FATE (Part One): Malevolence and Mercy.

================================== MidCity Streets ==================================


<Hadiya> The small hybrid is less out of place than one might imagine. In fact, that's part of the reason for this visit. A comment of her father's that her mother had mentioned, apparently the old man trying to equate the poverty and crime in Midcity with the Guwwa'jidar. Ludicrous, of course. Police had never come Inside the Walls, and for the most part the outcasts of al'Zahfar had not had nearly the opportunities these purebreds enjoyed. Flowing power, open air, shelter to be had simply for the effort of cold-sealing some portion of the old buildings, and of course food was hardly a problem, as cheap as Nutra-fu was. Sure, there were those who might want more in their diets; the carnivores of Guwwa'jidar had had their own disastrous and terrible rumored solutions to that, but there was no need for such outrages here. She'd passed a Ministry-sponsored soup kitchen not even a quarter hour before. Still, there are some similarities here and there: the shanties, clearly occupied by purebreds who wouldn't bother to find somewhere better to live; the trash left by racists too selfish to even keep their own living space clean and organized, much less be bothered with something as Unity-like as the idea of cooperating to better their own neighborhood. There were some signs of honest, positive community here and there. Advertisements for a free clinic. Of course, it was probably just a front for some drug runner, moving product from down Below. No, the people who are here choose to be here, no less than Hadiya chooses to be here to view them and remind herself of the fact. She saunters on down the street, confident and haughty beneath the beaten old duster she acquired in an attempt to make less of a spectacle of herself. It and the scarf are still better than what most of the passersby she's seen wear, though, and neither does a thing to conceal her golden eyes, long curling horns and the clump of dark feathers between them.

<%Biske> Even when he was attempting to be discreet, Biske seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. His ridiculously floppy hat, his moth-eaten scarf, the ragged old poncho thrown over his body - his attempts to get warmer, and to "blend in" as jonas had advised, were all in vain. Fate or fortune, the hybrid was poking about - perhaps seeking an opportunity to lay itself across his lap. Mismatched eyes flickered from one sight to the next, bandaged hands shoved in his pockets - his expression a little muzzy, as if he were daydreaming.

<Hadiya> For Einheit, it's a moderately balmy day...The chill wind occasionally lashing Hadiya's scarf-tails up behind her can't be much more than -20, kicking only the slightest occasional flurry of filthy snow from some ledge or rooftop to patter down the frozen pavement. The striped scarf drawn across her muzzle hides the sneer of contempt she has been wearing for about the last two trudging, wandering miles. She's simply losing herself in the vast labyrinth of granite-hued skyscrapers and the bootlicking brownstone minions that cloister about their feet. The Minister is working herself up into quite the silent fury, and the cold and self-imposed poverty of this worthless zone is helping. Not that the firm foundations of her anger need much encouragement. No, her father, for all of his constant undermining and disapproval of her, is cause enough. Never mind that he hasn't said a word to her in...What, a decade and change? And now here she is, because she'd love to be sure she'd misunderstood what her mother had said, but it sounded as if the old man were actually starting to sympathize with the filthy crowds sullenly sulking down here and expecting to be provided for. As if. No, she'd really rather not be reporting him, particularly not for something she hadn't heard with her own ears, but it looked as if she might have to have a talk with him in her official capacity, since he wouldn't listen to her any other way. Muttering to herself, she strides down the dark sidewalk. With most of the streetlamps vandalized only the falling light from some few occupied windows guides her.

<%Biske> His breath streamed out, visible in twin jets as it flowed from his nostrils with each breath - *freezing*. he should be indoors; he *should* by in one of those nice soup kitchen, downing God knows what with other geezers and swapping war stories. But no; he was out here, and only God *did* know what the hybrid was up to at the moment. He doesn't miss a beat as an Aircam hovers into view - almost casually the apedog ducks across the street and down an alley - very nearly running into someone similarily bundled. With a slight snarl he bustles ahead, makeshift sandals scraping against the frozen pavement with each step.

<Hadiya> The shorter hybrid snarls back, and loudly, even muffled by the gold and blue striped scarf covering her muzzle. "Watch where you're going, scum." Hadiya's hoarse, crow-like rasp isn't made any prettier by the cold air in her lungs. She glares up at Biske a moment, the black feathers between her curled horns ruffled in anger, then her pupils widen slightly and she hesitates. Recognition, then doubt. The mouse-sheep starts to move past Biske. Him? What odds, him, here? Now, the thing to do is to act completely cool about the matter. Move on past, get clear enough to call this in. Sure, it might not be the terrorist, but it's some damnable hybrid scurrying away from security cameras in the Mids, so it's not her ass...And those eyes. A shudder ripples through her. No way she will forget those eyes.

<%Biske> One brown, one blue - did they linger overlong, as they passed over and through the other hybrid? Terrible and dismissive, all as one? But the moment's passed, and Biske is moving on - ahead of Hadiya, on the emptied street. Unaware; no second glance, though that look had been long enough to take in the other's clothing That was one thing Biske *did* notice - and his scarred face was pulled into a thoughtful look, his lips pursed.

<Hadiya> Hadiya scowled, hands shifting into the pockets of her duster. She turned to watch the taller hybrid's lanky amble. Her fingers carress the wasplike shape of her gunblade beneath the heavy fabric, then move on to curl around the solid ceramet mass of her PDA. One brown, one blue. Or were there two brown? Two blue? Damn. How could she forget? With a more silent snarl beneath her scarf, she sets off after Biske, trailing him, holding onto the PDA in her pocket. She has to be sure. 'I thought it was...' won't cut it. Not when she thought it was the sonofabitch inbreeder terrorist who'd gotten the better of her in that crummy little noodle stand a few weeks ago. If the Ministry thought she was jumping at shadows due to that incident, she might have to take leave to wind down, probably with a psychiatrist. And she didn't mind that, there were reasons for it, but anything that threatened her chances to take Assault One out to play was something to be avoided.

<%Biske> There is no indication, no warning. One hybrid trails after another - and Biske seems not to be aware of that fact. His pace is neither fast, nor slow; the amble of one who has no particular place to go, be it home or a goal. No ear flickers backwards. And yet, the woman may find the scattering of snow in the freezing wind, the barest hint of a whisper - or was it simply the wind, playing with those makeshift chimes that hung from a spare beam? The hybrid's head lifts a bit as he saunters about a building, out of sight, to inspect the Construction Zone that lay behind barb-wire fences.

<Hadiya> The short, horned hybrid trails behind by a good fifty meters, drifting a little to avoid the clearer pools of spilled light in this blackened sector. E-Fluid must be in short supply, or some fool purebreeder sabotaged the nearer pumps to sell for parts. She frowns at the construction yard, then changes course slightly, gloveboots clinging to the slightest holds as she rebounds from a column to a ledge and onto the low, crude balcony some resident attached to the front of the neighboring tenement. Rotting old metal creaks slightly as she glides along the flimsy structure, glancing down into the construction yard. The corpse of a highscraper cut off at the knees, only a few floors remaining, and those being scavenged for stone, plascrete, and girder by leisurely, unattended robots, picking at the old building like ants on a skeleton. Biske is nowhere to be seen. She frowns, and hops down from the creaking balcony, just clearing the barbed wire on the wall surrounding the demolition site to land within it.

<%Biske> Who knows how Biske got on the other side? He did not scale the wall; such a thing would have been spotted immediately. By all rights, he should have simply 'rounded the bend and walked alongside the menacing structure. Yet no sooner did the sheepmouse's feet touch the ground than Biske was there, fluid as a thought - attempting to loop a lanky arm stiffly about her neck. "Funny. Ah usually 'ave t'go *lookin'* fer whores," he hisses in her ear - still, from all appearances, not recognizing the woman nor her hybridity.

<Hadiya> How the traitor got there was something to think about later. That lean, gangly arm is something to be dealt with NOW. Hadiya ducks her head reflexively, dipping her muzzle to protect her throat. At the same time, she locks her fists together and rams one elbow hard up and behind her, turning and shoving off with the opposite foot to put the force of her leg muscles into the thrust as well. "You FUCK!" she snarls, hard exhalation turning the last word into an angry shout.

<%Biske> Spitfire, this one. That elbow slams into the poor apedog's nonexistant belly, and one can almost imagine that her blow scrapes his very spine. As it was the hybrid's eyes bulge, his smug look being replaced by a sharp gasp as air escapes. Biske stumbles back at her thrust, arms wrapping protectively across his stomach, wavering on his now-bare feet - he had kicked his sandals off awhile back. "... fuckin' *bitch*!" he finally manages to gasp, his face down - scraggled mane curtaining across his eyes.

<Hadiya> Two quick steps clear as soon as Biske's arm leaves her throat and Hadiya finishes the turn. There might be something familiar about the hybrid girl, but then again there might not. Nobody moves quite the same in heavy armor as they do unencumbered, no matter how agile Whitegear is meant to be...And everybody sees eyes, every day, by the hundreds. She shivers slightly, staring at Biske, but the chill on her has nothing to do with the icy weather. "You...You were DEAD." The confusion is only out there for a heartbeat before anger replaces it. "Who's going to rescue you this time, you inbred-loving traitor?" She rasps, crow like voice perfectly suited to the freezing waste of the demolition site. A hand reaches back into her coat pocket for her PDA.

* %Biske is curled against a freezing beam for support, an arm looping about it - one remaining to press against his stomach. The hybrid's head tosses, mismatched eyes glaring out from between ragged bangs and the frayed tip of his hat - feral eyes narrowing, then widening as a cold wind swirls a few scattering flakes of snow between the two. "Uh oh. Ah'm in trouble now," he sneers good-naturedly, hauling himself up a bit straighter. His arm lifts from his stomach, bandadged hand sweeping his hat from his head and somewhat flattening his mane. "Pleasant dreams?"

<Hadiya> Hadiya bares her teeth at that query, and her hand hesitates fractionally with the white armored shell of her PDA half-out of her pocket, wrist tangled through its lanyard. If that's not Ministry issue, it sure as hell looks like it from this angle. "They'll be better with you dead." She grates harshly. "Just stand there, traitor. Move and I'll kill you." Sounds as if she thinks she can do it, too. She doesn't glance down as her cold fingers fumble with the small device, keeping her eyes on the taller hybrid, thumb brushing over it in search of a specific button. No, not the DNA test prongs, not this time...

