The Forgotten Zodiac

Quinn sluggishly got out of the van. Sylas followed, picking up Timothy and closing the doors behind him. Werr waited for them, not looking happy. "She thought I was coming alone. And yes, Michael, it's safe now. She's a sniper. And she doesn't like uninvited guests. Sometimes, being submissive is a good route to take, especially when the other route involves being shot in the head. You okay, Quinn?" He asked, frowning a bit.

Quinn nodded tiredly, yawning a bit. "I'll be okay..."

Michael blinked in surprise and mild horror. Once they were close enough to the house, he put Tyler down and his skin shimmered slightly. No bullet would get through that heat shield. If anything, it might burn him, but burns were hardly as bad, to him, as a bullet.

Tyler bounced happily over to Sylas and grabbed his pants. "I don't like it here, Sylas. I think it's boring. What do you think about it?"

Werr just rolled his eyes. "Hurry up, will you? It's not like she's going to be shooting at you, Michael."

"I think it seems dangerous..." Sylas frowned. "And I do not think Quinn is really okay. She smells funny."

"It's not dangerous, Sylas, this is the safest place to be. Malya is protective of what's hers, especially guests. So long as they're respectful. Sylas, you should shift back now, to prevent her from freaking out when you shift into your normal self."

"Okay," Sylas nodded. That made a bit of sense. He shifted back to his usual form, and was now able to hold Timothy in one arm and Tyler in the other, so he picked up Tyler as well.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "That, Werr, sounds worse than anything else. If enterring this lady's house is going to make her think of us as slaves of some sort, there is no way I'm enterring." He shrugged and laughed slightly. "Will she expect me to keep a civil tongue in my head? Because I'm not always good at that."

"Not slaves, guests. She's not going to make you do housework." Werr sighed. "She has a worse attitude than you do. Relax. Just...don't take off your socks, don't yell unless there's something wrong, and don't sit at the table without asking if you can sit. You're fine for the couches, but not at the table. I think it's startig to rain, we should seriously get inside."

He didn't even notice that Quinn had collapsed halfway between them and the car.

Also, there was a car speeding their way.

Fun.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Werr, you're wacky Russian people. I don't know what your ideas of 'guests' are." He reached the door and turned around to wait for the others and noticed Quinn's collapse. "Quinn?" He ran back toward her, quickly reaching her side and kneeling down next to her. "Quinn? What's wrong?"

Quinn just groaned, her entire body shaking horribly. She looked up at Michael with pain and tears in her eyes. "Guys, get out of the road!" Werr warned; the car was coming fast.

"I-it hurts..." Quinn whimpered. "I can't move..."

Michael looked from Quinn to the car and realized he wouldn't be able to get her out in time. He closed his eyes and held one hand out, reaching for the engine heat and then moving it to the tires, melting them and, hopefully, stopping the car. That done, he tried to pick Quinn up again, hoping he could get her out of the road in time.

The car screeched (or rather, slopped) to a halt, but not soon enough. Werr threw up a rock wall between Michael and the car, stopping it entirely and making a nice dent in the hood. A shame, it looked like a nice car, too.

The driver stumbled out, looking terrified. He looked even more terrified when a bullet hit between his feet. He fled without a word, running surprisingly fast for such a pudgy man.

Werr, in the meantime, marched forward to help collect Quinn. "What happened? Quinn? Can you hear me?"

"I'm not deaf," Quinn made a face. "I can't feel my legs or my arms...i-it really hurts..."

Michael glared at the man and pulled Quinn up by her armpits. "Quinn, what do you mean you can't feel your arms of legs? And if you can't feel them, how does it hurt? When did this start and has it gotten worse?"

"My ch-chest hurts!" Quinn cried, still shaking. "I can't feel them...t-they're numb and tingly and I can't move them...i-it started a little...after we got back i-into the ca-car for our walk..." She let out a squeak of pain, wincing terribly. Werr pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was fast, but weak.

"We should get her inside. She's on the verge of having a heart attack." Werr said, frowning deeply. He ignored his own pain and took her by the legs,

Michael lifted Quinn higher and nodded toward the house. "Let's go then." He began moving toward the house, though it was slow progress as he was walking backward and couldn't tell where he was going.

Michael lifted Quinn higher and nodded toward the house. "Let's go then." He began moving toward the house, though it was slow progress as he was walking backward and couldn't tell where he was going.

Werr guided Michael with short gasps of 'left' and 'right'. This was incredibly painful; his shoulders were infected and his arms were stiff, making carrying Quinn nearly impossible. They carried Quinn up the stairs together, before finally making it to the couch.

"When you said you were injured, I didn't think you meant your friends were too," Malya commented from her comfortable looking rocking chair. "These people don't speak Russian, do they, Werr-swine?"

Werr set Quinn down and was tempted to send a boulder at Malya's head. He hated that name, he hated this woman, but they had nowhere else to go...after all, who else would protect them with their own life and provide supplies when they were ready to leave?

