Finger on the trigger to my dear Juliet (Open)

[Zephyr]

Nighttime finds Silas in a bar.

He’s almost always in a bar when he isn’t working, which isn’t saying much, since he’s always working anymore. He tries to distract himself from his lonely excuse of a life. He should move somewhere, far away from the pack and its bullshit politics. He can’t seem to find the heart to do it. There are little reminders of them all around him. There’s a shirt left in his closet, laundered, but smelling of the other wolf. And sometimes, after he’s drank or worked himself to the point of passing out and he drags himself to his bed, he can still smell the hunter.

This is why the doctor works; takes triple overtime to distract him. Then he goes to a bar and drinks and growls and picks fights, stretching out the night so he doesn’t have to go home. There’s nothing for him anymore…just a hole in his heart and a cold spot in his bed. Bitter reminders of when his life had actually been good.

No one talks to him anymore. His attitude has deteriorated to the point where the coworkers who tolerated him before give him a wide berth. Even Evelyn doesn’t talk to him much. Sometimes he’ll catch worried brown eyes, see the concern there before he growls at her and disappears into his office…he is absolutely not hiding. No one even talks to him in the bars, unless it’s one of the few morons he can convince to knock his teeth in. Of course Silas always gives as good as he gets. His fights never get bad anymore, and he always goes back to drinking after.

Just enough to numb the emotional pain with physical agony.

Tonight’s different. The hospital forced Silas to take the day off, and he’d spent the day in bed, head buried in his sheets until he couldn’t stand the cold darkness of his apartment, the way the sheets smell faintly of Matthias. At five, the surgeon drags himself out of bed, dresses himself haphazardly in a wrinkled suit and pockets something out of his nightstand before he leaves; takes the familiar path towards the bar, green-brown eyes angry and slightly clouded.

Like any of it matters anymore.

The doctor drinks and drinks until the world is swimming before his eyes. He has a plan tonight though, a plan that isn’t just drinking himself into oblivion and passing out on his living room floor. No…this plan he can’t do at home. Silas grabs the bottle he’s been drinking at, flashing the bartender a furious scowl when he looks as though he might take it away, and stumbles outside. The alley and Silas are like a well acquainted friend, and the doctor sinks down into the corner, cool brick walls at his back. He pulls what he’d pocketed earlier out of his pants. Moonlight glimmers on the shiny silver metal of a pistol, the doctor’s finger stroking reverently over the trigger.

There is a story Silas remembers from his childhood…the good part, before the cancer wracked his mother’s body and took her ways…before his father thought that children would make a perfectly acceptable punching bag. It was about a toy rabbit. This rabbit was loved by a child once…adored even. The child took the rabbit everywhere. The rabbit, for a brief time, felt loved. As Silas has learned the hard way, though, love isn’t real and it never lasts. The boy got sick, and the rabbit was taken away…discarded with the trash.

The doctor leans his head back against the cool wall, the weight of the gun carefully considered in one hand. He takes a sloppy drag from the bottle he holds in his hand. How he feels like that rabbit…used by everyfuckingone in his life. Used up and then tossed aside for something or someone better. Silas hasn’t cried since his mother died, so he lets the alcohol do the talking for him, sighs heavily through a mouthful of bourbon. He spends his entire life taking care of other people. Throughout everything that has happened to him, he had never stopped being one of the fucking best neurosurgeons in Boston. And the pack, the fucking pack. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for them.

He realizes it was because of Nathan though. He would have left long ago if it hadn’t been for the other werewolf. Still. He has never asked for anything in returned…has saved hundreds of people’s lives, and while he had never had the best bedside manner…he has always been a good doctor. Why then can’t he have one good thing in his life that stays? Someone who thinks he’s actually worth keeping, not some toy that can be used up and then thrown away.