<%Biske> "They should learn ye yer facts straight, darlin'. We're *them* who do the betrayin'," he grins - the hybrid almost deliberately stepping away from his supports, hand dropping to his side. Mismatched eyes flicker towards the PDA, and the apedog's head twists to the side - a curious cocking of the head, as if his canine roots were showing through. "That ain' gonna work," he oozes, taking a wavering step towards the woman - though his hands are up, by his shoulders, the bandadged palms facing out. Burned from an earlier meeting; though Biske was being rather vague. "'Ave Ah threatened ye before?" he asks, eyeballing the other hybrid up and down - his voice almost taunting.

<Hadiya> "'We'? There's no royalty and you're NOT Ministry." Hadiya snarls, "...What you are, is a filthy anti-Unity terrorist." Her laugh is a guttural hack, the only response to the query about threats. One of her ears dips and she jabs the button again. Nope, still no rewarding beep. Her thumb brushes sideways over the small device, and generates none of the array of auditory cues she would normally expect. "Son of a bitch! Still got that jammer on you, huh, 'Commander'? Well I guess we're walking, then. You move real easy and real slow and keep your hands where I can see'em. Ain't nothing says they have to be attached when we get where we're going." Her blunt-toothed grin is stark and nasty, the scar on her cheek pale in the lights of the demolition site.

<%Biske> Upheld hands curl, fingers pulled into fists - leaving only the indexes pointing upwards, as if asking silently that Hadiya consider a moment. "Now, we're goin' t'ave a problem wi' that. Ah ain' got no *intention* of 'goin' quiet'." With that - and a rakish grin - the hybrid jerks backwards, hooking a hand over the scaffolding. With strength that belies the apedog's putty-like appearance, the hybrid swings himself up into half-built building, a hyena-like laugh piercing the relatively quiet night.

<Hadiya> Hadiya curses under her breath and jams the presumably fried PDA back into her coat-pocket. Her fingers linger against the shape of her gunblade knife, but no...Alive, they want this one. Besides, its safety circuitry is probably just as dead as her PDA and with her luck that'll interfere with the mechanism. She steps back, eyes charting the face of the partial building, then darts to the side, hopping in front of a robotic forklift and causing it to stop with a blare and a clanging crash of girders. Nimbly, the little mousheep runs up the spill as if they'd been stairs, both hands gripping the upper frame of the loader and using it to pole-vault up and through the window of an adjoining room in the desolate building's face.

<%Biske> "Impressive!" comes a laugh, hands clapping together sarcastically - and there is Biske. The room was only half-done; and though Biske was only in the center of the room, he dangled over a rather daunting drop - hands and feet gripping girders with ease as he cants his head at the other hybrid. "Why don' ye jus' give up?" he suggests, his harsh voice suprisingly gentle. "Ain' worth it fer my scrawny rear, Ah'll tell ye."

<Hadiya> "Give up?" Hadiya moves slowly towards Biske, half-crouched and surprisingly predatory looking for somebody whose genetics seem primarily herbivorous. "Don't know that one. That a colonial move? You want to demonstrate?" She shifts sideways, changing her angle of approach over the uncertain flooring. "They're offering a free toaster for you, old man. Five year warranty. Browns both sides of the bread." She pauses about ten feet from the hybrid, then drops to sweep one foot around in a kick that explodes some squatters' rubbish towards Biske. The little Minister follows immediately behind the barrage of trash, lunging but wary of the gap.

<%Biske> A hiss escapes the apedog's lips as he lets go to fling his hands upwards, protecting his face. He pivots, dextrous feet gripping the beam for a a heartbeat to swing him about before letting go - grasping a beam on the next floor down, sweat flinging from his body as he comes to a teeth-shattering stop with a frantic grab of another beam. Bots were still working on this floor - they scattered as Biske made his drop, beeping furiously. "God," the hybrid pants, peering up where he had been a moment before - and where Hadiya no-doubt was. "Don' mention toast, love, that jus' sets mah stomach *afire*." There was a jibe, there, somewhere - judging from the curl of his lip.

<Hadiya> Hadiya stoops to grab a skittering bottle before it falls off the edge of a girder, chucks it down hard towards Biske. Unfortunately her aim is far from true and the glass just shatters off another steel beam. "God?" She looks viciously amused. "You kill people for some foolish religion?" She walks nimbly down the edge, spots a bot which is still jabbering electronically at Biske and drops onto it, taking the fall with care and letting herself come to a halt crouched upon the now truly confused machine. "Keep calling on your god." She suggests. "You're about to need all the help you can get." She scoops a one-meter length of rebar out of a bin at the robot's back and hops off of it, sweeping the bludgeon experimentally. Heavy and clumsy, but it will have to do.

* %Biske winces back, scuttling backwards as easy as if he had been on the ground - hands, and feet, doing their part to keep him from plummeting. "God ain' got much t'do wi'it," he grunts, trying to concentrate over the jabbering 'bots, his own hand groping for *some* sort of weapon; and, unfortunately, coming up empty. That fall, and subsequent catch, had hurt him terribly; the blow to his stomach proving rather devestating. "Damn yer eyes!" he curses explosively, mismatched eyes bloodshot and glaring from underneath his heavy brows. "Jus' leave us *alone*!"

<Hadiya> The small Minister halts well outside the reach of Biske's lanky limbs and twirls the length of heavy rebar slowly. Probably more slowly than she could if she were serious...Why play all your cards face up? "Oh come now. You've already started your confession. You don't want to be alone. You want company. An interrogator-technician, some relaxants, disinhibitors, speakserum. A nice, relaxing chat. You can talk all about your god. We're happy to hear about it." The heavy bar twirls. "It'll be a lot more fun if your knees aren't broken, do you think?" The words may be wheedling, but the amount of raw fury and hatred in that crow-broken voice is all out of proportion to its tiny owner.

* %Biske scrambled further back, but he was running out of places to go. Soon it would be *up* - a leap he was not positioned to make - or... well. Down. And with each painful movement, the apedog knew that his body could not handle such a rough catch twice. The hybrid glances over his shoulder and down, running his tongue over his teeth as he tries to think. "Really? Think Ah'd get a full meal, at least?" he grunts absently; and now his back was to the outer wall, with nowhere left to go. His muzzle swung up, mismatched eyes hardly visible behind the mane that scraggled in his face - sweat freezing on his forehead before it could even properly form. "S'that wot they did t'ye, after our firs' little dance?" he asks, tossing his head back to rid himself of his bangs - lips pulled back in a grin. "Make sure they got t'whole truth? *Suggested* ye put it out of yer mind?"

<Hadiya> Ludicrous, the little mouse-sheep backing the much larger predator. Ludicrous, until one notices the careful way she moves, the slightly high-choked grasp on the rebar she holds, the way her elbows shift closer to her dainty body when she swings the unweildy club, feigning less reach than it truly gives her. "Oh, warm meals in plenty, no doubt. Embrace Unity, citizen, I am sure that even crimes such as yours can be absolved once you turn your talents towards Unification." Her grin tightens, lips drawn back to bare blunt herbivore teeth in a near snarl. She enjoys the fight, the chase, no question of that. "I don't need much but the speaksera, and that to make sure I don't miss details. I'm loyal, I am. And this time I know about your damnable tricks." She advances slowly, well aware that she's working Biske into a corner. "But you were saying something about your god, yes? Or some other twisted dream." She hefts the knurled old metal, letting the tip dance back and forth crossing a line that links her gaze to his own. "It's time to wake up and join reality."

<%Biske> The hybrid's grin falters, disappears; his face seeming to age all at once, setting into lines of grim pain. His voice, when it emerges, is thrust through grit teeth; hoarse and quiet. "Few people here are awake, Dreamer," he grates. "We live in a reality you cannot *begin* to comprehend." One of the squeaking welder-bots found themselves suddenly snatched up by a powerful hand, able to only utter a squeal as it was hurled towards Hadiya - it's tiny repulsor-legs wriggling uselessly.

<Hadiya> "Three and a half billion dead in a night, old man." The sheer mass of the steel bar prevents much in the way of quick, fancy moves but Hadiya is shifting balance even as she sees Biske's arm whip around...The brilliant dot of the welding arc described an unsubtle trajectory and left a red after-image when she blinked. Her knees flex slightly and her hands whip up, twirling the bar about its center of mass rather than flexing from the grip. The rebar shifts to sixte' just in time to glance the squealing bot, deflecting it over her shoulder as she drops with a sweeping riposte aimed at Biske's ankle. The unbalanced mass of the rod makes it a slower strike than she might have hoped, and no doubt the recovery will be a contest as well. "The temperature is dropping, outside. There are no options now, no alternatives. There is only the fire of Unity, and the fuel to feed it." Her smile is forced as she whips the bar around. "We are the Ministry. We are reality."

<%Biske> The apedog pulls his foot back, but not entirely - both artms shooting out ot brace himself against the supports, he swings himself upwards. The iron rod smacks into the palm of Biske's foot, the hybrid uttering a pained, strangled scream that died in his throat - the other foot catching the rod moments later in a firm, iron grasp. "*Thieves*," he utters, a half moan of pain with chuckles of amusement - his eyes almost glowing in the night, sparked with emotion. "All ye can *do* is steal wot don' belong t'ye, talk about 'ow *magnificent* y'are!" The hybrid's mouth curls into a sneer. "Ye're Beasts. Nothin' more."

<Hadiya> Hadiya catches her tongue between her teeth even as Biske catches the heavy steel bar. Resolve, that. Could easily have cracked a bone or two in his foot. Too easy to forget, this fellow is dangerous, and she isn't armored today. "Steal?" She forces an amused tone into her coughy rasp. "This is about the survival of civilization, fool." She twists the bar experimentally to see if she can break free of Biske's grip. "Everyone builds the future with what they take from the past." She braces a palm beneath the contested bar and heaves upward, trying to overbalance the other hybrid. "All the past alternatives have failed. Cooperation is the only hope." She grins, speaking through teeth clenched in effort. "Cooperate, things will go much better for you."

