| abstract
| - Sanctuary Avenue ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The freshly paved Sanctuary Avenue is a broad strip extending directly out from the spaceport, lined by large buildings that eventually give way to smaller stores, the more personable ones extending on to Brightstar Boulevard. In the distance, the Stubtooth Mountains loom over the western horizon, scattered forests smudging the scenery in between with patches of dark green. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Near the middle of the night in local time, and yet Smoketrail is not averse to some more snacking. With a tray of fried dribgib gibblets from the Velvet Pillow's bar menu cupped in one paw, she picks each piece up delicately between the claws of the other and tosses it up - making a game of snatching them out of the air with audible clacks of her teeth where she leans against a dim corner of a building. From the direction of Brightstar comes a Demarian figure who seems very interested in sticking to the pools of light generated by the street lamps. He glances around nervously while clutching something to his chest. The glasses on his face reflect the lights as he passes under them, a point of brightness in his otherwise drab and grey clothing and fur. He heads toward the building that Smoketrail leans against, hurrying as fast as his stooped form can without looking too suspicious. It is late enough that he is easy to spot, though Smoketrail lazily consumes two more pieces before licking her fingertips clean; eyes on the furtive figure the entire time. Pushing away from the wall, she grins and offers the remaining gibblets as he arrives with a friendly, "Have a bite?" "No, thank you." He replies upon reaching the female. The Demarian adjusts his glasses on his nose. "What's your name?" He asks, leveling a piercing green stare at Smoketrail. "Smoketrail," she answers amiably, shrugging as if it is his great loss not to have accepted the offer and palming the remaining half dozen pieces. "Yours?" she asks with an inquisitive perk of an ear as she swallows two at a go, absently balling up the oil-stained tray in her other paw. The Demarian nods, as if reassuring himself. "Yes, good. I am Ashcoat Lorekeeper. Don't be impressed by the grandeur of the rite name...I took it from my uncle who was in the militia before he died during ATRV." Ashcoat adjusts his glasses again. "He was a good man. I took it to honor him." "Oh, well, that is important." Hossomi notes, as the two move in from the spacestation. "Helps to like the job and such." "I want to start a bit more basic." Aadzrian walks at Hossomi's side, with the precious cargo of a Timonese infant cradled in his arms and snuggled up to one broad shoulder. "How old are you?" Smoketrail's whiskers twitch amusedly when he first cautions her, but then her gaze narrows somberly at the rest until she is inclining her head with respect. "It marks you too, that you recognize it and try t'do somethin' about it," she rumbles quietly, abruptly sober. "Thirty-Seven." Hossomi responds, automatically, shrugging awkwardly. "Old enough, I suppose. Anyway, how about you? How many years have you notched on the belt?" The two Demarians converse quietly to one side of the broad avenue, in the fuzzy edge of a lamp's pooled light. "...Thirty-seven," Aadzrian laughs with a shake of his head. He idly rubs the baby's back, heading for the road that leads toward the beach. "Well, at least that makes it easier to remember." "But if you are Smoketrail then you're the one I asked for." Ashcoat replies. "I do not mean to put you in any danger but you must already expect it. You ave to understand that I have been told to keep quiet, but I can't anymore. Not after what happened in the desert." He fumbles through the bundle of things he's carrying. "Before it collapsed I was an accountant with the New Alhira Development Corporation." "Really?" Hossomi responds, brow quirking. "Well, it was a small chance of that being the case. Lin is funny, and so is Maza... where now?" An inclination of his head down the proper road. "This way," Aadzrian notes lightly. "Why did you become a Doctor, Hossomi?" And with that question hanging in the air, the two pass on. Smoketrail turns her head, eyeing Ashcoat consideringly as she consumes the remaining gibblets and brushes her palms clean. "Must've made your uncle proud a few times, eh?" she muses. "Danger's part of my job. But you, you're riskin' things you shouldn't have to for this." Gaze narrowing to thoughtful slits, her snout bobs in recognition. "Go on." Ashcoat just nods, looking down at his files. "I was initially assigned as part of the Senate's investigation to figure out why the NADC collapsed. It took us all by surprise. But I didn't stay on the team long, it was soon reorganized. They've kept that pretty quiet, I think. Who cares if a few accountants get shuffled around? But I've looked at drafts of the final report." He finally looks back up at Smoketrail, magnified eyes staring intently at her. "The records are not the same. They are false. I don't even know if the real records exist anywhere else but here." He pats his bundle. The only surprise and interest Smoketrail evinces is in the keen, unwavering gaze that she pins upon him; neither tail nor ears betray her. "May I?" she asks, paws held out for the papers. "I don't know what it means." Ashcoat admits as he surrenders the documents. "But there are...discrepancies that I can't account for. Things I can't explain. I don't have the resources or the initiative to conduct a real investigation myself." A hovercar with tinted windows turns the corner from Brighstar and starts down the street. "You've already done great...I can take it from here," Smoketrail assures, not bothering to flip through the papers; simply tucking them securely under her arm. Just the