francisco looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn't.

John nods slowly a few times. "Look around you at the men standing here.
Strong individuals, with their own personalities. They're as much people
as you are, Jacob. But for now... there's going to be a lot of things you
'have' to do that you won't want to. You're suddenly been made aware of a
society of creatures that has lived and fought for thousands of years,
unknown to man. This society has only survived because it has rules. There
have been hundreds, maybe thousands who thought they knew better. Who
thought they had fresh perspectives. Who thought they wouldn't make a
difference. And none of them have been right. Follow the Litany to the
letter. Guard the veil. And /know/ that everything we do, is aimed at
giving you a greater chance at survival. You may hate what we will be
forced to put you through... but in the end, we are all we have. Brothers
and sisters with only our kin to understand what we do. We are your
family, now. If you can find your way to trusting us now, you'll be
treated as something like a son, for a while. While you learn. And when
you pass the test of your skills, you will be one of us completely. Sadly,
the only alternative is death." John straightens and pulls his hand away
from Jacob's shoulder. "You don't have to like it, no. But it makes it
much, much easier, if you do."

The speech over, John moves to put his shirt back on, and starts over
towards Francisco, pulling out the gun and handing it to the Philodox.

Over his shoulder, John rumbles out in a fake cheerfulness, "Oh, and take
the bullet like the Garou you are, not a human, hm?"

"Can you shift, at will?" Rina asks softly. Her eyes, dark and slightly
pained still, remain focused on the cub. "It'll be easier if you can
change now."

Jacob smiles all sarcastically at John's back, then turns to Rina and
nods. He walks back to Francisco. "Fine. Do it. I'll change and you can
shoot me. Just... get it over with quick." He turns to Salem and John.
"I'm pretty sure that I'll freak right the fuck out and try to attack
him." Jacob contorts and blurs as he is transformed. Jacob shifts into
Crinos form.

A flicker of something--pride?--crosses Rina's face, as she watches Jacob
set himself to meet the attack.

Rhiannon doesn't bother to be subtle; she puts significant distance, as
well as John and Salem, between herself and Jacob.

John hitches a shoulder in a half-shrug. "You gotta do what you gotta do,"
he grunts, seemingly indicating that frenzied cubness won't be a problem.
He smiles slightly in the privacy of having his back turned to most of the
others, and moves to stand near Rina - a subtle becknoning for Rhiannon to
come close.

Salem unclasps his hands, letting his arms hang down loose. He looks
completely unworried, though his stance indicates a definite readiness.

Francisco accepts his gun back from John, checks it over again just out of
habit. He nods. "All right. We'll be ready to hold you down." He lets
Jacob shift into crinos, his expression a sort of neutral compassion. And
then raises the gun, takes aim, and fires--shooting Jacob in the gut,
where he himself had been shot.

Rina flinches slightly, and once again that sympathetic pain twists across
her face. This isn't the street, or a firefight.

Skywalker roars, howls, screams, whatever. All that really comes out is a
long drawn out ~*FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!*~ He doubles over at the waist with
his arms wrapped around his stomach, muzzle down. Head snaps up, eyes
crazed and locked on Francisco. ~Jesus *fuck*, you didn't tell me how much
it'd hurt!~ He straightens back up, not even realizing what he's doing and
starts towards the man he trusted.

Rhiannon doesn't flinch this time, but she can't prevent the blink, and
her mouth flattens some in sympathy.

Francisco holsters his gun, standing his ground, looking up at Skywalker's
Crinos form with that same calm compassion. "It'd just have made you more
afraid," he murmurs, although it's plain he doesn't really expect to be
listened to.

Salem tenses, his gaze flicking toward John.

Rina takes an inadvertent step, hand twitching into her jacket out of
instinct--and then she pauses, restraining herself by a clear effort of
will.

John doesn't move, either, though he looks to Salem for a second. It seems
he's willing to let Francisco handle this one on his own for the moment.
"Between cub and cliath, there is /never/ a question... as to who is
boss," he notes, softly.

Salem hesitates, then gives the Ahroun a curt nod. His attention goes back
to Francisco and Jacob, jaw clenched.

Skywalker makes his way towards Frankie determinedly. ~You still could
have warned me, dammit. And *guns*. You *know* how I react. You should
have warned me of this *long* ago. Before you went off and got yourself
hurt.~ He makes it to his mentor, grabs him by the shoulder, almost
gently, doing his best, subconsciously, not to hurt Francisco -- much --
and shoves him against the concrete wall. ~I could have gotten used to the
fact.~

John's eyes narrow. The kin hear the sound of teeth grinding.

Rina's dark eyes narrow a fraction, and a sound comes from her throat.
"You hurt him, I'll fuckin' kneecap you," she says softly. "That's my
friend you got your claws on."

Rhiannon narrows her eyes, the proximity of the Garou making her edgey and
easily angered. She keeps her hands still though, and watches for
Francisco's response.

Francisco doesn't shift, allowing himself to be slammed against the wall
with a whooshing grunt. His head knocks against the concrete lightly, but
he meets the beast's eyes and -stares- at him, gaze locked. "What can
words do, when you're about to get shot in the gut? John said everything I
could have said, and better. And--" he tips his head downwards a bit, not
breaking eye contact. "It doesn't hurt much anymore, does it?"