<%Biske> It seemed a stalemate, this - or, as long as Biske could keep going on without the use of his feet. He tightens his fingers as Hadiya shakes and prods, his own teeth clearly heard as they grit together. "Never," he gasps, voice filled with pain. "... never *again*." With that he gives a sharp tug of the bar, and unexpectedly releases it - using the momentum to swing himself up onto the next floor, joints and bones screaming from the effort. "Leave me be!" he screams in anguish, his back to the wall, all four limbs gripping the bars behind him as well as they're able.

<Hadiya> The mouse-sheep blanches as Biske tricks her into helping him lever up to the next floor. "Can't do that, citizen." She snarls, ears flatting again at his scream. "Can't let you and your kind go around destroying trains and playing at rebellion." She gives the heavy bar another swing, gauging its weight. "There's only so much left of the world, now. If we're going to stop the downward slide you scum have left us in, we need it all. Working. Together." She turns against the swing, whipping the heavy bar around and leaning her body against its mass, arms extended so the knurl-patterned rod counterbalances her...Throwing it like an olympic hammer towards where Biske clings.

<%Biske> This would hurt. Biske was running out of ideas, words, energy. That bar was flung towards him, and it was a last-ditch effort that he flung himself froward, his hands barely snagging onto the ceiling of the floor. His shoulders wrenched painfully, the apedog letting out a shriek of pain - a grasping foot snatching one of the welder-robots in mid-air. Biske thrust it at Hadiya as he swung back around, merciless and desperate.

<Hadiya> Throw, and skip, and turn, and lunge. Hadiya knew where she'd have gone from Biske's position if she were a gangly-armed climber. It was just a matter of being there first. The right place, the right time, and hopefully while he was still off-balance with the weight of that heavy metal bar. There's a death's head grin on her muzzle as she slams towards him, ready to drive her elbow into his hip and follow that up with a punch that would make anything of either gender unhappy. Her timing is perfect, but she hadn't taken the little trundling welder into consideration, even given Biske's earlier toss. Blink she does, but not before the welding arc fills her field of view. Safeties trip in the little device, the insanely hot plasma dispersing just before the still-hot carbon leads hammer into her muzzle. She tries to duck and spin away, using the rebound of her thrust at his hip, but the damage is already done, a sensation like hot sand in her clenched eyelids. She wills them open, but it's still dark. No time for that. She's trained to fight blind before. She's fought THIS bastard traitor blind before. But she has lost her bearings in the cluttered wrack of the skeletal building. The foot she lashes out with misses Biske by half a meter, and instead hammers sole-first into a girder, and in the wake of that jarring impact, when she tries to roll away from where she imagines her opponent to be, a moment too late she feels the edge beneath her shoulder...Then empty air as she falls. How far down was it?

<%Biske> Far enough. The little welder-bot goes flying, much to its dismay, and Biske lets *go* - his hands stretching, desperate, for Hadiya's falling body. As if everything happened in slow-motion, she barely slipped through his fingers - the apedog coming to a sudden, painful stop as his stomach hit the girder below him. "No!" the hybrid screams - and even though every nerve in his body is alive and screaming protest, the apedog is climbing, dropping - down, down, as fast as he could, his frozen breath exploding into the air with each pained exhalation, his mind racing.

<Hadiya> Now that apparent concern would have startled the hell out of the small Minister, if she were more aware of it. As it is, she's still sorting Biske's shout from wind-noise in her over-sized mousie ears when the back of her head hits concrete. She convulses momentarily, arching to the outcry of misfiring synapses even before her feet have hit the ground, then crumples limply. Both of Hadiya's are eyes open but unseeing, with one pupil dilated down to a pinprick in a disk of gold. The only movement by the time Biske reaches her is the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. The mouse-sheep's breathing is shallow and irregular, but she is breathing. A thin trickle of crimson begins to freeze on the cement behind her ear.

<%Biske> A slither down a freezing pole, and Biske is there - dropping to hands and knees. But once there, he is *paralyzed*, uncertain of what to do, what to say. His hands hover over the mousesheep's chest, the look on his face indescribable; a mixture between utter horror and shock that any battlefield veteran might remember. "... wake up," he whispers hoarsely, lunging for the woman's collar - lifting her, *shaking*, as mismatched eyes filled with tears. "Wake up, dammit!"

<Hadiya> The sound of half-frozen bloody slurry peeling off fur and ice is another thing any battlefield veteran might remember. Head wounds, they do bleed rather a lot. In this cold, Hadiya is likely not to be bleeding for long. Her head lolls limply, and if there's a sound as she exhales, it's a loose, unconscious moan, vocal cords relaxing and certainly no satisfactory answer to Biske's exhortations. She's clearly unconscious, clearly breathing, and clearly injured. Her breathing remains rough and raspy, though if that's something new or a result of whatever injury gave her the voice of a sick crow is questionable. It's not deep, and it's not steady, but it doesn't sound as if each breath must be fought for and each breath might be the last.

<%Biske> There was something wrong, of course; but the smell of blood - the sight of it on the pure snow - drove Biske into a frantic flurry of action. The hybrid released the mousesheep, his hands immediately digging through her pockets. Various knick-a-bricks finding their way to his own pockets. The gunblade, oddly, he leaves; securing it before he pulls the woman to his chest, gingerly. Then he's up, and moving as fast as his injured foot will allow - towards the familiar, hulking form of Jonas' apartment tower.

<Hadiya> Hadiya is as limp as a ragdoll; like a string-cut puppet as her pockets are turned out and her golden earring with its myriad tiny molded bone links tugged out of its hole. There's a fair assortment of credit chips in her pockets, some lint, some rather nice lip-gloss (it might not be Biske's color) and an old flattened mass of lead and brass...A rifle slug of some sort, deformed by impact stresses. A luck charm? She sags loosely in the other's arms as he carries her. No tension in her muscles, just dead weight... Or not quite dead, since she does keep breathing; the heavy warm fog of her exhalations ruffling the mane beneath Biske's chin. No sign of the scuffle remains but a small splash of crimson ice and a few bent black feathers trapped as it hardens.

<%Biske> "... 'Old on." It was barely heard, that plea, as Biske trudged throught he snow - every limb afire and aching. He could have left her, but he did not. "... 'e'll know wot t'do."

================================== Jonas' Clinic ==================================

<Jonas`Klennan> A gentle song, in Arabi, though accented with another - more obscure - pseudo-middle eastern language. The voice is soft, somewhat effeminate, but still male... just the male of a small man, a man somewhat mousey, perhaps, by that tone of voice. "<Hush child, hush child, send your troubles away, hush child, hush child, mother Sera sings today, hush child, hush child, sit behind the market stall, hush child, hush child, listen to mother's call...>" An old lullabye, breathed out halfway gently, whilst the light scrape of damp, warm cotton wool against cuts and grazes on a certain mousesheep's face could be felt. Warm, soft sheets, the faint flickering hum of neon lamps, the septic sting of a hospital by way of scent. And sung, almost without knowing, an old nursery song from a culture far, far away, a place long gone.

<Hadiya> Changing states of consciousness come slowly to some, more quickly to others. With Hadiya, it's practically binary. One moment, she is as placid as clay beneath Jonas' careful ministrations; then there's just the flicker of an ear in response to the old nursery song. No more warning than that before the small woman tenses. 'Tense' is the correct word for it, her entire body suddenly rigid and wary...Poised, despite being on her back. Only her head and hand move at first, the one tilting away from the cleansing swab, the other reaching up with a quick gesture, a reflexive grab that's halted only centimeters away from the doctor's wrist. Ears swivel and she inhales deeply, wincing as even that slight movement of her head provokes dangerous nausea. She wrestles with that, briefly, then begins taking stock of her surroundings. Dark. Absolutely dark. Her eyes feel like someone has ground hot glass into them. To Jonas, they are horizontal-pupiled gold disks adrift on scarlet...So bloodshot that most of the white, isn't. The hybrid swallows twice, deeply, fighting down the nausea before opening her muzzle to rasp. "Hospital?" It's the voice of a broken crow, definitely the product of some throat trauma, though her neck doesn't display any scars. "Sorry. Still can't see." The tone is matter-of-fact, not panicked. It seems to assume quite the degree of trust that she's being taken care of; the voice of someone who has awakened on the operating table before to hear bad news, perhaps.

<Jonas`Klennan> "Mmm." The mouse withdrew slightly, his clothes rustling audibly. "Yes, you're being taken care of. You probably won't for a few days, maybe a little longer... be blurry, at any rate. Looks like arc-eye." His voice was warm, conversational, as he moved a little closer, padding down ever so lightly at the old burns, moving slowly, gently. "My name's Jonas Klennan. Doctor Klennan, if you prefer. You seem to have taken a fall, miss?"

<Hadiya> Hadiya lowers her head but doesn't really relax. "No replacements, then." That, at least, sounds satisfied. Her grin is more rictus baring of teeth than humor. "A fall." Memory of that pitch into darkness, the traitor shouting something at her. She starts a rather nasty chuckle, then stops immediately at the pain of shifting her head. "Yes. Head first." Another swallow. Oh, that's not a good memory. "Like to say he threw me, but no. I slipped up. Lucky I didn't hurt anything vital, hm doctor?" Her hands shift gingerly down to clasp across her tummy. Still dressed. "I wasn't out long, I guess? When do I have to give my report?"

<Jonas`Klennan> A brief clatter of jewellery, as a wristwatch is turned about so that it might be consulted. "Ah, well it's been about three hours since you were found. Ah, a report, I imagine, can wait until you're somewhat recovered." Another rustle of cloth, as Jonas edged closer again, gently - but firmly - reaching to Hadiya's head, warm fingers briefly padding down to her neck, firm prods, feeling the musculature. "Firstly, what should I call you? And, ah. Do forgive me, but I'm terribly curious about your voice. It gives you such a..." He seemed at a loss for words.

<Hadiya> Lack of vision doesn't prevent Hadiya from eye-rolling, although the sensation on her damaged eyes does make her close them immediately after. "Guess I'm talking too clearly for the usual head injury drill of 'Do you remember your name?'" She sighs raspily. "Hadiya bint-'Aliyya bint-'Layla al-Zarqa', Lieutenant. Number 67234-dash-017-dash-91214, and it's either the evening of the 8th or the morning of the 9th depending on how long I was out." She raises a hand halfway towards her throat, then lowers it again. "That's old, Doctor. Back before I signed up. Swallowed a really big chunk of bone." Must have been quite big, the lower range of her voice sounds as if her vocal chords were shredded and left to heal up without surgical repair.