Silas’ head lists forward. He drops the bottle with a clink to the ground, doesn’t pay any attention as it falls over onto its side and spills, liquor spreading into the fabric of his slacks. Instead, his entire focus is on the gun in his hands. He opens the chamber, smiling as he eyes the one bullet left. Silver. “One little bullet. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?” Is whispered fondly into the silence of the alley. He snaps the chamber back and spins it, the sound loud in the alley. The greatest rush Silas will ever experience comes with cutting open someone’s head. He always does a good job, but it has his adrenaline spiking in a way only sex has done for him before.

Now that that is gone, he needs other outlets.

And if this ends with his brains splattered over the brick? Who’s around to care, honestly? Nathan isn’t in Boston anymore, ran from his responsibilities. Matthias has apparently decided he isn’t worth his time. There is no one else…no one but the alcohol.

The alcohol and one gun with a single little bullet in it.

[Shasta (Greenglare)]

(Shas in human form)

It was nighttime...naturally all the shit broke out loose in this place at that time, actually a lot of stuff happened that a demon could care less about. Humans got drunk till they hit the floor like the morons they where, and the wolves came out. She hated wolves with a smoldering hatred that instinctively jammed into her mind.

Shas hated wolves, despite the fact that she had never seen one face to face before. She had taken note that their scent was all over this dammed labyrinth of city, most likely a whole freaking pack of them was here...

A well planted scowl formed on her features as the demon walked around in the dark alleys of Boston, the place where her kind...well kind of her kind lurked. She had never really seen another of her kind ever since she left her parents, most particularly her father.

Apparently her kin was rare around these parts, or maybe they had just all been killed by those mindless flea ridden hounds. Well whatever it was it had now become the least of her concern as the sound of a bottle hitting concrete echoed from one of the nearby alley path ways.

At first she thought of it would be a good idea to see what it was...well for the most part being the adventuring type always said 'go check what it is'

So after a few minutes of just standing awkwardly Shas decided to take a look at whatever the hell was in that alley. Maybe it was a drunk human who would make some easy pickings to a wallet and eventually getting some food with that...yes food was always good...especially sea food.

“One little bullet. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

A voice echoed as she got closer, jade green eyes narrowed as she carefully timed her footsteps to take a closer look. Eventually what she got to see instead was an old guy looking at a gun and...talking to it?

Humans where odd st-

wait...

Shas narrowed her eyes as she took note of the strange scent that surrounded this man, obviously one of those wolves... most likely the kind that went all depressed and acted as if their life sucked...how... Pathetic.

Maybe these guys where more puny than the rumors had told?

" Oh look at this...If it isn't a lost wolf who is trying to blast his face off hmmm? "

She spoke with a slight purring sound as she appeared from behind a dumpster, her head only showing as jade green eyes examined him with a monotone look.

[Matthias Walker]

It’s been years since Matthias has stayed in one place long enough for its streets to become familiar, and even with the hunting leading him to Boston’s outer edges and beyond, the city has become home, or something very close.

Still, Boston holds its own regrets and ghosts of things gone wrong, and Silas is one of them. Mattie has never professed to being good at friendship, and he is even worse at picking up the pieces of somebody else’s flightiness; it comes down to the simple fact that Silas deserves better and he refuses to recognize it, and Matthias refuses—may not deserve but is selfish and greedy enough to refuse it anyway—to settle for playing second fiddle to a ghost, an ideal, trying to clean up the mess and patiently waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. So, since he can’t do anything about Silas, if he isn’t good enough for Silas, then fine; he’s sick of watching the doctor turn to drink out of self-pity and sick of not being worth staying sober for.

So he runs, albeit not far.

Whether it is because of the lingering sense of responsibility to Silas or because there is somebody else entirely that likes having him around, Matthias stays in Boston instead of traipsing across the United States after the next monster of the week, the next fling of the night. And he…keeps tabs, sort of. The man may be too firmly rooted in his own insecurity and selfish desires for stability to stick around to build something new out of the ruin of old relationships, but he does suffer from curiosity, too, and the need to know is stronger than the instinctive flight instinct, in the end. Besides—for better or for worse—the years of hunting have honed gleaning for information to an art.

