(C) Shedding Light (Monica/Zrion BC)

[lawna]

When Zrion mentioned green eco, something in Monica did a little flip, but she ignored it.

Then he had to go and ask about her family. She didn't know how to tell this stranger that had just saved her life that she had no family, no friends, that she had no one she could rely on. The thing that hurt the most was that Zrion was trying to get rid of her.

She took her hand out of his, where he had been examining it, and scuffed her foot on the ground. She didn't know how to say it so she blurted it out. "No, I don't. My parent's are dead. They died in a Metalhead raid. Momma had family, close to the Wastelands, I think, but I don't know where." She bit her lip, feeling gulity for not knowing more.

[Darkjak87]

Zrion frowned. He felt as if he had done something wrong, though even as he looked back on what he said, he couldn't figure out what. It wasn't a pleasant topic, to be sure, but regardless he felt as if he could have approached the situation better.

Well, that complicates things...

He certainly wasn't going to just leave her here though, so he made eye contact with her before continuing, "I'm sorry to hear that Monica, I didn't know. I hope I didn't offend you by asking, but I wanted to know because I want to make sure you're safe."

He hesitated then, choosing his next words carefully. "If you like," he said slowly, deliberately, "you can come to my house. I have a friend there, he should be able to heal you, and we can get you something to eat while we're at it."

[lawna]

Monica accepted Zrion's apology with a silent nod. She knew it wasn't his fault that the whole subject left a sour feeling in her stomach.

"If you would like, you can come to my house."

Monica's head went up to look up in wonder. He had saved her life, wanted to make her safe. She had to admit she wasn't very hungry but wouldn't refuse if it was offered. It would also be really useful to have her hand and knee fixed up, because she definitely wouldn't be able to get it clean in the street.

But what was Monica, a helpless street urchin, to Zrion, an important Krimson Guard officer? A baby bird with a broken wing, easily taken in and just as easily thrown back out when well?

It wasn't much in Monica's nature to speculate and left it to be a friendly offer by a good Samaritan. She expected that Zrion would hold up to his offer.

That was all well and fine, but Monica needed to recuperate after all this excitement. She needed somewhere safe and warm to stay the rest of the night at least.

She didn't want to take advantage to the situation handed to her, but decided she had to at least try.

"Zrion, I'm tired. I can't go back to my tent and I can't make a new one right now. Do you think after my band aids I could stay at your house for a little bit?"

She tried to look extra pitiful, and it was too hard. She was drained, sick to her stomach, scared and just wanted to lay down and sleep.

[Darkjak87]

"Of course you can," he said at once. He was glad she was so willing, as he certainly didn't put so much effort into saving her just to leave her to the wolves, per say. Inwardly, he was a little concerned about Zephan. How would he react? He knew that despite Zephan's own past, he tended to look upon less fortunate people with...less than positive feelings. Zrion suspected that it was because it reminded him of his own past, causing him to shun those people on instinct. Regardless of his reasons, he believed that he would have to intervene at some point, for Monica's sake.

But that was a problem for another time. "My house isn't far from here," he said. "Try to keep pressure on your injury. Please follow me."

He set off at a moderate pace, perhaps slower than he would like, but by that point the adrenaline from all the fighting had worn off, and he was really starting to feel his exhaustion. The trip didn't take long, as his house was located just inside Maintown, on the street immediately to the left of the barrier.

The neighborhood was quite pleasant, the houses large compared to those of the slums and the streets relatively quiet, bare this time of night except for the occasional Guard squad patrolling the area. It was well past curfew at this point, but Zrion's armor ensured they weren't harassed over that fact.

Finally, Zrion came to a stop about midway down the street. A white, single-story house sat on a small lawn behind a gated fence, small compared to some of the other houses on the street, but more than sufficient for Zrion's needs. When he had been given leadership of his unit, he had been quite surprised to learn that the rank came with more than just a new set of bars for his dress uniform. In addition to the house, he was also offered a personal vehicle and a servant, although he turned those down. He liked the house, but some things were just too much for him.

He approached the gate, and keys clinked as he unlocked it, pushing the gate open before proceeding. He locked the gate after Monica passed through, and continued his trek to the house. Once he reached the door, the keys came out again, and granted them entry to the house itself.

Zrion closed the door behind him before proceeding to flick the light switch, revealing a narrow hallway entirely bare except for the dark blue paint on the walls. His eyelids began to feel heavy again as the feeling of being home set in, making him feel secure and relaxed at last. However, he had to attend to business first.