<Jonas`Klennan> "Bone?" The slightly shocked tone may have been only at that, most likely was. A pause, a long pause. "Ahh. Your PDA is broken, I think, Lieutenant, I couldn't find out who to call." A brief moment. "So, uh, if there is anyone at... home, you might need to get into contact with, I can bring you a phone? If you want to be transferred to your usual medical facility, I'm sure that can be done, though, I assure you I can give you the care you need right here." He backed away a moment, adding, "Bone. Well I was going to say it gave your voice an exotic air, but, I suppose the fact of the matter isn't quite so romantic as that." One could hear the smile in his voice, the need for assurance. "Early morning of the ninth, by the way. Just about two o clock."

<Hadiya> "Bone." She sighs and winces again before going on in that soft, somewhat croaky rasp. "I'm guessing you mostly work on civilians, Doctor. If you don't want to know more about it, that's fine, and you probably shouldn't ask about the other old scars, either." Her smile is apologetic. "We live in difficult times." She waves her hand side to side rather than shaking her head again. "No need to bother with a phone. My mother would only worry and my father wouldn't talk to me in any case." Her grin is less forced this time. "I could use the downtime. Someone else can answer the calls for a while."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Scars hide a lot of things," he agreed quietly. "Some of which are better kept hidden," he offered, with a little mock cheerfulness. "Of course sometimes they need to be brought out and seen, but..." A slight shake of the head, which brought the rustling of fur as he padded away a moment. A brief sloshing of water, and the rattle of pillboxes. "But that's neither here nor there." A brief pause. "Are you sure?... well, if you're sure." Padding back, the gentle click of a glass being set down. "Some pain killers, ah. Do you need some help sitting up? It'll just be for a moment. And you're right, I do work with civilians. I'm used to first names. Would that be alright, ah, Hadiya? Or would you prefer Lieutenant, or Comrade?"

<Hadiya> "Some things are better off hidden. Better off to let what's in the shadows, stay in the shadows, providing it doesn't threaten the light, right?" The mouse-sheep wrings her hands, stretching aching knuckles and stripping off one of her gloves to knead at her palm with the thumb of the other hand. "Hadiya is fine. Comrade is fine. Lieutenant is fine." She frowns. "Uhm, Doctor, moving my head... It makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. If I try to sit up I'm pretty sure I will."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Mhmm." He didn't sound concerned, though he did pause, moving closer, long enough to gently pad at Hadiya's forehead. "Alright. you're... very lucid, there's very little swelling, so." He paused a long moment, asking, "if you keep still do you still feel nauseous? Your horns seem to have acted as a, well, crash helmet, you see. Should be the inner ears, shock through the skull, you see, and if that's all it is this will help. Otherwise you'll need a little more help, more than just this to help calm your digestive system. Do you think you can sip?" he asked, gently taking one of those tense hands whilst picking up the glass, guiding the hand to a long, curved straw at the glass's rim, holding the glass steady for her.

<Hadiya> The hybrid raises a hand to her forehead, smoothing the fur there and rubbing back until she finds the busted stump of one horn. She sighs. "Hooray for spares." She rasps wryly. "If I hold still I just feel a little dizzy. It's when I sit up that I feel like the bus is about to screw itself into the ground from five klicks up." She tilts her head up gingerly and the insides of her ears pale a bit. "I think I can sip from here if that'll work." A ghastly, rueful chuckle escapes her throat. "I should have just had you call my father. Except he'd say he didn't know anyone by that name." She fiddles with the straw, manages to sip a little of the water. "Alright."

<Jonas`Klennan> Not quite water. A slightly strawberry tang to it, and he set the glass aside for a moment. "Just the inner ears, then. Give it a minute to work through, won't stop the dizziness but it should help your stomach quieten a little." A slight rustle of fabric as the diminutive doctor moved away a moment, then back, vague warmth of a nearby body as he leaned close, inspecting her face carefully. "Mmm. while you're awake, some eye drops won't go amiss." He turned away, the patter of a cabinet and drawers. "Your father? Ah. Family difficulty? My father knew how to hold a feud too. Thankfully he never had one against me, but." A slight shake of the head, no more than a rustle of fur. "But, ah. Perhaps it's something of their generation."

<Hadiya> Gingerly getting her elbows under her, Hadiya begins to prop herself up. She holds steady for a bit, then keeping her head tilted back slightly, sits up. "My father was busy justifying his suffering to himself. As if suffering enough would somehow entitle him to something." Her rasp is deeply bitter. Clearly the feud isn't one-sided. "He wanted the respect and entitlement of being a purebred, so of course he was born a hybrid. He spent all his money to purchase a shop outside the Walls to serve food to purebreds and get acceptance that way, so of course all of his customers were hybrids. He wanted a son, so of course he had a daughter." She sighs. "And the only thing more worthless than a daughter is a whore, so of course she had to get raped."

<Jonas`Klennan> The flex of his ears was likely inaudible, tension quiet but for the slight hiss of an indrawn breath. "A difficult thing. To suffer, is, ah. Difficult to bear. Easy to blame yourself, or others, and, easier to hold onto that than... see things as they are. Easier to manage, when there's something to blame." A brief working of his throat, and he moved close then, lightly moving to fold pills into Hadiya's hand, holding up the glass again so she can sip a little more. "The, ah, guwwa'jidar, then? My, uh. My family fled from one, actually. A couple of years after Einheit's founding. I don't remember much. It affected my grandparents badly, though."

<Hadiya> The small Minister rolls the pills between finger and thumb, not that their shape would mean much to her. "The Guwwa'jidar. The big one just South of the al-Zahfari downtown." Just stalling a moment before downing them carefully. "There's always someone to blame, Doctor. Right or wrong, there's always someone." She takes another sip of the strawberry-flavored liquid. "Some days I almost think I ought to thank him. If he hadn't spent so much time blaming everyone else for what he wasn't, then I don't imagine I'd be so fussy about taking responsibility for what I do." The mouse-sheep weaves a little unsteadily, but remains sitting up. "So your family fled here too?"

<Jonas`Klennan> "Yes." A brief licking of lips before he continued, offering, "My father was one of the first, ah. Cousins trailed after. Now him, he blamed. Well. Not a lack of unity, exactly. Too early on for that, really. A lack of comradeship, say. Live and let live wasn't allowed to happen, anywhere, which is why he chipped in and brought the family here. We joined a larger group of refugees about halfway, ah." A pause for thought. "But he did blame," he added, quietly. "I don't think blame helps, Hadiya. Or should help. If something is worth being responsible for... well. It's worth being responsible for. There shouldn't be any, ah. Qualification of it. It is, or it isn't." A sigh. "Blame... blame is just a way of prolonging the hurt. It doesn't fix anything. Do you blame him? Your father, I mean."

<Hadiya> Hadiya turns her head to follow Jonas' voice, broad ears twitching slightly. "It hasn't been a live and let-live world for a long time. If it ever was. We didn't come here until I was sixteen." She looks thoughtful. "Blame doesn't matter. People are responsible for what they do, whether they admit it, or not. My headshrinker insists that various things that give me nightmares aren't my fault; he doesn't understand when I tell him they are my responsibility. He can't separate the two ideas." She shrugs. "He's a civilian. No offense. It's different when you're commissioned. You are responsible for everything you do, and everything everyone under you does." She tilts her head slightly, 'looking' past Jonas. "I don't think I blame my father. I think I simply hate the fact that he continues to lie to himself and to the people around him. That he refuses to take responsibility for his actions. He insists that his life is my fault...And then denies that I exist."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Headshrinker?" A pause. "Nightmares. well there are drugs for that, but. Personally, I think if a person's having nightmares, well... As a doctor, I have my share. Of nightmares and responsibility both. And I'll tell you this," he said softly. "It's no sin to have nightmares. No great crime to hurt. To suffer a little, well. That's how the world is sometimes. Your psychologist be damned." He returned, then, moving to cradle Hadiya's head ever so lightly. "Eye drops," he offered. "Don't blink if it hurts, just let it flow off if that's easiest. I'll pad any excess away in a moment." And then, bit by bit, he'd apply the eye drops, adding, "you know, you can't take responsibility for your father's actions. And he can't make you. You do know that, don't you?"

<Hadiya> Hadiya tilts her head back slowly, determined to hold her eyes open while the drops are applied. "Everyone has nightmares. I think I would be more worried about myself if I did not have them." She chuckles softly. "As for 'sin', it's something I have to class with 'blame' and 'fault'. Fictions. I may have to take responsibility for him if he keeps drawing comparisons to the Outerclass. The Midcity is not Guwwa'jidar. He's dangerously close to sounding like a sympathizer for suggesting that it is. There was no easy process to become acceptable, to become a member of society. There was no protection. No power, no light...Nowhere near as much food. No way to opt out. If my father could have raised his hand and said 'I want to be a purebred herbivore, thanks!' he would have done so. There was no such option."

<Jonas`Klennan> "The eye of the beholder," he offered reasonably, after a few long moments. Gently, gently the excess fluid was padded away, the cradling hand removed. "There are those who live decent lives, there are those who are in poverty, there are those somewhere inbetween... no, it's not a walled ghetto by any means. But life can be difficult. It can be difficult anywhere, though." A pillow drawn nearer, and settled beneath her head gently. "And it can be good anywhere, too." A long pause. "So you speak to your father enough to argue over the outer class?"

<Hadiya> "Life is what we make of it." It's not an argument to what Jonas has to say. It might even considered an agreement, from her viewpoint. "Everyone has a choice. It's arguable that they should not be given that choice. Too much of the world and its resources have been wasted on struggle and competition. But everyone has a choice. Work together, or die alone and apart." She sighs quietly. "How the people down below can believe they're helping matters with their squabbling, I don't know. Sometimes I see things that look like the beginnings of community, but invariably it's at someone else's expense. It's racial aggression, not cooperation." She sighs and shifts, making herself more comfortable on the pillow with a wince at the broad bruise on the back of her skull. "Thanks. And no, my mother still talks to him. She told me."

<Jonas`Klennan> "I've met a few, from, down below." He misinterpreted things, apparently, thinking of a certain Kossak. "Easy to be frightened of them, from my point of view. But I suppose everyone does what they can to survive, doesn't always think of everyone else... ah well." A few padding steps away. "Mothers do what they can to keep the family together, of course. One of the great burdens of motherhood, isn't it?" He returned, folded cloth in hand. "Ah. You should at least hurt a little less now. Would you like me to help you get this gown on, or rest awhile first? It can wait 'til morning."

