bakerstreet | YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

COVERED IN BLOOD MEME

So you're a bit of a mess. Or you're stumbling upon a mess. What happened? There's blood everywhere, what the hell? Is it your blood, animal blood, the blood of someone you murdered? Hell, maybe you ran out of tampons. Anyway, no matter how it got there, you're (or someone you know is) covered in blood. Can it be explained away? If not, is someone going to prison? The hospital? Going to die of blood loss? Get in trouble for playing catch with the blood bags? Man, we don't know. The point is you have a mess to clean up. Or roll around in gleefully, you nasty fucks.

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Getting the blood off her skin makes all this so much more bearable. Now she's standing in a public restroom with nothing on, wet from head to toe and she finally breaks now, but not with tears. It's laughter that bubbles out of her chest when Zaira hands her a toilet roll to dry herself on.

"This is ridiculous," she says, wiping her eyes because she's laughing so hard.

But the laughter also relaxes her to some extend, making her loosen her shoulders instinctively. She puts the roll aside and without thinking about it, reaches up to wrap her arms around Zaira's shoulders and hugs her tightly.

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

Something like that.

[Briefly, Rokuta is just... angry at the suggestion. Any violence is bad--- Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his mane and scratches his scalp.]

Ain't gonna make me sick unless I already am, but enough of it leaves a residue all its own. [And affects them negatively, if not in the same way blood does.] It's unpleasant, that's all. I'm not gonna be hurting anyone either way.

[Can't, more like, but he's not willing to spell that out.]

The laughter catches her off guard. If she'd been walking, she'd have tripped on her way over; since she's standing, she freezes, eyes widening as she stares at the queen. The laughing queen who is completely naked and dripping wet--and who looks absolutely beautiful, despite it all.

It's the sort of thought that comes unbidden, and one she harshly shoves aside. Laughter normally isn't concerning. Considering what's just happened, Zaira is concerned. It's just like breaking. Shattering to pieces because the stress of it all is too overwhelming.

"You're--" Slim, pale arms loop around her neck, tugging her forward into a very, very wet hug. Droplets of water are transferred from bare flesh to her top, sticking them together. Her eyes were wide before, but they're comically wide now. Touching. What does she do with touching? She should put her hands somewhere, that's what people tend to like. But where do her hands go when there's a naked body plastered to her front.

"Cleaned up on your own," she quietly says, voice not betraying her disquiet. Eventually, her hands will settle on Charlotte's waist, carefully, very carefully. And then a hand, callused and scarred, will smooth up the woman's spine to give her back an awkward pat. "You've lived a number of years without me helping you."

Charlotte snorts out another bark of laughter at Zaira's protests. She pulls back looks down at the other woman with her brows furrowing into an apologetic smile. "Well, at least I wouldn't have gotten you wet too." She reaches over to smooth one hand down Zaira's front, as if wiping the fabric would get it dry out.

"Sorry," she offers finally a little sheepishly.

Then she goes on to twist water out of her hair and pats herself down a little bit with the toilet paper. Mostly dry. That's enough. She's trying not to think about the corpse on the floor or what happened. She's trying so hard to push that out of her mind to be honest. Just get everything done. Get dressed. Leave this toilet. Everything is fine.

Getting unnecessarily wet? Not a fan. At least not unless there's a reason for it. This makes her nearly recoil, when the coolness of it seeps through her shirt and presses to her chest and belly. Then Charlotte's body heat, combined with hers, chases the sensation away. It does nothing for the goosebumps which've appeared, the second she'd gotten that hug.

She shakes her head. "It's just water."

While the queen busies herself with a patdown, Zaira reaches for the t-shirt and rolls it up. The next time the redhead faces her, she'll loop it around her neck, then let it hang like some fabric-like necklace. It's the closest she gets to dressing someone.

"Would you like me to braid it?" she asks against better judgment, gesturing to the queen's hair. She doesn't do this. Doesn't touch people unnecessarily, but she thinks Charlotte could use a little more time to regain herself.

And get some pants.

Castiel waited him out, letting him run through this little ritual before speaking. He knew full well that an interruption before he finished would never convince him of its reality; that came from bitter personal experience.

So when Adam opened his eyes and looked around, Castiel waited a beat before saying anything. "I've told you: this is real. You are not in the Cage."

He felt dazed, he decided. Like someone had hit him. That was the only really explanation for his current confusion. That and too many years spent being a chew toy for two angels. He wrapped his arms around his knees and sighed. "For how long?"