"Zephan!" He called. "I need you! Injuries!" The words rolled off his tongue with great familiarity. They were said almost every time Zrion returned from a mission. Only this time, his biggest concern wasn't his own aches, but those of Monica.

A long sigh was heard, accompanied by footsteps from one of the rooms off the hall, the only one currently lit. "Again Zrion?" a voice called. "As expensive as that armor is you'd think it would save you some pain once in a while." The source of the voice then came into view, revealing a tuxedo-patterned ottsel that was, oddly enough, wearing pants and a sleeveless shirt. He came to a halt, however, as his eyes found Monica. There was an awkward silence as he looked her over, before he returned his eyes to Zrion.

"Zrion," he began, "Who is this?"

[lawna]

Monica was taken aback by Zephan's abrupt question, but decided he might just be wary of strangers.

"My name's Monica." she said, introducing herself. At the unyielding face of the ottsel she decided to add. "I scraped my hand and knee and Zrion said he had band aids."

She blushed then, feeling childish. She looked to her feet, letting Zrion explain more thoroughly.

[Darkjak87]

"Metal Head raid." Zrion explained. "In the industrial sector, they came up through the sewer. The KG took care of it, but Monica here was unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle of it all, so I had to get her out of there."

Zrion stopped speaking there, but he stared intensely at Zephan, continuing his line of thought without words.

I wasn't just going to leave her there.

Zephan didn't say anything, but he seemed to get the meaning since he broke the staring match with him. Having placated the Ottsel for the moment, Zrion continued with his explanation: "She got injured while we were escaping, so I figured you could heal her. It wouldn't take much, right?"

Zephan shook his head. "No, it wouldn't." Zrion waited for more, but Zephan remained silent.

"Well?" Zrion said impatiently. Zephan jerked, as if suddenly remembering that they were there, and with a slight scowl, began walking toward Monica, his eyes scanning her for the injuries Zrion spoke of, his sharp eyes locating them and his even sharper mind already predicting the exact amount of eco that would be required to heal them.

"Hold still." Zephan said succinctly as he came to a stop just before her.

"It won't hurt." Zrion assured her quickly. Zephan may have been one of the best healers alive, but his many talents did not include a bedside manner. Zephan shot Zrion a look of annoyance before he returned his focus to Monica.

He raised his furred hand over the first scrape, and a faint green glow coated his hand, enveloping it fully before the glow seemed to pass over to Monica, leaving Zephan's body and instead settling on her wound. Zrion watched in fascination as the wound immediately scabbed over, but that lasted not even a second as the skin was already knitting back together underneath, causing the blood clot to crack and fall off her skin, revealing the flawless skin that she had had before.

Zephan didn't waste any time, and moved to her next injury, repeating the process. He healed every injury he found on her, from scratches to bruises, and it didn't seem to cost him the slightest amount of energy. At last, the final wound was closed, and Zephan stepped back. "It's done." He said shortly.

Zrion nodded. "Thanks." Zephan didn't answer, he simply turned and went back the way he came, disappearing into the depths of the house. Oh, that's a good sign... he thought sarcastically.

He returned his attention to Monica. "Ignore him. He's a sociopath," he said, only half seriously. "Anyway, that takes care of your injuries. Would you like anything to eat?"

[lawna]

Monica didn't know what a sociopath was, but it didn't sound good.

"Did I hurt his feelings?" She asked as she watched the creature disappear.

She marveled at her vanished injuries, her regenerated body. It was very nice of Zephan to do that for her, even if Zrion had persuaded him. She hoped she could repay him.

"I'm not very hungry," Monica said, addressing Zrion's question. "but I'm thirsty. Do you have any juice? Apple is my favorite, but I like orange juice too."

[Darkjak87]

"He's distrustful of strangers, but don't worry, because that's certainly not because of anything you did. I'll talk to him, he'll warm up to you eventually." Funny, Zrion wasn't usually the optimistic type.

His mind went to his refrigerator at her second question - large and spacious, but almost completely bare. Zephan didn't eat much, and Zrion was working so much that he usually ended up eating at either a KG barrack or some sort of restaurant. On top of that, he didn't very much like juice.

Well, I can hardly give her whiskey...

"Sorry, but I don't like juice myself, so I don't have any. I have some milk though, or if you prefer, I can make some tea."

[lawna]

"You don't like juice?" She asked, jaw dropping. "What do you drink?"

Weighing the two options Zrion had presented her with, Monica didn't really like either. She didn't want to sound ungrateful, but milk usually made her stomach hurt, probably because she was acutely lactose intolerant. She didn't really like tea either, except for the peppermint tea her father used to make her if she couldn't fall asleep.