<Hadiya> "I believe I can get a gown on, yes." Body-shyness is something you lose early in a fire team. "Individual survival isn't enough anymore. We need everyone working together to fight back the cold. The only reason they live down there is the potential they represent." Off comes the coat and the tunic. To a doctor's eye, her upper body is a battlemap. Old bullet puckers here, the more bizarre configurations of keloid left by shrapnel. It's a testament to medical technology that she's really alive at all. "It would not be nearly as difficult to force them into Unity as they believe, but eager and imaginative is better than eager and neurally reprogrammed into dullness." The gown pulled around her with some difficulty, she begins taking off her glove boots. "They survive in the forlorn hope that they will tire of living out their constant fighting for territory and decide to contribute to something greater than they can ever aspire to...If they continue to think only of their own survival." She sighs. "You've heard all this before, I must sound tiresome. I just have to fix it firmly in my mind, some days, out there on the sharp end. Thank you for taking the time and listening to me, Doctor. I'm sure you have other patients who need more attention than I do." She chuckles softly. "Glad I don't need new eyes, though. I'm rather fond of these." Indeed, they probably would look quite nice if it weren't for that bloodshot scarlet surround.

<Jonas`Klennan> A long moment of silence, whilst she went on. He helped, where he could, averted his eyes where he could, even so chilled a little by the damage covering Hadiya's body. "Not at all. I think a friendly ear can do a lot of good. Saying the words... helps one think about things." He folded her clothes, placing them carefully on a chair. Once she was lain down again, he patted her hand ever so lightly. "I imagine that when they're healed they're quite pretty, so, I'm glad you're keeping them as well. Now then. I'll be by again in a few hours, but in the meanwhile, see if you can get some sleep," he offered, slipping to the door, so as to let Hadiya rest.

<Hadiya> Awareness percolates slowly without light or alarms or PDAs going off. Not normal. Nor the sheets, nor the bed which is a bit too stiff, nor the pillows. Disinfectant, hospital smell. Not home. And yes, not able to see. There's that brief panicked moment of wonder no matter how many injuries one has had (and no matter how many times one has discovered that yes, the doctors do know their jobs); will this go away? Particularly nasty when it comes to eyes. The small hybrid can't be too vain...she's used goods by her own cultural definition, and scarred badly...But her eyes are one of the few things she finds attractive in the mirror in the mornings. Everything else gets masked by aggression: a man's job, a man's attitude, gruffness and forwardness to make up for all the things she can never be. She shifts slowly, ears twitching with a wince as she finds her neck somewhat more tender than she recalled. The steady throbbing pain from the back of her skull seems to take up this new discomfort and merge with it, synergy strengthening both aches. The mouse-sheep sits up, feels around the side of the bed. There's usually a call-button or some such, unless she's in one of those irritating ones that do all the monitoring and summon people when you don't want them.

<Jonas`Klennan> Call button? No. This... hospital, didn't have them. What there was happened to be the gentle flick of paper nearby, though across the relatively small room. There was a light pause at the sounds of Hadiya's own movement, and a gentle voice. A familiar, almost effeminate, mousey sort of voice. "Hadiya? It's Doctor Klennan. I hope you don't mind, I, I didn't think it was right to leave you alone. I brought over some paperwork."

<Hadiya> Well. That's unexpected. Not unpleasant, but unexpected. She sits up gingerly. No nausea, at least. "Hello, Doctor." A frown curls her slim lips, the twisting scar on her right cheek making it more ferocious than it might otherwise be. "Not in any danger, I hope? I don't feel..." Hm. Well. "I don't feel so awful. If I could only see...Well, I've run operations with more aches and pains than this." A hand comes up to rub at her eyes, hesitates just before contact. That's probably not the best idea. "You did say I'd be able to see in a few days, right?" There's a slight worried catch in her tone beginning the last word.

<Jonas`Klennan> "You should be starting to already." His voice was kind, and there was perhaps the vaguest hint of movement. A metallic squeaking, as if twisting a lamp, and then, light, from a nearby point. Indistinguishable as anything but a bright blur that'd fill her vision if she'd opened her eyes, almost blinding in it's intensity, eye-wateringly powerful... but the squeaking again, and the blur of light twisted away, became little more than a hot blob somewhere nearby. Faded into the background unless she moved her head, yellowy-white colours... a strange thing. As good as being blind, ultimately. "No danger at all, it's just that I know it's difficult to be blind at first. Having a friend nearby. Oh, and, that was my little desk lamp. It's about twenty watts, energy saver," he chuckled.

<Hadiya> Hadiya blinks and turns her head away, startled by the intensity of the light and the reddening afterimages on her scorched retina. "Yeah. Okay. That hurt, but not as bad as being bopped in the muzzle with a welding-bot." She blinks her watery eyes repeatedly. "So it will just slowly get better. No permanent damage?" Her legs fold under the bedcovers and she settles into a surprisingly flexible lotus, then brings her semi-murine tail around to idly smooth and ruffle the small black-feathered tuft at its tip. Probably a nervous habit but who can say?

<Jonas`Klennan> "If there is it won't affect the quality of your vision. Small defects around the sides of your cornea, the lens. With the proper diagnostic tools you can find the scars, tiny things. Too small to disturb vision, unless you repeatedly, ah... get bopped in the muzzle by welding bots." The faint sound of paper being placed down, a lifting, a vague hint of motion as a short fur stepped nearer the bed, paused... maybe sat on something. Maybe. Difficult to even find a direction. "And if you're worried about those, a better equipped clinic can remove them with a form of laser treatment. You use a kind of dye, that builds up in the scars, get a laser attuned to the specific shade, and the body absorbs what's left. Takes a few days." His voice was warm, reassuring. "A lot of the blurring right now is from deformation of the eye, swelling. That'll be gone by, ah. Tomorrow afternoon. The eye heals surprisingly quickly with this."

<Hadiya> The recommendation draws a thin grin from the hybrid. "Well, even if that's not phrased as your professional advice on treatment, Doctor, I already had decided to cut down as much as possible on being beaten up with arc welders." She scratches up along her temples with her fingertips, digs her thumbs in under the stumps of her horns and finds the small toggles there. "It shouldn't be too terribly difficult to avoid, I think, even in my line of work." With a pair of audible clicks she removes the damaged prosthetics and sighs quietly, beginning to massage around the broad, dark polymer ovals implanted in her skull. "So for being blinded in a fight I got off fairly lucky?"

<Jonas`Klennan> "Yes." The answer is quick, easily agreed to. "As arc-eye goes your case is rather bad, but even so. If you start feeling..." the vaguest hint of movement. A gesture? "... ah. Itchy. Let me know. I could also patch your eyes, which would reduce the need to medicate frequently, but that's up to you." A brief pause. "I, ah. I was wondering. About your family. Did you know much about your cousins, grandparents?"

<Hadiya> "What will make them heal faster?" Her ears drift back slightly but linger within the artificial constraints of where her horns would normally be. She seems to think about it a bit before answering, and her tone is a bit less jibing, a bit more contemplative. "I remember, when I was very, very small...My mother's parents lived with us. It was more crowded then but I didn't think about it much. Probably because I was small then." Oh, and she's just a giant now, isn't she? "Grandfather was much nicer than my father. He wasn't so worried all the time, and he didn't yell, and he was around more. Grandmama used to sing." Elbows settle on her knees and she cups her chin in her hands. "They went away. I was...Six? Maybe?" Her face clouds as she considers possibilities. 'Went away.' such a kind euphemism to tell a child. But perhaps it was that innocent. Perhaps. "They aren't in Einheit. Mother would have found them by now if they were."

<Jonas`Klennan> His head bowed, not that it could be seen. "Sing. I don't suppose your grandmother's where some of your mouse blood comes from, is it? Maybe some of my family and some of yours knew each other. My, uh. Mine, my grandmother, used to sing as well. A.. religious thing. From back when people were," his voice caught. "so... so foolish as to try and make things up to feel safe." He tried it then, just a few notes. A kind of wordless sound, voice without word, without tone. "Something... something like that." A long pause. "I had some recordings, but I, uh. Lost them. Years ago." A brief pause. "You don't hear people sing very much anymore. Recorded music is so cheap. But I suppose out in the ghettos and all... Well. When we came to Einheit my family barely had anything, but when we still lived in cities and such, we apparently weren't that well off. And, ah. The city where my family was, before I was born. There would always be a song in our home, or the home of one of the cousins. Sung gently, so the colonials wouldn't hear. Sometimes just a gentle hum, sometimes one person would take it up when the next stopped, sometimes we'd all sing together, but, always. There was a little music, somewhere." A pause. "I wish more families had made it here whole." A brief shake of the head. "Ah. healing... well. Difficult to speed up. Patching them would be best," he added quickly.

<Hadiya> Hadiya nods slowly. "My mother's mother's name was Layla al-Zarqa...Blue-eyed Layla. And yes, she was mostly mouse by her looks. I think I get my black fur mostly from her. My mother was mostly white-furred with a few small black patches. The avian and sheep, that's from my father." She sighs softly. "The things people did to feel safe. Isolationist, so many of them. Expanded their differences instead of reducing them. Religion...Religion started wars even between people of the same species. Terrible how many people killed each other down through the centuries just because they didn't agree on who was most favored by what deity." She continues kneading around the bases of her horns. "Not that most needed even that much excuse. Let's do whatever works best, Doctor, I didn't get where I am by putting my personal comfort first." Though it is comfortable to sit in a bed, even a strange bed, and talk to someone who sounds like they give a damn rather than just 'You'll be right in no time and back on duty! Now shut up and get some rest!'. "Were you...Were you singing when I first woke up? Maybe I was dreaming."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Ahh..." A pause, a shift of movement, followed by the faint shifting of drawers, searching for equipment. A bag was opened. "Ah..." Lightly accented Arabi, "<Hush child, hush child?>" A pause. An old lullabye. "Something like that? Sometimes, sometimes I sing to myself when I work." He sounds embarrassed, truly embarrassed. "Maybe it helps calm the patient, but, uhm. Mostly, it just helps fill the quiet."

