Round 9

Silra descends the stairs cautiously, vial clutched ready. The space below is gloomy—emergency lighting barely cuts through the shadows. Two figures huddle against the far wall: a middle-aged woman with tear-streaked face and a younger girl who looks terrified. Jeane stands nearby, wings partially extended in what might be seen as intimidating or protective posture depending on interpretation. The air smells of dust and fear. Silra's voice cuts through the tension immediately. Right. We need to handle this downstairs situation before it gets any louder—and before those two wake up fully upstairs with all that noise. She gestures sharply toward the ceiling with her free hand, teal eyes flashing with barely contained irritation. Wake Abby? Are you serious? That'll just make things worse—she'll freak out, start screaming, and then we've got an actual crisis on our hands instead of a manageable situation. She chews another bite of bread, the sound echoing too loud in the tense silence. Those two downstairs are already more than enough loose ends. We need to handle them first before we add another variable into this mess.

As if on cue, a loud thud sounds from below, followed by muffled voices and what might be... moaning? Fuck me sideways—I thought the basement was supposed to be soundproofed! Silra descends further, her expression grim. Fine. I'll handle it downstairs. You go check on them upstairs—they need to stay unconscious until we sort this out. She doesn't wait for agreement before heading down.

Jeane watches Silra disappear into the gloom below, then turns back toward the sanctuary where Hera and Abby still lie sleeping. This is… unsatisfactory. The city offers no true sustenance for one of my nature—mere mortal distractions and petty amusements are insufficient to slake this particular thirst. She pauses at the church entrance, wings slightly ruffled from the walk back. T...

Silra's voice echoes up from below, sharp and commanding: Listen carefully, both of you, because I'm only going to say this once. There's a moment of tense silence, then more muffled voices—one high-pitched and frightened, another lower and pleading. The sounds die down gradually as she establishes control.