She'll pull her arms through the sleeves and rolls the fabric down over her chest and stomach. It's comfortably soft and smells of Zaira. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling strange standing there with her chest covered but not her sex and thighs.

"Thank you, that might be the best, actually. I will look quite different in any case but at least it would look professional, I think."

She turns around and offers her hair to Zaira. She did offer, didn't she? Why would Charlotte refuse her help at this point?

Grey decides to make an entrance now. He throws a big scarf to Zaira with a brief "this is the best I could find this quickly." Then he moves to pull the body away from the door and takes the bidet shower in the nearest stall, turning the tap on full blast when he points the shower at the symbols he painted on the walls.

T-shirt on, and a round, perky ass. She's going to hell is what's happening here. A woman--a queen she'd been hired to protect, no less--was just attacked on her watch, and she's checking out the woman's ass. Horrible.

She's dropping her leather jacket over Charlotte's shoulder's next, then turning to catch the scarf Grey tosses before it flutters to the ground. Stupid man. How is a scrap of fabric supposed to suffice? That could be something she pulls off, but a queen? Queens aren't meant to walk around in scraps of fabric.

With a sigh, Zaira locks the stall door again, and begins fishing out dampened red hair from under her jacket and combing her fingers through it. Despite being cool to the touch, Charlotte's hair is surprisingly smooth. Thick, as well.

"Scarf or pants, signora?"

Cas snorted and shook his head. "I couldn't put you back in if I tried."

"Great." He said, snorting. "Glad to hear."

Charlotte glances back when Grey makes an appearance and her eyes land on the scarf. She looks at it for a moment, then tilts her head while she struggles her arms through the sleeves of the jacket.

"I can make the scarf work," she says with a small smile, directing a long wide eyed look at Zaira. "You've given me more than enough of your own clothes, darling."

She fishes the scar from her before those fingers start combing her hair and she wraps the fabric around her hips, turning it so that the knot she ties is on her hip instead of on her stomach or her back. She definitely doesn't want to be flashing her rear or her pubes to the crowd that no doubt has gathered to watch.

Zaira's fingers feel nice in her hair and she calms a little bit more when her hair is plated.

"We need to get my clothes and bag them. Find another place to trash them." She doesn't want anyone to trifle through these trashcans and find her clothes and take them home.

He did think that was reassuring. "Do you have any memory of leaving the Cage?"

He closed his eyes tightly, thinking for a moment. "I remember blood and then being cold."

Cas looked at him askance before focusing on the road again. "Nothing else?" That's not exactly helpful.

"Alright." Thank the universe. She'd really prefer to not run around with nothing but panties and a scarf to protect her ass. It's not the nakedness which bothers her, but the fact that she can't hold as many weapons.

It's with a curious eye that she glances down while Charlotte ties the scarf around her hips. It fits her snugly, but her jacket covers some of the queen's rump.

"Try to keep the jacket in one piece," she says, while her fingers drag through long, red, locks. They'd quick and efficient, looping chunk after chunk, gathering some of the lower pieces, until she's got the makings of a french braid. "It's a favorite."

She has no ties, so once the braiding is done, she wraps Charlotte's hair into a neat bun at the base of her neck, tugging out a pin from her own hair to try and hold it in place.

"Finished." It's the best they'll do. Hopefully the pin holds. "We should burn them. We'll worry about that after we get you out."

A plastic bag is provided by Grey who doesn't say anything before he turns the body around and leaves. Charlotte glances after him and then looks at Zaira over her shoulder. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"

Never mind that, she's getting her sea legs under her and this whole thing has the possibility to turn into a disaster if they don't make the right moves.

But first things first. She turns and takes Zaira's hand in hers, smiling warmly. "Thank you. I will take the best care of your jacket." She's grateful to say the least. "We'll figure out what to do with the clothes later. You're right. Right now we should get moving. I don't think we should take that plane. Not after what we've learned here."

She steps over the pile of bloody clothes and starts to gather them up carefully. She doesn't want to have any of it on her now. "Can you hold the bag open?"

[It's not Black's cockpit. It's smaller and sleeker designed, Shiro would even swear it felt different on some basic intrinsic level. But its still a lion's cockpit and the way it rises up inside his chest is like that first gulp of air after fighting drowning for too long. He shuts his eyes, the impact of it emotionally almost too much to absorb all at once.