So Mattie makes friends with the nurses at the hospital and a scattered handful of bartenders from much-frequented dives, pretends to care about them just enough to pick out the details of what he wants to know. That the information he gets inevitably spikes guilt in the pit of his stomach is unimportant; that he’s flying blind, hovering on the precipice of going back and settling for being second best, goes unsaid. (Being wanted by one person should be enough and Matthias doesn’t want to replace Nate for Silas, but he doesn’t think it should be too much to ask to not be taken for granted.)

But it is by design, not coincidence, that he steps, head tilted, to the mouth of the alley in the wake of the loud familiarity of a gun being loaded, brow furrowed in grave concern, hands tucked into the pockets of the misappropriated hoodie.

He isn’t the first, though.

“He’s not lost,” Matthias corrects, squinting in the darkness to make out the form of the girl, fingers instinctively searching out the silver pocketknife tucked into the pouch of the hoodie. If she knows about wolf then she’s not likely to be human, and in dark alleys at this time of night, Mattie is not inclined to trust the supernatural easily. “He’s—I’m taking him home.” The statement is cautious at best, blue eyes searching out the werewolf again briefly before suspicion drags his gaze back to the girl. In the poor lighting she could be anything and anyone, but he isn’t hunting tonight.

“Silas.” Suicide—it’s what the girl said even if Mattie hadn’t heard the werewolf’s whispered statement—rubs at him all wrong, and for a sick moment he’s almost glad that he left because there is nothing healthy about this kind of dependence. The love lives of werewolves are fucking tiring. “Give me the gun. I’m sorry, okay? C’mon.”

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

"DO IT, FAGGOT!"

The shout came from the mouth of the alley, beyond the catgirl and even Matthias, and it stays there. Why these strangers are all standing around the dismal man with the gun to his head is one thing Ilvyn has no explanation for, but he was attracted to trouble like moth to a flame and quick to insert himself in dire situations where he wasn't wanted. Because he wasn't amidst their little pity party, Vyn felt quite confident he could run if things turned to worse. Out of all of them, Ilvyn would have the easiest finding is way in the dark should something happen. He never really considered what he would do if the gun turned to him.

"Or for a price, I'll do it for you," Vyn continues with sardonic grin. "I'm good at that sort of thing."

How awful it must have been to be a tall, vaguely handsome, mostly human guy. Ilvyn could not even imagine. He had no pity for the man because of it, because of some deep envy smoldering in his chest; how dare this bastard want to kill himself when he had it so good?

Do it, you self-righteous prick. You have no idea what it's like.

"No! No! Don't give him the gun," Ilvyn warned. "If you do that, he'll later remind you of that time you were being really pathetic in some shithole alley and pussied out on killing yourself. He's trying to be a hero at your expense. Now no one can take you seriously, seeing how far you've fallen. You should just end it."

Tonight the demon in him is speaking more than a human. He certainly doesn't hate this man, so why egg him into committing suicide? Only for the thrill, he supposed, as this wasn't a target, wasn't someone he was being paid to kill. Indifference in Ilvyn can fall on the side of cruelty, but he supposed a part of him wouldn't believe it if the guy actually killed himself. Not now, not with this audience, and especially not with the teenage boy flinging cruel provocation to finish the task he threaten. Surely he wouldn't do it now, just because someone wanted him to. That was usually how these things work.

"Come on," Vyn tapped his wrist. "We don't have all night."

---

^{OoC: Coming in your thread and being terrible. A+.}

[Zephyr]

It isn’t really surprising that Silas doesn’t realize that someone is entering the alley until her voice rings out. The doctor’s senses, dulled by too much alcohol are too slow as he turns to look at the girl, blinking at her for a moment with his brow slowly furrowing into a pointed glare. It’s then that he’s able to tell what she is…or, partially. He can’t tell exactly, but the breeze that blows through the rank alley brings him the faint scent of feline. He’s too far gone to make many more inferences, but he assumes she’s a shifter or something.