<Hadiya> The music draws a slight smile. "That was you." Her ears flicker, following your movements, she doesn't seem to really be trying to track with her eyes, not after that first painful light. "I remembered the tune, I think, but I don't remember my grandmother singing well enough to know if the words were the same." She remains seated with her chin cupped in one hand, though the other has returned to fidgeting with the tuft of dark feathers at her tailtip. "I don't know much about my father's family. They were purebreds and they disowned him, I think, though I don't remember him ever explicitly talking about it. He spent the rest of his life in al-Zahfar trying to 'be a purebred'. Now he's here and being a hybrid, but I think if they'd had a way to make him a purebred back in al-Zahfar, he would have taken it. Acceptance as a 'real person' was what he wanted." She drops her tailtip and waves that hand, flat, palm down, dismissive. "Anyway...My mother's family had been in al-Zahfar a long time, I think, at least four generations in Guwwa'jidar. Where were your people before you came to the city?"

<Jonas`Klennan> "My people," he repeated softly. "Hmm. Well a lot of us fled from colony to colony, trying to find acceptance. My immediate family had lived in Ur Q`raam. Some Arabi. A lot of neo-mid east influence. We'd been there years. I must have been..." A long pause. "Young. Very young. The colonials were religious, they. They were very much of the sort that, as you said earlier, expanded the differences. We... we fed them. We, gave those unfortunates of their sort who found themselves int he walls kindness and hospitality... I remember one family dinner, we were all seated... it was in a large habitation block, so our front room's shutter was opened to the hall, and the beggars, my father." He hesitated. "My father was handing food, from our table, to them. The whole family had come, dozens of cousins, some friends, maybe... thirty of us. So we had a lot of food, and we gave it out freely, and... then the colonials came, and..." A frown. It was hard for him to go on. "My father had the scar till the day he died. I never knew... kindness could be a crime." A longer pause, a sloshing of liquids, soft padding feet returning towards the bed. "But you know, you don't... take away friendship, once it's given. Never. Or what worth would the first friendship be? So. There were more scars." A slight sound of the working of a small throat. "I think it might be my first memory," he added, half-heartedly chuckling.

<Hadiya> Hadiya's lips twist into a sad little moue. "One of the few good things about religions were that they tended to encourage generosity to those who were beneath you. Of course, at the same time, many of them made quite sure that others were 'beneath you'." She sighs. "Unfortunately, in the real world, kindness can be criminally fatal. You're a doctor. You don't get to be a doctor without wanting to heal people, any more than you get to be a soldier without being willing to die for something. So when you're presented with a murderer, or a slaver, or a rapist who needs healing, there's a moral dilemma there. Healing that person is a crime. Yes, they may be in pain, and their agony draws sympathy, but if you heal their wounds they may go out and cause far more harm to others." She tilts her head back slightly as Jonas approaches the bed, unseeing eyes aimed more ceiling-ward. "Even with those who are not violent criminals, one cannot support them, cannot encourage them...Cannot fail to discourage them. It's the hardest thing to explain to someone who has been sheltered from purebred racism and the violence inherent in it...We could provide for them. We could feed them all, ensure good power and shelter for them all. We have the ability. But to do so would doom everyone." She sighs quietly. "Those resources must be focussed towards the survival of civilization. They cannot be spared to those who will only use them to cement their own power at the expense of others...Because while there are certainly non-racist, non-criminal purebreds out there, it's the ones who are prone to violence and oppression who gather power to themselves." Her ears twitch back, flatten at a memory. "I will do anything I can to help someone who commits themselves wholly and unselfishly to Unity, but anyone doing less than that is threatening the survival of civilized life on this planet, and I cannot condone it."

<Jonas`Klennan> A faint intake of breath. Gentle hands, coming up to Hadiya's face. Gentle moisture, cold, but it'd warm quickly against her eyes. The first of the patches. Slight, water-soluble gumming. Enough to hold firm against fur, not enough to pull at it or tangle it, easy to wash out. "All I can say is, you're right about the moral dilemma. As a doctor I have a duty to heal. I won't make more choices than that, myself, because... I don't think I really should. It wouldn't be appropriate." Light, gentle pressure. "Before Einheit there was an oath, devised by philosophers long before the night. Doctors would take it. It was to heal everyone, to do no harm. I've tried to live by that, because I don't have the right to judge. Maybe you do," he offered with a slight chuckle, "but I don't." A pause. "I worked in the medical facility at a prison in the nightlands for awhile," he offered. "Maybe that colours my thinking a little. I just heal, and try to do good by people. A-and... my enemies, if I had any. I'd hope they know I'd rather be their friend. I'll leave protecting society to those who can shoulder that burden, and, I'll shoulder mine."

<Hadiya> The moue becomes a distinct frown as Hadiya listens to this. It's the hazard of speaking one's mind, as a Minister. One may find the slightest disagreement or misunderstanding something that could be interpreted as a threat to unity. She pauses a bit, clearly thinking, and when she does speak her tone is quite notably more chill. "Doctor, I won't pretend to understand the strains that being a healer may impose on one, and we all do things at various times in our lives that we later find were done against our better judgment. I sympathize with you not wanting to have to exercise that judgment, but the world is our responsibility, and the body of people more important than any single individual, no matter how great their apparent pain or need. In the state the world is in, I do not have the right to suspend judgment." She sighs. "There's a...a medical word, I don't remember it, but our unit medic tried to explain the concept to me once, one of my squadmates had picked up some horrible parasites while we were cut off in the rubble at Caernarfon. You feed the person what amounts to poison, and you have to carefully measure the dose so that the poison kills the parasites but not the person you're trying to save." She moistens her lips. "It was horrible. Very painful. Minsk was really sick and the stuff just made it worse for him. But if we'd stopped and just tried to make him comfortable, he likely would have died. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

<Jonas`Klennan> He nodded, shifting a fresh pad onto the other eye. "There's a lot of similar things you do with common chemotherapy. You have to be precise with that sort of thing." A gentle sigh. "This, Hadiya, is why you are a minister and I am a doctor. Why... you and yours steward the world, and I steward the ill. I'm weak." Damp pads, he added, "I wish the world fit my ideals, that... in the heart of every man, behind every ugly face, there would be a good person but..." A sad breath, almost solid in its misery. "If that were the case, well. The world would be a happy place. I'll... I'll keep hoping. Maybe you can give me that happy place one day, and for now, I'll be content to want for it. And do what little I can. I don't disagree with you at all, I just. I just wish it were different. I wish a sun still shined, I wish my family was together." Light strokes to smooth the pads over her eyes. "Is it wrong to wish?"

<Hadiya> The Minister (for in that brief moment Hadiya was very conscious of herself as such) relaxes slightly. "I was fairly sure we were just miscommunicating." She smiles wryly. "You saw some of my older scars; I'm certainly not about to suggest that the world doesn't need doctors. It's a shame that it has been reduced to a state where it needs Ministers. Too many excesses, for too long." She tries not to squirm at the cold dampness against her eyes, and manages with the exception of her ears which are briefly fluttery as she acclimates herself to the feeling of the pads. "For some reason, I'm a lot more comfortable not being able to see when I know there is something blocking my eyes. Silly, I'm sure." A hand strays up to almost touch one of the bandages, then drops back to her lap to fidget with the tip of her tail. "As for the sun...There are still enough people, and enough resources, that if we can achieve Unity I am quite sure we can turn back the cold. Given that level of cooperation, that level of determination, I believe it is only a matter of time until we build a new sun. But for now, the fire and the light we need begins in the heart and the mind." She deflates a little. "Until that day dawns, we do what we must, we do all that we can. Individuals suffer. Families suffer. They always have, of course, but this time it's for a better purpose than 'because herbivores are meant to rule, and carnivores can never be trusted.' It's terrible, but it's necessary, and I can tell we've both been affected by that." She shakes her head slowly. Good, still not dizzy. "It's not wrong to want things to be better, Doctor. It's wrong not to help make them better when you can."

<Jonas`Klennan> "I heal the inured," he offered, "I help bring children into the world." A slight sigh. "I do what I can, I suppose. I think that's what, personally, I feel is important. To carry on. Just. Doing what little good I can." A long moment. "Even if I myself do not know what I can do. There's no great orders from on high for me, you understand. Heal this man and you have done good for the world, take out this man's failing heart, make him whole. By that you do good..." A sigh. "When I was a student, studying medicine, ahh. They told me that I would never make a difference in the world. It'd be beyond me." He wrung his hands. "So I don't know for sure if I do anything good for people, for... unity. All I can do is help take away ills, make suffering a little easier to bear. Like you. I mean. I _hope_ I'm helping you." A somewhat nervous pause. "That's really all I want to do, Hadiya. Tonight I want to be able to get a little sleep, and think to myself. There. I helped to heal Hadiya today. No one will take that away from me, and I contributed." A brief pause. "And it's not silly. Not at all. You just... want to know why you can't see. And now there's a reason you understand in your gut for it." Maybe there was a smile there, too.

<Hadiya> Hadiya's ears twitch. "Helping the sick sounds a lot easier than deciding who lives and who dies. But here I've been making it harder for you, I suppose. I'm sorry...I have to make those choices all the time, you know? There are edicts from higher up about how to deal with criminals who have committed specific crimes. That is never a problem. The problem is knowing that whoever goes into a given ambush first is probably going to die, and knowing that you have to assign one of your men to that job." She grins without humor. "I cheat, whenever I can get away with it. One of the old adages about leadership is that you can't expect anyone to follow you if you won't lead." Her ears perk up slightly. "So whenever I can manage it, I'm the one who goes in first. Because it's a lot easier for me to deal with the idea of getting killed than with ordering someone else to their death." She nods and starts to wriggle down beneath the covers again. "You've helped plenty. I really do appreciate that you talk with me...It makes it much easier to deal with not being able to see. I usually read when I'm laid up and injured, you know? I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time."

<Jonas`Klennan> "I'm glad I'm not a soldier," was the sudden, heartfelt reply a few moments in coming. Harsh, breathy words. Deep inside. A shifting of clothing as he stood, a gentle-handed pat on Hadiya's arm or the back of her hand. "What is my time for, if not to give it to people? I do have other patients though. Ah. There's a radio here," he offered quickly, a brief padding of feet, a click of plastic. He brought it nearby, the slight scrape of furniture. "There's a small table here you can set it on. It's not a very good radio, I'm afraid. Has a dial rather than an interface... which I suppose is perhaps better for you. Here," he offered, lightly holding the set beside her hand, so that she knew where it was, could take it if she likes.