She decided to take a stab at it, hoping Zrion could accommodate her specific wishes. "Do you have any peppermint tea? Maybe we could put honey or sugar in it." She suggested. "But maybe we should go buy some juice tomorrow. There's all kind of juice you know. I'm sure you will like something."

[Darkjak87]

Well, I doubt that...

"As it so happens, I do have some peppermint tea. It's been sitting in there for a while, but it should still be good. I'll make some in a minute." Now that he thought about it, Zrion could really do for some himself, as he had always found it quite relaxing. Maybe not drinking any was why he had been so tense lately.

But then, he glanced down at himself, noting his dented and blood-splattered armor. "But...I think I'll go change first, if you don't mind. You can have a seat in the kitchen, I won't be long."

He stalked off, grumbling under his breath about how he was going to have to submit another requisition for armor repairs. He flipped on the lights as he went, eventually coming to a stop at the end of the hall, and and entering the door on the left, his bedroom.

The room was tastefully decorated, the walls dark green and the curtains earthy brown, the colors complimenting each other well. The full-sized bed was unmade, but the black, carpeted floor was tidy, all the dirty clothes collected in a laundry basket in the corner. Several paintings adorned the walls, although they didn't hold any real meaning for Zrion, and were purely just for looks. The furniture in the room consisted of the bed, with plain white sheets, a nightstand, with a clock, lamp, and photo on it, and a dresser with a mirror.

In the picture frame on the nightstand was a photo of a smiling man and woman, standing in a beautiful meadow in the midst of a forest. The man had an arm wrapped around the woman's shoulders in an obvious show of affection, and both were smiling at the camera.

The man was named Alexander Zrion, a large, stocky individual much like his son. His face was strong and weathered, with a stern brow and sharp jaw that stood in contrast to his soft blue eyes. He was bristling with muscles, proving that his slightly hardened expression wasn't just for show. His black hair was cut very short, in line with military regulations, but stood out due to the fact that it gradually gave way to a shade of bloody crimson toward the back.

The woman had been Rachel Zrion née Vargas, and looked downright small next to her husband, as the top of her head just barely tickled his chin. Her features were much softer than Alex's, but she still possessed the hardened look that only a soldier could have. She was gifted with a classical sort of beauty, and had a heart-shaped face, perfectly-rounded chin, and vivid green eyes. Her appearance had been marred by a long, jagged scar on one cheek, but like James and Alex, she had always been proud of those marks. Her hair was longer than Alex's, but it was still cut to hang just above her ears, and was silvery-blonde in color.

Zrion looked at the photo with a mixture of grief and fondness. It had been taken about fifteen years ago, during one of the few vacations that his family had managed. Specifically, this had been in Haven Forest, back during the Wasteland War when the Metal Heads had been driven from the region for a time. His parents had always harbored a soft spot for the forest, something that James had shared. As proud as they had all been of their home city, bare steel and concrete would get tiring after a while.

It was undoubtedly James' favorite childhood memory. His parents had gotten a week of leave at the same time, and they had all gone camping in the woods. Some of the things they had done were fishing and hunting, listening to his parents swap war stories, and learning a few tips and tricks for living off the land. James wouldn't have traded it for anything.

It was also, he noted with a pang, one of the last times he had seen his parents together before their untimely deaths. Alex had been killed during Operation Red Storm, the assault on the Metal Head Nest at the height of the Wasteland War. He'd been buried in the Forest with full military honors in a solemn ceremony.

Rachel had taken the loss hard, and had thrown herself back into the war with with a new passion, determined to make the Metal Heads pay for taking her husband from her. Sadly, she had met a similar fate only a week after the funeral, in Dead Town. James had arranged for her to be laid to rest next to her husband, and like Alex, she had been buried as a hero. Even though he now had difficulties visiting their graves due to Metal Head activity in the Forest, he still believed it had been the right decision. It was only right that they be buried in their favorite spot, side by side as they had been in life.

He sighed, and shook his head. He would have time to brood later, but right now he had someone to look after.

He stripped his armor off quickly, gently placing it in the room's closet, treating it with great care despite the already-present cracks. His rifle and pistol joined it, both of them being wrapped in a thick leather cloth for protection before being placed next to the armor. He would clean his armor and weapons the next day.

That done, he simply pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his typical sleeping clothes. He cast a longing look at the bed, but instead stretched out his limbs, relaxing his stiff muscles. He'd still have to get used to the feeling of not wearing his armor, but he'd be fine by tomorrow.

He left his bedroom, walking back down the hall and entering the kitchen.