He thinks about ignoring her. Silas doesn’t normally rise to the pathetic taunts of others. He can’t help it though. Gives a snort and licks his lip lightly. There’s a recent wound there from where some asshole’s knuckles split his lip wide open. “Fuck off kitty.” He snarls in the girl’s direction, returning his gaze to his gun. He strokes the barrel with his thumb for a second, thinking. A decidedly predatory grin spreads over his face and he stand up, ignoring the alcohol soaked into his slacks in favor of turning towards the girl again approaching her slowly, green-brown eyes focusing on her.

“Was just playin’ a game.” Silas drawls, his accent slipping through without him really realizing it. If she doesn’t move, Silas will crowd into her personal space, free hand on the wall next to her head, face dangerously close to her’s. “Do ya like games?” He asks, his voice low and husky as he presses her back towards the wall, breath hot on her lips. “Could play with me?” The offer is a dangerous one and there’s a flicker of something wicked in his eyes when he lifts the gun into sight. “Just say the word, kitten.”

Her scent is distinctly feline now, and he still isn’t sure exactly what she is, but she’s here and she’s warm and he’s more than willing to play a game with her, if she’s obliging. It’s then that an all too familiar scent comes to him, a scent that is achingly familiar and that he’d recognize in any state of inebriation. He takes his eyes off of the cat to focus on Matthias, expression going bewildered and honestly surprised for a second before it shutters. “Speaking of kittens.” He snorts, laughing darkly before he tilts his head back to the female.

“Hear that?” He growls in the girl’s direction, his voice low. “He’s taking me home.” The grin is feral as he presses the girl up against the wall, seemingly ignoring Matthias for a moment, even though he probably never could ignore the other man. “I think I’d much rather go home with you.” It’s a lie, one of those things that you might start to believe if you tell yourself enough times. Silas frowns then, turning his head to Matthias. Why did he want him to give him the gun? Why the fuck did everyone think Silas was going to kill himself?

“What…do you want the gun for?” Suspicion and affection war inside the wolf and he finally steps away from the girl. “…and what are you sorry for?” He’s pretty goddamn drunk, but he’s trying to see what Matthias is up to. You don’t just ignore someone for so long and then just happen upon them one day. “Why are you here?” Lots of questions, but Silas is honestly surprised that Matthias is here. Surprised and pleased and relieved, but these are emotions that he isn’t so good at getting across at the moment.

Then some asshole starts shouting at him. Silas’ eyes narrow into thin slits at the slur that probably has more to do with simple assholery than it has to do with Silas’ sexual orientation. The wolf’s gaze snaps from Matthias to the kid and Silas approaches, makes out the shape of the demon in the dark. “Fuck you.” Silas growls eloquently, stopping closer to Matthias than he does the kid, probably more because Matthias is comfortable, familiar, love in a way Silas might never come to acknowledge.

“Do I even know you, kid? Why the fuck are you so hell bent on my killing myself?” His gaze flickers to Matthias for a moment, softening a little. “Not that I was gonna.” The wolf almost pouts, still holding the gun loosely. “It was just a fucking game.”

[Shasta (Greenglare)]

And apparently the flea ridden hound had turned his gaze towards the dumpster Shas was behind. It was rather slow too, something that meant that this overgrown puppy was a little to drunk. Naturally like most drunk humans his brow furrowed into a pointed glare, oh fun now he was gonna be all-

“Fuck off kitty.”

She faked a surprised look as she narrowed her own eyes in a similar glare. His snarl did little to shake her at all but something that did get her attention was how he was putting so much attention to the gun that was in his hand.

“ Well Excuse me sir but that's no way to speak to a lady...One that is twice as old as you are “

That should have hinted that she was not a shifter, but some sort of demon instead, she was almost a century old after all but for her kin she was still young. She had lost track of exactly how old she was...80 or was it 90? Well she had kind of lost track of that but it wasn't the most concerning thing right now.