<Hadiya> Hadiya runs her fingers over the radio. Hm. Well, that's what you get when you end up in a non-Ministry medical section. Things may not be quite so polished and tip-top technology-wise...At least the things that don't count as medical. But the personal touch is wonderful. Maybe she can request assignment as a preference, at least for things that don't involve Ministry-sensitive information kicking around in her head. She's so not looking forward to her debriefing whenever they get around to it. "Thank you, Doctor. I think I can remember where it is. Right now, I feel like napping, though, so I'll save the music for another time." Her smile is warmer. "I'd hate to monopolize your time, you clearly care about doing right by your patients, and it shows." She chuckles. "Even to someone who can't see." She settles herself gingerly on the pillow after carefully resting the stumps of the detached prosthetic horns on the small table by the radio.

<Jonas`Klennan> "It's kind of you to say so." A brief pause by the door. "Thank you," he breathed, before slipping out.

<Jonas`Klennan> All things move on. That is the nature of the world, of time. All things begin, and, all things end. A melancholy thought, but one that was espoused by the gentle tones of a gentle voice humming. It was well within the morning hours, such as they were. Somewhere in the blind dark, nearby, a doorlatch clicked. Plates clattered. Soft-voiced Jonas asked, "Good morning?" his voice gentle enough not to wake a sleeper, unless they were particularly light ones.

<Hadiya> The mousesheep is something of a light sleeper, or so the slight, startled shift of sheets seems to imply. A moment's hesitation to remind herself of where she is...She is almost getting used to waking up in this place, it seems. The disinfectant smell is hardly the most pleasant thing to awaken to, but then for years it was not that unusual for her to awaken to far worse smells and places. "Ah...Are the lights still off?" Unspoken doubt...Or am I still blind?

<Jonas`Klennan> "I'll just put a small lamp is on. And your eyes are patched." The clatter of dishes nearby, as something like breakfast is placed down. "But it's quite a ways along now, I think it's time to remove the patches... you'll probably be very light sensitive, perhaps a little blurred, so once you've had a couple of hours to adjust, have your breakfast, we can see how your eyes feel." The voice is warm, pleased with anticipation of... someone's healing, perhaps. "By the end of today, I imagine you'll be absolutely fine, healthy and happy." One could almost hear his smile.

<Hadiya> "Right." She knew about the patches, but she wasn't sure about the lights. Delicate nostrils flare as breakfast scents try to cut through the more ammoniac surrounds. The small hybrid shifts around a bit, disentangling herself from the sheets (She is a restless, albeit quiet sleeper.) and sitting up carefully. A hand moves toward her eyes, then shifts course at the last moment, ruffling the fur lightly around the base of one of her detached horns. "It's morning, then?" She chuckles raspily. "I'll be happier when I can see and I've got my reports in."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Not very early in the morning," the good doctor answered. There was the padding of small feet, a light slosh of moisture. "I think you can afford to wait a day. Of course that's what I think, that everyone should just..." A long pause, an amused sigh. "Rest their weary feet and leave work well enough alone so they can heal." A wry snort of amusement. "Not that I, nor anyone I know, nor you I think, would ever actually follow such advice." His voice came closer. "I've just used a water-soluble gel to hold the pads in place, which I'll wash away now, along with any residue, alright?"

<Hadiya> Hadiya shakes her head slowly. "It's that commission again, Doctor. If there's even the slightest non-zero chance that my report might contain something that might save someone else's life, or lead to the elimination of a public threat, and I don't have it in, well..." She sighs. "Really, I should have recorded it earlier." Small hands settle in her lap, fingers twisting and kneading at each other. She has rather non-mouselike retractible claws, but they're tiny. "Go right ahead." That dying-crow chuckle escapes her again. "I do appreciate you asking."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Anything I can do to make you more comfortable," he replied settling himself to sit on the bed beside her. Then came his gentle hands, then came warm moisture, washing at her face, and, perhaps, then, came the first inklings of light, confused between the careful cleaning of her eyes with soft cloth, rubbing lightly at the fur to remove the gel, the first of the patches being slowly, carefully peeled away. And then came the gentle doctor's face, perhaps blurry if she opened her first freed eye, but unmistakable, with its own sc ars. The tips of the ears, gnawed away by frostbite, the fur at the throat, growing jagged and wretched from tortures long past. The naked tail, swatting about behind him, flat brown fur. The room around them was less a ward, and more one of the old mass-built prefab apartments from the days hybrids lived in the midcity. Everything in one, kitchenette, living room, bedroom. The walls were fresh painted, but that couldn't hide the damp soaked through the cieling in the corner. Old shelves were neatly closed, the old kitchenette counter had a few sparse medical supplies on it in large plastic boxes. The bed she was in, some old cot thrown out of a better equipped hospital or hostel years and years before, its rust carefully removed and painted over, but threatening to re-emerge in places on the frame. The chairs nearby, with all her possessions and clothing neatly folded and stacked upon them, well. They too were old, sturdy, but old, and carefully cleaned. The tile floor was also clean. It was all oh so clean, and oh so decayed, from the fresh plaster over the knocks in the wall to the new light fitting in the cieling, currently switched off. The only light in the windowless room was from a reading lamp, absurdly ornate, something from someone's home - not an institution. A plate of oatmeal steamed quietly on a side-table, along with a battered old radio. And the scarred, rat-faced little inbred 'doctor' smiled, and lifted the damp cloth to begin cleansing Hadiya's other eye, to remove the patch there.

<Hadiya> The golden eye squints, Hadiya's horizontal pupil remaining hugely expanded from the darkness beneath the bandage and the dimness of the room. That strained, monocular gaze flickers around, and a tension draws into the small hybrid through it. Is it really some artifact of the armor that makes the Whites seem so cold? Or is it some other artifact of who and what they are? Cold and stillness seem to almost pour into the small hybrid, filling that eye until its bright, sunny tones are somehow as bitter as the frost outside. The golden gaze re-settles on Jonas' face, and the pupil contracts fractionally. There is no other indication. There is no other warning. The explosion of movement that follows is controlled, for all its suddenness...Fingers lock around the wrist of Jonas' swabbing hand; lifting it straight up and twisting. The strength of that grip is all out of proportion to the hybrid's size, unlikely despite Jonas' brief glimpse of a fairly muscular survivor's body. Bones grate against each other, soft tissue bruised immediately by the savagery with which Hadiya's thumb digs into Jonas' delicate wrist. "Do not move. Do not scream." The cold, ragged crow's-voice hisses. "Nod if you understand."

<Jonas`Klennan> "Hrngh!" It isn't pain, precisely. Not at first. No, it's a kind of heat that dissolves, along with the shock, into a kind of wretched agony that twisted Jonas up like a crumpled piece of paper, his own small body twisting in pain, his free han dslpping down on the bed and his hsoulders twisting instinctively to try and keep from producing yet more pain. His breath came in spasmodic gulps. Gentle eyes swept back for a moment, tear-blurred, trying to find her face. Betrayal is not sweet. But there's no resentment there, as he squeezes his eyes shut and nods. Just hollow pain, kept hollow only through force of will. A will that was cracking, by the whimpered wail, the pained grimace.

<Hadiya> That iron grip relaxes fractionally...Certainly not enough to permit escape, but enough to permit blood-flow again. "I will ask. You will answer. Quietly." Hadiya's other hand lifts, tears loose the remaining eyepatch with a ripping, sucking sound that leaves a ring of dried adhesive gel around her eye. "Falsehood will be punished immediately." The newly bared left eye blinks several times, watering slightly even in the room's dim light...It's as if it were entirely disconnected from the chain of events set in motion when the right eye was revealed. "Where am I and how long...Truthfully!...have I been here?"

<Jonas`Klennan> "B-baker heights," were the words wheezed out. "I-.." It was not a word that followed. It was not a breath either. It was a sonorous whimper, accompanied by the pitter-patter of tears falling free of fur to drip onto the sheets and tiles. It is being hurt by one you took into your home, more or less, and cared for as one of your own. "It's between Two hundred and twelfth avenue and Two-eleventh. On Lammekar street." His head hung limp, and he did not meet her eyes again, staring down at the floor. Squeezing his eyes shut every so often, small chest heaving in and out in search of breath. "Th-three... more. Very late evening four days ago. You were outside, in the corridors. _Please,_ I thought you'd collapsed on the way in, I thought you understood..." his voice is high pitched. Not too loud. But panicky. As anyone would be.

<Hadiya> Three or four days? Oh, that's bad. The expression, or rather the lack thereof, on Hadiya's face doesn't reflect it. The pressure relaxes very slightly, positive reinforcement, but there is still no possibility of that fragile hand pulling free. "Who else are you working with? What did you hope to achieve by keeping me here?" The slightest hesitation enters the gravel-wine rasp of the Minister's voice. "What is it you thought I 'understood'?"

<Jonas`Klennan> A slight straightening. He sagged again, though, pulling down another panicked breath. "there isn't anyone... the family down the hall help me sometimes. Hope to... Frey's _sake_. He twisted around, enough to glance up at her, the fur in his face damp. His voice is stronger a moment. "Y-you were hurt. Burned and bleeding. I hoped to achieve what any-" His breath shook, and he looked away. "W-what any decent sentient would, to heal you. Frey's sake. You were so lucid when you woke." A wheezing breath. His eyes squeezed shut. Some had fought hard for what they could see. Others... apparently wanted to stop seeing. "I thought you knew where you were."

<Hadiya> Golden eyes study Jonas silently for a long moment as Hadiya turns over her memories of consciousness. "But you did not call the Ministry." She releases Jonas' bruised wrist. "Don't move suddenly. Don't move out of my reach. Your claims will need to be verified." Though, in truth, had he ever told her she was somewhere she was not? Or had she told herself that? But it could still be mind-games; memory-tricks. The mouse-sheep hybrid exhales slowly and unfolds from the bed with a much more deadly, threatening poise than she exhibited a few days before, injured, trying to get into a hospital gown and, yes, far more trusting. "Do you have a working phone?"