thought of being the holder now of the only available evidence of what Ashcoat speaks of is making her fur fluff with excitement - and anxiety. "What 'bout you? You're not going to go back now, are you, after handing this over?" she asks, an ear swiveling to follow the sound of the vehicle as she absently reaches out to tug on Ashcoat's sleeve...reflexively urging him out of the light and into deeper shadows. "No, I once met a Qua couple that was visiting town." Ashcoat replies, smiling lightly. "They offered to let me stay at their place when I was in the neighborhood, so I think I'll take them up on it." The hovercar suddenly picks up speed, a crack forming between window and door. Ashcoat lets himself be pulled in, and becomes more serious. "There is one thing you should know, however." He begins. "You should look at Mooncollar Stealthfoot..." He trails off as a barrel appears in that open space, and from it issues a barrage of plasma at Smoketrail and Ashcoat. Demarians are predators by nature, but Smoketrail is no stranger to being one of the hunted. The sudden rev of an engine is never a good sign when one's nerves are already strung tight by distressing news, and more willing to face embarrassment if she is wrong than a painful lesson if she is right, she is already diving toward the other side of the building's corner with an arm hooked around Ashcoat's middle when the plasma fire streaks toward them. Ashcoat gets a deer in the headlights look as the hovercar rushes past them. He's yanked by Smoketrail with enough force that his glasses tumble off of his nose, breaking on the street. The hovercar speeds off around another corner, leaving behind a series of plasma burns on the sides of the buildings. Ashcoat ends up pressed against Smoketrail, shaking and spluttering. His blood stains her clothing. Smoketrail barely spares a glance after the 'car, her ears already telling her it has left. Instead, she concentrates on what her nose is screaming now - the scent of blood and singed flesh and fur. "Sorry 'bout that, Ashcoat, you hangin' in there?" she hisses through gritted teeth, trying to keep her tone light while her accent slips into older habits, quickly sitting up to take stock of his injuries. Ashcoat doesn't reply. His hand covers a bad burn mark on his stomach, his fur sticky with blood. He continues to shake, about to collapse in Smoketrail's arms. "Shit," Smoketrail growls, decision made in the next heartbeat. "Shooting on Sanctuary Avenue," she thumbs her comm to the emergency services channel, stripping her jacket to press it against the wound and eyeing the nearby bundle of papers; ensuring that it is intact and nearby. "Near the corner of Brighstar Boulevard. Male, gut-shot by plasma fire. Ashcoat, talk to me, it's better when you stay conscious." Ashcoat blinks largely at Smoketrail, eyes rolling around in his head. "Ohhhh..." He moans. "Brakir that hurts..." He coughs, flecks of blood peppering his grey muzzle. "Yeah, well, that's how y'know you're still livin'," Smoketrail retorts. "Keep me posted, Ashcoat, tell me if anythin' feels different or if the pain goes away. You got any family? Bonded, kits, siblings? Who you want me t'call and have smuggle some Glimmercoat pastries to your hospital room?" she maintains an even ramble, ears pricked for any sign of emergency vehicles arriving. Ashcoat coughs, but there's a bit of a laugh buried in there. "M-m-my uncle was the last member of my family." He gasps. "I didn't have anyone else...just...just my work..." He groans. "Altheor my legs are getting cold..." It's late. Emergency services are quick to respond. "That's shock," Smoketrail answers calmly, keeping up the even patter of conversation. "It's normal. Just keep talkin', all right? Keep your brain runnin'. So what 'bout this Qua couple you were gonna hang with? You look like you could use a little fresh air. They got a nice place for you t'sunbathe in and properly stretch your legs - ah, hear that? Help's on the way." Ashcoat blinks, and it looks like even that hurts. "They're...they're nice." He gets out, "Got a place in the forest...I love the forest...I've never been to Quaquan." He concedes. "Kinda always wanted...to...go.." Sirens are just around the corner. Smoketrail finally glances up, giving in to worry as she tries to gauge the approach of the ambulance. "C'mon, Ashcoat, hold out a little longer - they've got all these fancy gadgets in the ambulance, y'know, t'help make your job easier. Hells, I'll let you take me out on a date if you pull through. I like long walks through the forest an' a hot chocolate at the end. How's that sound?" Ashcoat actually manages to chuckle. "That's..that's real nice of you, Smoketrail." The ambulance can be seen in the distance, racing towards them. "But...but I don't think I can be quite exciting enough for you..." Paramedics finally arrive, spilling out of the ambulance. "Hey, life's not just 'bout excitement, it's 'bout enjoyin' what y'have, exciting or no. I'd go white if it was nothin' but excitement left an' right," Smoketrail chuffs with dry amusement, eyes slitting with a bit of self-deprecating irony and visible relief as she quickly steps back to let the professionals take over. "I'll order up a Glimmercoat's special for you. No offense t'the good hospital folk, but their desserts're crap." The paramedics bundle Ashcoat up. "Don't...don't forget!" He calls to Smoketrail before he finally passes into unconsciousness. Smoketrail chuckles, in relief more than amusement as he is bundled off, ears flattening quickly after as her mood falls into grimness. Absently wiping the worst of the blood off on her pants leg, she scoops up the files; quick to slip down the alley to escape any questions the local authorities may have when they catch up to the scene.
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