A predatory grin had spread across his face as he stands up and that obviously meant...oh fuck what now. Great Shas your adventuring skills had gotten you into a shit hole, again.

“Was just playin’ a game.”

She didn't move, instead she kept her gaze glued onto his drunken movements, eventually she wish she had moved as he had gotten a bit to close for her comfort. The smell of alcohol in his breath also made her feel that weird vomit flavor I her mouth...she detested that smell.

“Do ya like games?”

His face was a little bit too close to hers at the moment, his breath smelled like shit too so for the most part she remained silent. Jade green-yellow eyes narrowed as a ghostly glow started to generate from them, hopefully he would take this as a warning to not do something stupid.

“Could play with me?”
“Just say the word, kitten.”

And that's when he decided tat getting that goddamned gun into sight was a good idea...he would fu-

She remained silent and unmoving as some other guy came in, maybe he would loose interest in her and harass that other man yes?

“Speaking of kittens.”

His head tilts back into her direction with that ape shit crazy look on his face...fuck wolves. Apparently she had made a mistake on thinking this one would be easy to pick on, instead he was a mentally unstable bastard with some rather serious shit up his head.

“Hear that?”
“He’staking me home.”
“I think I’d much rather go home with you.”

Okay she expected to get that gun directed at her head, and well that would have been quite a bad thing wouldn’t it? However much to her current situation he did manage to loose interest of her and let go of his grip. Shas thought that right now would be a good time to turn into her cat form and run out of here like a bat out of hell...but this wolf was threatening to kill someone. And that was something she didn't like despite the fact that she really didn't care too much about anyone...being a drifter and all, you don’t have too much time to make friends.

The mad man had eventually let all of his interest fall onto the other guy who had arrived, and that would be her chance to maybe do something...good for once. However much to her dismay something else had arrived and he appeared to have fouler words to say to the wolf, well whoever it was he had guts and that was something she admired in a person.

And so the drunk wolf...guy had decided to waste his breath telling the other arrivals shit she could care less about, and this was the time when she should start doing something.

She kept a close eye on the loosely hanging gun in his hand, very much in the same way a cat would look at prey. For a moment she doubted if it would be a stupid idea, eventually ultimately decided that her gut instinct told her to save some worthless, yet innocent lives.

The two people who had stood behind Silas would notice the ghostly glow from her eyes would become more apparent and then ultimately in what appeared to be a quick flash of green a rather long tailed cat wold be in her place instead.

If Silas hadn't noticed her she would sprint at full speed towards his hand that held the gun. Once she was close enough she would open her jaws and generate some ghostly fire around them, if she succeeded in not being caught the bakeneko would clamp her fire engulfed fangs into his hand and eventually make him loose his grip on the gun.

It wouldn't do much damage besides leave him with some bite marks and a light burnt mark that would probably sting a bit.

If she did succeed in biting down on his hand she would speak despite having a full mouth.

" You shouldn't mess with demons you overgrown pup "

This was one of those days where she wondered is she really was a cat brained idiot.

[Matthias Walker]

Something loosens in the pit of his chest as Silas steps away from the girl. Instinctive relief, maybe; drunk and armed, Silas is, for now, the most dangerous of the people in the alley, and if Mattie cannot bring himself to trust the girl, neither is he quite willing to see anything happen to her—or to Silas. Especially to Silas, to whom, however wasted the werewolf is, Matthias still owes some kind of debt. The hunter moves carefully deeper into the alley to meet Silas’s predatory steps towards him, hands clenching in the pocket of the hoodie instinctively, and he shrugs, disarming, noncommittal. He settles on an honest, “Safekeeping,” in answer to the wolf’s first question, and licks his lips before he offers, “For you.”

Whether he’s answering the second or third question of Silas’s interrogation, Matthias doesn’t know, but broken down to the most simple, he suspects they are the same anyway. He blinks, blue eyes finding the girl in the dimness of the alley, mistrustful and appealing: If she would just run, if she would go, then he can handle Silas, but with her right there Mattie can’t focus, not totally, on the werewolf. She is the unknown, and even as he opens his hands palms up and coaxing to Silas, his gaze is skewed towards her—

until the shouting from the mouth of the alley, until Silas looks away from him and towards the—the fucking kid yelling insults.