Salem has gone absolutely still, though looks like he might explode into a
frenzy of motion at the slightest cue.

Skywalker, for the first time in a few minutes, blinks. He loosens his
grip and Francisco slides the few inches to the floor. Skywalker blinks
again and totally breaks eye contact with Francisco and looks down,
paw-hands going to his stomach. No hole. He looks back at Francisco with
disbelief on that fugly face. ~I... You're right...~ He breaks off and
drops down to his knees slowly, shifting back to homid form as he does.
"I... behaved badly, Francisco-rhya. Forgive me." Jake's eyes drop totally
to the floor, his chin on his chest and he sits back on his heels looking
completely beaten. Skywalker contorts and blurs as he is transformed.
Skywalker shifts into Homid form.

Rina lets out a breath, and the tight expression eases a little. Her hand
slides out from beneath the leather jacket, and she flexes it as if to
work out the tension of the past minutes.

Rhiannon's expression lightens considerably, and she relaxes enough that
she doesn't have to keep checking how many people Jacob has to go through
before he reaches her.

Salem's tension uncoils itself slowly, though a grimace touches his lips
at the severity of Jacob's submission. He shakes his head slightly,
reaching up to tuck a lock of hair back behind his ear.

Francisco lands with another grunt, long frame jarred a little with
impact. He crouches down next to Jacob, gripping the back of the cub's
neck firmly in one hand, like a wolf mother's jaws on her pup's scruff,
and says softly, "You're forgiven. You did well. Now you know what we've
been trying to tell you. Come on, up with you." He released his grip and
stands, offering Jacob a hand up.

John doesn't seem to relax, as the others have, though. "Jacob," he
grunts, calling the cub's attention to him.

Rhiannon glances at John, then eyes Jacob critically, wondering.

Jacob takes the offer of the hand up, eyes still on the floor and still
looking like a beaten puppy. He turns towards John. "Yes sir?"

John inclines his head. "That was better than I'd expected, and possibly
better than /you'd/ expected. Well done. But you'll be taking more
punishment than that in the months to come. And whether you are in pain,
or aggravated, be warned that advancing on an Elder with intent to harm
will result in you being put away, down for the count, possibly very
painfully. While we will protect you and respect you as one of our own, we
will be discouraging certain types of behaviour. Strongly." His expression
softens now. "Just a warning," he adds, casually.

Rina nods a tacit agreement, and studies the boy's response.

Jacob swallows and nods, eyes still not coming up. "Yes sir," he whispers.
"Thank you, sir."

Rhiannon blinks at Jacob, and looks to Fran for a moment, concern in her
eyes.

Rina glances to John, and then Francisco, tentatively. As if for permission.

John lowers his head, reaching up to massage his temples with thumb and
forefinger. He doesn't give any approval, but doesn't seem to be denying
anything either.

Francisco surreptiously rubs the back of his head where it'd knocked
against the wall. He doesn't look too disturbed; concerned, perhaps. He
meets Rina's glance with a raised eyebrow, curiously.

Rina steps to John's side, close enough to touch a hand gingerly to
Jacob's arm. A moment's contact to get his attention, and no more.
"It's--part of what's inside you," she says softly. "Part of who you are.
The rage, and the need to kill..." She glances over to John, a flicker of
empathy in the dark eyes, and then that tigereye gaze settles on the cub
again. "Get to know that part of you. It'll speak to you. Learn to speak
back, maybe... and it might save y'life someday."

John exhales softly, before looking up, and dropping his hand. "The first
thing you learn to tell it is, 'No'," he adds; soft, but firm.

Jacob shrugs and swallows again, before whispering, "I don't want to kill.
And right now, I don't want to get to know that side of me. It scares me
that that side exists." He wraps his arms around himself and looks up at
Francisco most of the way. "Can we go now? I need... I need to go.
Anywhere but here."

Rina looks over her shoulder to John, with a wry twist of her lips.

Francisco glances at the others, then down at Jacob. "All right. Come on,
we'll go." He puts an arm around the cub, steering him towards the door
with a quick backwards glance at John.

Rhiannon arches one of her eyebrows. "Think he's alright to travel, or
d'ya wanna take him through the Park?"

Francisco shakes his head. "He's all right. Just shaken up."

John stands still and quiet, folding his arms and watching the new cub
leave. After a while, he murmurs, "Well that went well." It's hard to tell
whether he's serious or joking, given the flat, not-quite-sarcastic tone.

Rina turns, going to him without a moment's hesitation, a leather-gloved
hand reaching up to touch his face. Dark, worried eyes study him,
searching. "He'll be fine," she says softly.

Rhiannon pulls out her keys, and with all possible sincerity, says, "It'll
be a smooth ride, Jacob."

Jacob shrugs at Rhiannon. "Doesn't matter."

John just leans up against a nearby wall, and reaches into his pockets for
a cigarette. Pulling it out, he frowns at it, sighs, and then scrunches it
up between his fingers, before flicking it away. He pulls the packet out
and tosses it away, too, before pulling himself upright and starting
towards Rina. "Let's get home, hm?"

Rhiannon manages a laugh. "Matters to me if you go apeshit in my truck and
get us into a wreck," she says with wry humor.

Rina nods, watching him carefully. After a moment, she retrieves her
helmet and walks outside with him, toward the parked Ducati. The ride home
is quiet.