<Jonas`Klennan> "Why should I?" He withdrew his arm quickly, cradling it close. His eyes squeezed shut, he added, with an almost bitter, gallows humor laugh, "I didn't know kindness was a crime to be reported." A wince, then, and a whimpering breath. He didn't look up. He hunched in on himself, bit by bit. "It's in the other room. There are a few patients in the corridor, waiting for the clinic to open."

<Hadiya> The Minister rounds on the smaller man, glaring. "Yes. We spoke about that. I think I believe you. I do think you truly are that well-meaningly naive." The faintest hint of a head-shake. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?" She steps closer. "Your kindness...A Minister has been missing for three days." The mouse-sheep begins pulling her clothing back on, but those dire, golden eyes never leave Jonas. "In three days, how many doors do you think have been kicked in? How many raids have been made, to try to find me? I'm a Minister. You should have reported this. Immediately."

<Jonas`Klennan> He sagged. Those frost-gnawed ears twitched, flattened back. The scar-dishevlled fur at his throat worked slightly. The small mouse glance daway, at a wall, averting his eyes whilst she dressed. "I didn't know," he offered hesitantly, levelly. "When you woke up, you were lucid. Vividly. If I hadn't sealed your headwounds I'd have had difficulty saying you'd had one. Your PDA was broken, I was looking for family to notify - you might have had children! When you said you were a lieutenant, Hadiya, I didn't-" He stopped, then. He just stopped, eyes lcosing, suddenly tried. He lifted a hand to his face, covered it. "Do you want me to bring you the phone?"

<Hadiya> Hadiya stares at Jonas. "Hybrid vigor. Perhaps..." She shakes her head slowly. "Did you honestly not realize that I was a Minister?" The mouse-sheep holds up the PDA in question, the torch and wreath of Unity emblazoned on the extremely high-tech white ceramic armor. She thumbs the touch-sensitive pad on the side of it with an almost flippant gesture, then hesitates as it just makes a two-tone 'out of order' sound rather than projecting its standard holographic diffraction display. "Huh. Bastard must have fried it." She scowls. "Look." Hesitation and weighing a moment, then she continues on. "...Jonas. I need that phone. Right now." She drops the PDA into her coatpocket, anchors her dagger-length gunblade horizontally across the small of her back. "Show me."

<Jonas`Klennan> "They put the flame on everything now," was his beaten response. "Ministers are in armour." He drew his hand away from his face, gesturing. "They are..." He trailed off, covering his face again. He got to his feet after a moment, letting his twisted arm dangle. He watches the floor as he makes his way towards the door. He paused a long moment, before glancing up. "Isn't it silly. All that's happened is..." His breath shuddered. He shook his head. "All that's happened is a woman is far from home, and someone showed her hospitality. And now. ..." He opened the door slowly, muttering to himself, "isn't it silly."

<Jonas`Klennan> The corridor is old, worn, clean, but dirtier. Carpetting has been torn away, leaving concrete flooring. There are a few purebreds in the corridor, sitting and waiting outside a door a few doors down. Jonas hesitated, nodding towards the door, the door of a clinic. It's quiet. It's still morning.

<Hadiya> Hadiya's voice is quieter. And for the first time since the eyepatch came off, it's the softer, less ruthless voice of the woman who has been a patient for two days. "They are people. When they take their armor off." She follows him out into the hall, staying within arm's reach of him, then at his nod to the door, she jerks her chin at it. "Go on." She glances down the hall, at the waiting patients who are no doubt wondering what a hybrid...a well-dressed if somewhat disheveled hybrid at that...is doing here. "It's exactly as I told you, Doctor. 'Kindness can be criminally fatal.' Now I, I have to explain where I have been for the past few days. And you are a critical part of that explanation." Golden eyes gaze down at the shorter mouse. "Do you understand?"

<Jonas`Klennan> Walking ahead of her, slowly, those scarred ears splayed, flattened. There was a slight nod, and Jonas flexed his arm. He wiped at his face with the back of his uninjured hand, and offered a smile to the patients, unlocking his clinic's door rapidly, holding it open, standing in the way between the waiting patients and Hadiya as much as is possible. The second room is ismilar to the first, architecturally. But this is the clinic proper, with more medical material, and yet... it's also a home, as evidenced by a scant few personal possessions, the bed and curtain rail that have yet to be sectioned off from the rest of the room. And, nearer the door, a phone. Jonas waited for Hadiya to enter before closing the door on his patients with a cheery lie. "Everything's all right."

<Hadiya> The Minister rasps dryly "Wouldn't it be peachy if that were the truth." She regards the closed door without really seeing it. "There's little about the world that is 'all right' Doctor." The gloved fingers of one hand rest lightly on the phone a moment without activating it, lost in thought as she stares at it. "I'm very, very late." The mouse-sheep shakes her head, then picks up the phone and dials, stabbing four quick digits, clearly some emergency line. She listens a moment. "Hadiya bint-'Aliyya bint-'Layla al-Zarqa', Number 67234-dash-017-dash-91214." A pause. "Yes." Another pause. "Echo Tango Four." The hybrid turns to study Jonas, thoughtful. "Baker Heights, between Two Hundred Eleventh and Two Hundred Twelfth Avenue." She waits a few moments. "Yes. I will require transport to one of the Vorhang gates for a full antibody and DNA scan before entering the Toride." Ministers chew their lower lips at times, apparently. "I lost consciousness and sustained severe head injury during an off-duty arrest. I have been being treated by a purebred doctor." This is followed by about a half-dozen repetitions of "I understand." along with the occasional "Yes, Comrade." and a single "No, Comrade." She hangs up the phone and stares at it a moment, then her troubled gaze turns back to Jonas. "They are coming."

<Jonas`Klennan> Jonas had sat on the side of the examination table, eyes closed. Hands up, clutching at his chin, covering his mouth. "You know, I studied in the toride. Before." A slight nod to himself. "Doctor Rocrutio. At the second floor outreach centre. I really used to look forward to going." And that was no doubt a place that had been long closed. For fifteen years, more. A pained look. "A doctor is just a doctor." He got to his feet slowly. Gestured to the door. "Can I tell Anne that everything's closed for today? Just need to stick my head out the door."

<Hadiya> Hadiya is frowning, but it seems to have very little to do with Jonas' words. "You may. I will come with you." She continues to move in such a way as to keep Jonas within arms' reach, trailing after him. "You studied in the Toride." It's not a tone of disbelief, all things considered. Rather a tone of slight wonderment. "You had quality medical training. You want to help people. Why is it that you are not a hybrid, Jonas Kellen? You could do far more good, for far more people, with far better equipment."

<Jonas`Klennan> He came up to the door, and pulled it open briefly, leaning out. "Tom?" One of the patients. "Just, ah. Go tell Anne that everything's closed today. No. No, uhm." He held out his hand. Just, uh. Just go home." And then, the door shut. He stood, leaning against it's back. Eyes closed. "That's a very interesting question." His tail flicked lightly. "Before hybridization was in the cards, I tried to become Uniclass. I'm sure you can look it up. I don't know what it'll say, but." A long breath. "But. You know, I had everything." He glanced back, eyes damp again. "A fiancé. A beautiful child on the way. And, because I was raised differently, raised wrong, with the wrong ideas. That was why they took me to the wall, and put me in a cell, and threw me into a gulag." His voice is quite level. "Very much the same reason my family lived in a Guwwa'jidar, actually. Very much the same reason we fled. But you know I'm." A slow nod. "I'm better now.

<Jonas`Klennan> I understand what was wrong, and what was wrong with me, and, so. Here I am."

<Hadiya> The Minister's stare is, perhaps, more frankly curious than deliberately rude. Hard to say, with the roller-coaster of recent actions. She doesn't comment immediately, but seems to weigh her words with care. When she does speak, it's probably not what Jonas is expecting. "I have seen plenty of people...Hybrids, some...With far less to offer Unity." Her ears perk at the sound of a distant turbine scream, muffled by the old decaying walls. "Our ride is here, Doctor." She nods towards the door. "Precede me." She studies his eyes. "Since we may not meet again, Doctor, allow me to say you have an excellent and reassuring way with patients, and I truly did enjoy our earlier conversations." She extracts her PDA and her gunblade in its sheath, holding them both in one hand.

<Jonas`Klennan> He looked up at the ceiling, then, slowly backing from the door. He pulled his thin white coat close around his shoulders, almost hugging himself a moment. "If only..." A long breath. "If only, if only, if only. Wishful thinking." He bowed his head slightly, reached for the door. Before he opened it he glanced back. "I hope you do look me up," he said. "Maybe, maybe you can tell me a few things. Like. Like what my daughter's name is." A wavering smile, and with that, he opened the door, to step out into the hall, already clearing at the announcement of closure, and the turbine wail both.

<Hadiya> "Perhaps." Hadiya follows Jonas out to the Ministry aerodyne, nodding over his head to the leader of the armored troops who pile out of it and handing him her PDA and gunblade before rolling up her sleeve to be DNA-tested. "Comrade. There ought to be some record on the PDA of the arrest I tried to make a few days ago that got me in this fix, but it's not responding. Doesn't surprise me, the last time I ran into the bastard traitor he EMPed me. There may be relevant evidence on it that a technican could dig out." The armored glove accepts the two items and hands them to a subordinate before looking back to her. "Lieutenant Hadiya bint'Aliyya." Comes the distorted, ubiquitous voice of the Ministry. "You are absent without leave and suspended pending further investigation. You will come with us. This is the purebred?" She simply nods and steps to the side, turning and extending her wrists behind her to be cuffed by another Minister. Red-eyed, armored masks focus in on Jonas. "Present your identification. Make no sudden movements."

<Jonas`Klennan> Shivering in the cold, Jonas carefully reached to his waist, removing his wallet, whihc he opened, removing the lsim card, which the mouse then held out to the far taller troop. His tail had gone white with cold, his ears, a savage wind-swept red.

<Hadiya> The card is swiped quickly down the side of a PDA, then DNA testing prongs are held without warning to Jonas' ear. "Jonas Klennan. You are under arrest for failing to report a threat to Unity, possible charges of kidnapping to follow pending investigation." It's a joke, of course. How the mild little Doctor could be accused of holding someone like Hadiya against her will goes beyond reason. But while the universe may appreciate the irony, the rough, freezing armored hands of the Ministry lose no time in roughly cuffing Jonas and bundling him into the aerodyne as well.