Matthias’s lips thin into a line—more and more complicated; he has things to do and he would rather they not involve shepherding a mouthy child around—but the poisonous look he throws at the kid is halfhearted with distraction as he uses the diversion to close the space to Silas’s side. “Some game,” he murmurs, the words meant for Silas alone, but the reassurance is, nonetheless, enough to have his mouth quirking up in a tentative smile, and instead of grabbing for the gun he holds out his hand in a question, “It’s okay, c’mon, let’s get you home, this place fucking reeks—”

And then a fucking cat takes a flying leap at the gun, and Matthias recoils automatically, wide-eyed, and then, equally instinctive, goes for the gun. The question of the cat answers itself soon enough (how convenient; normally Mattie finds labeling the supernatural a great deal more difficult than this) and Matthias levels the pistol at it with one hand, the other blindly catching onto the sleeve of Silas’s free arm. Demon, Jesus Christ, of all the goddamn people of Boston Silas could have been hitting on.

“You shouldn’t play your cards so fast,” he says, evenly and with absolutely no idea if the bullet will even do anything if it comes down to shooting, “Let go.”

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

Ilvyn was little more than a spectator to what was unfolding before him. The lush rolled the seriousness of the situation off his shoulder with a sort of annoying nonchalance and Ilvyn's hawkish eyes narrowed to deadly slits as he stared the larger man down. Guns were playthings to this stranger, death was a joke, and all this…a game? Personally Ilvyn would have preferred to be back with that fancily dressed charming asshole he had run into weeks earlier than watch this tosspot stumbling around like the idiot he was. The sight of that walking mess was making Vyn feel sick to his stomach.

"A game? For men who wish to die?"

The girl had remained a footnote up until that point and her longing to enact some sort of revenge on the gun-holding blockhead was reckless. Ilvyn shrieked with the appropriate level of horror at witnessing someone turning into an animal, because Boston may be filled with freaks but that was something the boy was entirely unprepared for. His hand scrambled for his own pistol tucked in the back of his belt, a terrified kneejerk reaction to put down whatever was scaring him. Needless to say the boy was less than cool-headed about the whole ordeal than Matthias or he just didn't give a shit if anyone in that alleyway was injured aside from himself

Ilvyn was used to killing things, but he opted for slitting throats, not for the attention-grabbing crack of a gun firing. His aim was not so good, but it was headed in the direction of the cat and of Silas. Surely he meant to hit the cat but he would not feel bad should the bullet strike Silas instead. He had only come here for some fun, but things had a tendency to roll at a rapid downhill pace whenever Ilvyn was about. The boy stumbled back from the mouth of the alley, ready to run.

He never felt so strongly about wanting to get out of Boston before.

This city was a melting pot of freaks.

[Zephyr]

Silas is well and truly distracted by the demon in front of him to pay much attention to the cat. The glare he levels at Ilvyn is positively murderous as the wolf narrows his eyes, a dangerous growl ripping through his chest. “Fuck you. I do not want to die.” And even as he says the words, he cannot say without a doubt that they’re absolutely true. He knows how unhealthy it is to have gotten so attached to someone so likely to just leave him like that, but he chooses to ignore that in favor of pouring more liquor down his throat.

That isn’t an option now, so giving the gun to Matthias is forgotten in lieu of preparing to give the brat in front of him a through tongue lashing, his eyebrows high and his eyes wide and crazed. He doesn’t intend to actually use the fucking gun on the kid, but it doesn’t stop him from flailing it around a bit, only stopped dead by Matthias’ muttered words and the grin the brat flashes at him. Silas freezes, gaze turned towards the hunter, eyes still wide, but this time in astonished shock.