"Do you still have to call me that?" Werr frowned.

"Yes. And your accent is sloppy, Werr-swine." Malya spoke with a perfect American accent, smiling brightly. "Of course, it's not like I expected anything less from the swine family, but it's alright. I'm just curious as to how your friends understand you." She looked towards Michael, still smiling. "Well? Your names?"

Werr grumbled something about his family name being Grehi and NOT 'swine', but he said nothing further.

Syl enterred quietly after Werr and Michael, whereas Tyler bounced inside, looking around excitedly. "This is an interesting house. Why are you calling Mr. Werr a pig? I don't think he looks like a pig. Well, maybe a little, but not to much. I'm his new boss."

Michael set Quinn down, breathing hard. She wasn't that heavy, but he hadn't been able to see where he was going, which always drove him insane. "I'm Michael, the one constantly on a sugar high is Tyler, the one who's scared of everything and stutters is Timothy, and the creepily pale one is Sylas. This is Quinn."

The house was indeed 'interesting'. As mentioned before, it was originally meant to be a two-floor office complex; down here was where Malya had set up the living room of sorts, and on the other side of the spacious room, there was a large kitchen area that looked big enough to belong in the back of a restraunt. There were plenty of things in between; a modern, black-and-white couch, a large television set up on the wall, plenty of comfortable chairs, pieces of art propped up on statues, so on.

Up the stairs was the sleeping areas, obviously; the 'master bedroom' was the main office, where Malya's room could be secluded. The rest of the place was sorted into rooms by cubicles stacked on top of each other, to make makeshift walls between the different cots. Malya had guests a lot, apparently.

"She calls me that because she mis-translated Grehi into 'pig' when we first met. Grehi means sinner in your language, so I'm not sure which I prefer; being called a pig or a sinner. I don't think I like either of them." Werr explained, as Malya just blinked at Tyler. He talked fast.

"Nice to meet you all. I am Malya, your hostess." She said, nodding. "Sorry, Werr-swine, I forgot to call the doctor for your shoulders...but it looks like she needs a doctor more, now. Is she okay?" Malya looked genuinely concerned. "Should I call the doctor?"

Syl stepped forward. "Umm, Michael forgot about me, but I'm Syl. I suppose technically I'm a medical student, but I get the feeling calling an actual doctor would be complicated. And dangerous." To be honest, he had no idea what to do. He was only a student, after all, and a beginning one at that, but what he knew was probably better than bringing in a doctor, who would probably have ties to the Institute.

Michael nodded. "Calling a doctor could be bad. Unless we held him at gunpoint the entire time, but I don't know how comfortable you would be with that." He checked for Quinn's pulse again, he really expected it to just disappear any second.

Tyler turned back to Werr. "Oh. So you're a sinning pig? That's confusing, Mr. Werr. Why don't you just pick one? Do you really need both?"

"For goodness sakes, you think I don't have contacts in the medical field? I'm not an amateur, I think I would know who to call in the case that medical assistance is needed." Malya rolled her eyes.

"No. My name is Werr Grehi, keep it like that. English translations are confusing, anyways." Werr shook his head. He groaned when he heard what Malya said. "Not Vrach..."

"Yes, Vrach. I don't care about your personal preferences, he's a good doctor."

"He hates me."

"He hates everyone. You need a doctor, I'll provide one." Malya shrugged, pulling a cellphone from her pocket and dialing the number. She spoke shortly in Russian, then hung up. "He'll be here in about twenty minutes. Do you think your friend can hang on for that long?"

Quinn's eyes were half-closed by now, shivering weakly and beads of sweat starting to form on her forehead. Her pulse was pretty much the same though, thankfully.

Michael shrugged. "On one hand, she practically looks like she's going to die; on the other, there's no reason she should die now as opposed to later. If he hurries, we should be fine." He looked up at Werr. "Wait, what's the problem with this Vrach guy? Or is this just you and your craziness again?"

Tyler bounced up to a chair and hopped into it, dangling his feet off the edge, but his knees couldn't bend. "You have comfy chairs, Malya-lady. Where'd you get them?"

Malya laughed when Michael called Werr crazy. She quickly stifled that to look over at Tyler. "Various countries around the world. That one is from Venice. I bought it from a man who was quite...eager to be rid of it."

"My problem with Vrach is the fact that one, he despises and has no sympathy for his patients, nor does he care for their preferences. He only cares about making them better, no matter what the cost is." Werr sighed unhappily. "Meeting him again will break fourteen rules, but I'm not sure what else we can do for Quinn..."

"Still been keeping with that mental rulebook of yours, Werr-swine?" Malya chuckled.

"Still been jacking furnishings off of your hits, Malya-nothing?" Werr said, frowning still.

Sylas, in the meantime, put down Timothy on one of the couches, then moved over to the kitchen so he could cook dinner for the others. It was quite the big kitchen, too, he could definitely work with this...