Dreamers Enter Here |Party People!|

[Jett Tsar]

Calm nature? Riiiiight. Jett was on the verge of pissing his pants. His legs shook from the nerves running wild in his body. Luckily, for once, he was able to continue his bravado, hanging on to courageous sanity only because he knew it was expected of him. Also because his numbness brought on a fear that made him stupid. His thoughts were disoriented. He felt robotic with his movements. He wanted to cry.

Jett's hand absently stroked Bex's hair. His chest which her head rest against was firm. His eyes were fixed on the tent wall as if he were thinking, and his expression conveyed serenity. No wonder she felt she could rely on him. He appeared utterly at ease.

"Our healer should be on his way. Hopefully he'll arrive soon."

Demetrio's strong voice reminded Jett where he was. He jumped, startled, and quickly apologized to Bex, praying he hadn't hurt her by moving. He was still new to the Dreamers and therefore ignorant to the fact that they had a personal healer. It was a relief, however, to know that help was on the way. It was hard for him to keep hanging on, and he wasn't even the one that was shot.

Jett's eyes fluttered to Liliana, who he didn't know. He tried to smile encouragingly at her. His lips trembled.

[Demetrio]

Demetrio did his best to make Liliana as comfortable as possible before he stood and made his way to the entrance of the tent. He didn't go outside but only moved one of the flaps to get a look at some of the trails leading into the open area where the tent had been put up. David would be coming from one of them and the guards had likely left using one of them. He hoped that the group would not come across the lone man.

As if he had perfectly timed the occasion on purpose, David Killjoy emerged from behind a small rise in the landscape. Demetrio's impatience was calmed at the sight of the man. The man himself took his time as was his usual manner. He walked with a pronounced limp to his gait, a left over from some past injury. His dark brown hair was generously flecked with gray and was tightly tied back in a low pony tail that ended at his shoulder blades. David's was one whose face had been handsome in youth, but the years had not been kind to him.

Killjoy was an aging man in his late forties. His face was forever stuck with a stern expression, no matter how much joy he happened to feel, with his already thin lips pressed together to form an even thinner line. Frown lines had etched themselves into his brow, interrupted only by a small scar that ran three inches down the right side of his forehead and into his eyebrow. His green eyes were the color of old money and they could deliver one of the most piercing gazes Demetrio had ever had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of.

Demetrio went out to meet this man that gave off the impression that he could see right through a person with ease. David didn't often show himself at such gatherings but he had agreed to come because of Demetrio's insistence. The older man preferred his own company to that of others and went to great lengths to make sure nobody bothered him. If he was asked why he wouldn't come to this or that function his excuse would be that he needed to "give the old injury a chance to heal," referring to his leg. Considering the injury had happened in Killjoy's youth, the leg would be as healed as it could get. Usually, those seeking his company would be polite enough not to persist against his wishes and he wouldn't have to tell them to stick their invitation where the sun didn't shine.

The Dreamer leader had pestered the older man until he had agreed to make a short appearance, much to Demetrio's satisfaction. David may not have made the best dancing partner, but he did have a good tale or two when one could get him to actually string more than a few words together. He may also have been the Dreamer's closest thing to a hermit but he took his role in the group as a healer seriously. This would be what Demetrio relied on when talking to the other man.

"You grow more insane every time I see you," Killjoy grumbled as he noticed Demetrio approaching him with no shirt. He was silent for a moment as his eyes drifted over the blood that still clung to his greeter's hands. "Or has something happened?"

Demetrio glanced down bemusedly at his hands. He hadn't realized before then that some of Liliana's blood had gotten onto him when he had pressed his torn shirt to her wounds; he had been so focused on the situation at hand but he still should have expected it. He hurriedly wiped the blood off on his pants, not caring that they may have just been ruined. Clothing could be replaced, people that he should have protected could not.

"Guards," was the only word he gave in response as he jerked his head in the direction of the tent. David took the gesture as his cue and quickened his pace toward the tent with an angered glint in his eye - his hatred of the guards ran deep.

Demetrio followed his friend into the tent to find him already on his way toward Bex. He wasn't surprised to see this. David's thoughts on such matters would be to take care of the higher-ups in the faction before anyone else. Because, in the healer's mind, who would the rest of the pack turn to if all the leaders were dead?