Something came loose in Silas then and he’s completely willing to hand the gun over to Matthias. He realizes how much he’s come to miss that smile; the easy warmth that settled between them sometimes, and he wants that back so fucking much that he can’t stand it. He can’t even breathe for a second, and that hesitance is enough for the wolf to be blindsided by the flash of ghostly green eyes and a calico blur and sudden pain in his hand as the little monster latches down onto his hand.

It says something about Silas that his first reaction is to shriek and flail, eyes finding the offending cat and the heat of green fire and the surgeon pauses for a second before he flips his shit. “Fucking hell! Get the fuck off of me you little bitch!” The impact of Silas’ snarled comments is probably lessened by the sight of him dancing around like there’s fire under his feet, but he makes a good show of it, flailing to try and dislodge the cat…probably just doing more damage to his hand in the process.

He doesn’t notice the demon lifting the gun, or firing at them. Things go in slow motion after Silas becomes aware of the crack of gunfire, jerking his head over to narrow green-brown eyes in the boy’s direction. He’s completely unprepared to get out of the way of a fucking bullet, and why the brat fired the gun goes over his head in the surge of panic and adrenaline and he realizes that no, he does not want to die. There just isn’t enough time…

Then Matthias is tugging at him and the world suddenly speeds up. His eyes widen when Matthias steps in front of him right as the bullet reaches them and the thing goes in Matthias’ leg. The howl of alarm is caught in the back of his throat and the cat is forgotten in favor of catching Matthias as he falls, eyes instinctively going from Matthias’ face to his leg. “Matthias!”

The boy with the horns is forgotten for the moment, so wrapped up is Silas in Matthias bleeding at his feet.

[Shasta (Greenglare)]

(EDITED)

Fire cloaked jaws clamped down on the man's hand, as she had expected he let out a shriek and began to flail like if he was stepping on fire. To anyone watching it would probably look ridiculous to see a rather tall man flailing around and screaming at a freaking cat that continued to remain lodged onto his hand.

“Fucking hell! Get the fuck off of me you little bitch!”

Well he had enough shit already so it would be a good idea to to let go and run out of here...however the sound of a gunshot was enough to make Shas let go in a heartbeat and be sent hurling towards the nearest alley wall.

" Holy shit!?!?"

Green eyes flickered as she 'apparently' vanished in a puff of green smoke, if anything they would probably believe it seeing that none of these people knew of her kin's illusion abilities.

The moment she hit the wall she took note that the blue eyed man had been shot in the leg, thus the one who was shooting must have been the loudmouth at the back of the alley. Remaining silent she walked towards the back of the alley to get a closer look on this so called kid who could have possibly killed someone right now...

Gone...Well he ran away fast.

Well now getting back to the current situation.

Shit this was too serious and for the most part she didn't want to stay here for too long, Shit there was a guy who had been shot in the leg and the last thing that Shas needed was to get shot or torn by some wolves.

But she did feel a bit guilty about biting down on the hand of a fully drunken man...err wolf. She wished she would at least do something but knew better than to just walk right up and possibly get her face torn off.

So she just let off the illusion for now and stayed a good distance from them, it was something wise to do at the situation. She'd leave if she wasn't needed though, mainly because Shas just wanted to get the hell out of here seeing that in her mind she clearly believed that these wolves where very well out to tear her to shreds at any moment.

[Matthias Walker]

Matthias has never mistaken Silas for a very sedentary person, and he half-expects the flailing panic—keeps his fingers tangled in the doctor’s sleeve as he tries to shake off the cat with his other hand, the pistol wavering. There is no real threat in it anymore; the way Silas is thrashing the animal around is too spastic, too erratic, for him to have any sort of aim, and Mattie snaps a frustrated, “Fucking Christ—” There are too many factors at play here, and he cannot fucking afford to shoot and miss, has no idea how many bullets are in the gun or if they are silver or if it even matters with the scrawny little demon cat, and it is too close to Silas for comfort.

The boy in the mouth of the alley has been forgotten.