But he feels Keith set him down and even if the motion, no matter how gentle, jars what's left of his arm, he still manages a tight smile, or as close to a smile as he can come, lips tight, eyes still closed.]

I'm all right.

[It comes out thick and a little strained but he means every single syllable of it.

He's all right.

He's finally all right.

His eyes open and he braces himself with his legs, back against the warm metal of Red's interior and he looks at the stars out the view screen and his friend and teammate back where he belong and this time, when he smiles, its weak, but its real and purely his.]

Let's go home.

A shoulder shrug. "Most people don't warrant the effort."

She's about to turn away and tend to the rest of their remaining tasks when, suddenly, there's fingers wrapping around her hand. Her eyes lift to meet Charlotte's, an unspoken question in her gaze. An itchiness skitters along her skin. The big cat inside her shifts restlessly, and for once, she agrees with it.

Nobody's held her hand in gratitude before.

She doesn't know what to do with that. Any of it. So, gently, she tugs her hand away after mumbling something incoherent.

"Definitely not the plane." The bag crinkles under her ministrations as she tugs it open. A chunk of hair falls from its hold and into her eyes as she thoughtfully regards the bloodied clothes. "We should find a more private means of travel for you. I don't think the trains will be a safe choice, either."

A memory flickers: cold, hard eyes; screaming; bodies ramming against a glass door...

"What does being royal offer in terms of travel?"

"I suppose there are cars," she suggests while stuffing those clothes into the bag. She goes to wash her hands after and pats them down with some paper towels.

She's still bare feet but it doesn't seem to bother her. When she straightens up, there's something shifting in her demeanour. She holds her chin up a little higher, her eyes calmer and mouth smiling just a little bit.

"Perhaps we should disappear. Find something less obvious and try the same route people do every day in their lives. Just travel incognito. A few of my guards and you two, we should be able to travel with much less trouble. Perhaps we'll take a car to Edinburgh and try from there."

"No dresses," she says, stepping up to tuck a flyaway behind the queen's ear. Then she catches herself and quickly steps back, turning to the sink and washing her hands off as well. It's easy to keep busy with the monotonous tasks. Tie the bag. Lift it up and throw it over her shoulder. Glance back at Charlotte. "Have you ever used a gun before?"

The shift in demeanor is a wonder to witness. It's one of those things she imagines is rare--to see someone so vulnerable and then don their armor.

"I think we should head back your place. Handle the clothing. Let things settle, since there will be people obviously concerned. Then we travel during the night." She pauses, digging into her back pocket to pull out an old cellular. "Limit the guards so we don't call attention to ourselves." Flipping it open, she angles the camera at the wall which Grey drew on and takes a photo, then pockets her phone and turns her full focus back on Charlotte.

"Numbers will either help or hurt us. Are you ready?"

No, you won't, but I wanted to make sure in case they find us again.

They shouldn't, mind, but... [He shrugs and gets up.] I'm going to make myself something to eat. Are you hungry, and do you have any dietary restrictions?

[Keith managed a weak smile in return. He could feel his own energy reserves at their limit, and, while they did run pretty deep for a kid his age (lasting as long as he had during the Blade of Marmora Trials had been quite the feat), he was definitely on the edge of being done. He nodded.]

Yeah.

[They were both going to need the pods when they got back, and it was likely going to be a task to figure what to do about Shiro's arm, but they'd work it out. Keith had to believe in that. For now, though, they had to get out of here. This wasn't the time to go for the solid win. They had succeeded in the most important part of the mission, so it was time to run.

He made his way to the seat, and contacted the others, telling Allura they were going to need a wormhole fast. The team pushed back the captors as much as they could, getting some distance, and then made the jump back to the Castle as soon as the wormhole was opened.

Welcome home, Shiro.]

[Blinking, he nods after a moment. It's a curious thing, to have someone ask enough about that, even just as a precaution. Maybe especially then.]

I... uh. [Squinting and hesitating, Rokuta finally shrugs.] If it ain't too much trouble. Just fruit would be fine, I just can't eat any meat.

"Yes, I'm ready." She smiles at the hair brushing but this time there's a patient, ever-enduring smile that doesn't have anything personal on it. She's already the queen and her life is not her own.

"I like your plan. Let's go with it," she decides and then aims for the door, stepping out of it with bare feet and head held high.

There's a crowd outside. People have gathered. She smiles at them and waves, then starts walking back towards the exit and her cars, the security surrounds her again while a ew of them is left behind to clean up with Grey.

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YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?

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