The shriek and the gunshot, then, have Mattie reacting purely on instinct; his grip on Silas’s sleeve tightens and he yanks the other man around, twisting around him protectively. That he is effectively shielding the cat too does not matter—it may be a bitch but Matthias is not so eager to see it dead that he is willing to leave Silas in the line of fire.

Then, of course, of fucking course, the white starburst of pain blazes up his leg and dries his mouth. He staggers as his right leg goes out from under him, his grip tightening in the bunched fabric of Silas’s suit and half-dragging the werewolf down with him as the pistol drops from his other hand and fingers scrabble at the torn denim of his jeans to stem the flow of blood. He had forgotten the pain of it; it isn’t the first time he’s been shot (and not the stupidest reason, either; why the fuck did that kid have a gun?) but he has had years to push the memory away. A dislocated shoulder, the familiar assortment of cuts and bruises he gets from every hunt—they don’t compare, and when no further gunshots are forthcoming the cat and the boy, even Silas for all that his grip does not yield on the other man’s arm, are pushed aside as unimportant.

“Fuck—” The pressure against the point of entry has blood seeping through his fingers, his spine stiff and lips pressed together against the pain, and he spares a moment to squeeze his eyes closed to push down the rising nausea and tears both. It could be worse; it could be so much worse, this is fine. This is a minor setback, ignorable, he can deal with a single nonfatal bullet. Fingers slick with blood slip against the rough denim of his jeans, slowly soaking through with blood, and Matthias turns sharp blue eyes up to Silas, face pale and set. “Get me out of here,” he demands, and it is an order that trembles around the edges. “I’m not going to fucking bleed out like a fucking hero without—just, fuck, help me.”

The drying blood on his palm is wiped thoughtlessly on his jeans, and he presses down again with a choked-off, shuddering inhale, turns to wind his other arm around Silas’s shoulders, lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration. “Just get me to the street,” he gets out, ignores how every movement sends fresh blood dripping down his leg and over his fingers, “Get a cab or something, fuck—”

[Zephyr]

Silas is a doctor. He is accustomed to working under pressure. Had this been anyone else, it would be an easy matter to fall into the easy routine of doctor. This is Matthias though, and Silas hesitates a fraction of a second, skin pale and clammy, before instinct kicks in. He’s already shrugging out of his jacket as Matthias pulls him down, and he goes down easily, supporting Matthias as they fall. Without a thought, he rips strips from the fabric of his jacket and begins to tie one tightly around the wound on Matthias’ leg.

There isn’t much time for anything else, not the fear that grips at his heart with icy tendrils, not the rising anger at the boy who was running away. How dare he…how dare he hurt Silas’…but it isn’t important now. Nothing is important except Matthias and getting him out of this stinking alley. He doesn’t even think about the gun. Just sets his jaw at Matthias’ words, barely falters at all at the other man’s words and stands up with him, supporting the kid with his shoulders and body.

The cat isn’t forgotten though. Before he leaves, Silas turns to her, eyes narrowing into a glare that speaks volumes. Do not fucking mess with me unless you want to end up the next one with a bullet in you. “Run away, little kitty.” He snarls, can’t take the time to assign blame right now. There’s too much at stake, and the longer they stand here, the less time Matthias has. The wound on Silas’ hand is forgotten and werewolf blood mingles with human blood as Silas pulls Matthias more securely against him, his gaze softening in an instant when he turns his focus back to the other man.

“It’s okay.” He practically croons, practically hauling Matthias bodily with ease. “I’ll get you out of here, darlin’. I gotcha.” And he tries not to sound as scared as he feels; tries to not let the trembling of his fingers be readily obvious, or the guilt that threatens to suffocate him. At least the effects of the alcohol and adrenaline is keeping that at bay for the most part as Silas practically carries Matthias out to the street and all but steps in front of a cab to hail it.

[Shasta (Greenglare)]

Okay You Can assume that Shas turned back into a human and ran out of there like a bat out of hell.