Casey's Predicament [OPEN]

[casey]

Casey rubbed the back of his head gingerly and groaned as he felt a small bump there. Slowly and very carefully he levered himself to his elbows and then to his knees before stopping, his head hanging and his eyes tightly closed as a kaleidoscope of lights danced behind them causing a wave of nausea to flow through his gorge, threatening to spill his last meal on the sand beneath him. And that was where another one of his problems lay – at the very least there should have been a deck plate beneath him, not sand. That meant that the yellow-bellied coward that had struck him from behind had struck him hard enough to make his consciousness disinterested in subsequent events for a sizable amount of time – time enough to land, dump him, and take off again. Well, it could have been worse, they could have just dumped him out the airlock without landing.

Very slowly he moved his head from left to right, trying his hardest to keep his eyes looking straight ahead, and scanned his surroundings, fighting the dizziness that upset his equilibrium with the movement. He saw that the sand didn't lie – he was, indeed, in some kind of desert. Sand stretched to the horizon and rocky mesas dotted the landscape. A hot haze floated above the ground making his head spin and his stomach churn.

“Liu kou shui de biao zi he hou zi de ben er zi.” he spat, causing himself to grimace and close his eyes tightly as his head threatened to explode.

With a low groan he muttered, a little softer, “Not so gorram loud, Casey.”

After a short pause Casey continued, ruefully, “But you really are.”

He should never had let those SOB's get the better of him that easily. He must be getting soft in his old age but one thing was sure, they'd better hope to whatever gods they prayed to that he didn't find them in a hurry. Slowly Casey's equilibrium was returning and he believed that, fortunately, there was no real damage done other than a bump on his head and a dent in his pride.

Gaining an upright position as gingerly as possible, and pausing with his eyes tightly shut several times as he struggled to remain in control of the gravitational pull of the sand that seemed to be just begging him to kiss it, Casey took stock of his situation. To give Naylor his due, while he may be a murderer and the lowest of the low, he wasn't one to strand a fella on some rock in the middle of god knew where without the basics for survival… and the basics, in this case, seemed to consist of his clothing and his gun. But that was a good start in Casey's eyes. It didn't negate the fact that, if and when his path next crossed with Naylors, Naylor would be the one lying face down and maybe wouldn't be standing again but it was a plus on Casey's survival scale which now stood at 2 points. 1: he was alive, and 2: he was armed. Now all he had to do was figure where he was and how to get away from where he was. Food and water would come in useful, too… all he had to do was find some.

Looking up at the sky Casey realized that dusk was not too far away and in most desert environments dusk meant that the predators would be waking up and stretching before stepping out to look for easy prey. Casey did not intend to be easy prey – in fact, he didn't intend to be any kind of prey at all. That meant he'd better find some place to hole up for the night, maybe build a fire. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his head which was, fortunately, abating he began to walk towards the nearest rocky outcrop, hoping that there would be a cave or something for him to crawl into... preferably an unoccupied one as Casey really, really wasn't in the mood to fight over a hole in a rock.

Darkness fell before he reached the rocks which seemed to be further away than they had first appeared, and he looked around hopefully. Ah well, there were no lights on the horizon but that only meant the nearest town was a little further away than he'd hoped. Then he looked up at the night sky, his vision unimpeded by any ambient light, and studied the stars.

“Ah, gou shi, this ain't good, Casey, this ain't good at all. If this is where I think it is, an' I truly think it is, I really do wish I weren't here.”

The soft sound of sand being disturbed underfoot, or underpaw, drifted his way in the still of the night and he quietly reached down to slide his pistol from its holster, his head swiveling slowly as his eyes scanned for danger.

“Shei shi? Who's there?”

(( OOC: I do hope I am free to post? I have had no indication to the contrary and I have been waiting a while so I am taking a chance ))

[casey]

Casey waited a moment, listening intently, but heard no response nor, indeed, any more movement – perhaps it was the shiftin', whisperin' sands he'd heard but he wasn't 100% convinced so he kept a grip of his pistol as he continued towards the rocks and, hopefully, shelter. He'd only gone about 10 yards, or so, when he heard the sound again and, this time, he was sure he heard an intake of breath.

'Gorram,' he thought, 'if that's someone out to get me I wish they'd hurry up an' make their play an' if'n it's some kind of beast lookin' for supper – well, I'm hungry, too.'

He was only a few steps from the rock face which didn't look too steep, at least as far as he could see in the darkness that was brightened only by a moon, still low in the sky, and the starlight which meant it wasn't brightened much at all, and he soon felt the hardness of stone underfoot rather than the slithering sand. Looking up he decided on his route and began to climb slowly towards a small patch of deeper blackness that, he hoped, would be an unoccupied cave or heck, even just a sheltered nook in the cliff. When he was about 10 feet or so above the sand, he stopped and turned back in the direction he'd come from. Four pinpoints of light hovered at the edge of the sand, at the base of the rock, and floated there, unblinking, until a low, distant howl reverberated across the desert sand and, as quickly as a flashlight being switched off, the pinpricks of light disappeared and he heard the soft susurration of sand disturbed by... something flowing/floating/running lightly across it. Oh, he hoped it was the latter, he didn't relish the thought of having been stalked by anything that flowed or floated. He didn't particularly like the thought of anything running stalking him, either, but it was preferential to the other two choices. Taking a deep, quavering breath, Casey ran his sleeve across his forehead, cold with sweat, and wiped it dry before returning to the task in hand and clambering up to the dark spot.

Stopping a short ways from the darkness which did, indeed, appear to be a cave of some kind, Casey reached out and ran his hand over the ground around him until his fingers brushed and closed around a good sized rock. Hefting it in his left hand and holding his pistol firmly in his right Casey lobbed the rock into the opening in the side of the cliff, listening to it clatter into the cave and, with his mouth dry with anticipation, waited for the expected hordes of Hell, or at the very least a crazed mountain lion or some such beast, to spew forth with gnashing fangs and rending claws to tear him to pieces.

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

"Ni shi shen me dong xi?[/color]" The words came out in a low mutter, one of hissed, startled surprise as a gasp had come to the awakening form. A jolt, a shift, and tensing of muscles as she bolted upright to immediately regret her decision. Something had roused her-- something hard that had clattered across the floor to collide with her leg. Her vision swam in the dark, and she had to wonder when the gui it had turned to night? A little way down from where the cave entrance was, there was a crash site masked by the shadow of the ridge. The fires had long-since burned out, and the voice in the darkness had managed to drag herself away from it into the shade before... well, quite possibly passing out. And then some hun dan had thrown a rock at her. Wasn't her day just the best? Of course, she didn't know his-- whatever he was looming there by the entrance-- problem was, either. Just as bad a day?

Vaille dragged herself back a little more on her pigu, the various clicks and whirs of something hi-tech coming online before a small torch flicked on. Probably attached to the barrel of a gun, but hard to tell what he was even seeing. Much easier for her to see him, though. Illuminated by the light, her cut and bruised face gave him a look of cautious speculation.

"If you're lookin' to rob my corpse, or take my hidey-hole, I suggest y'think long and hard about how much you value havin' kneecaps, son." Her gruff, feminine voice bit out, still lowered somewhat. Didn't want to be making a lot of noise, yeah?

Of course, she was ignoring the fact that it was a good thing he'd woke her up, and probably wondered as to why he'd even wake her up if he was planning to loot her for goodies. Didn't make her lower the rifle any, though. As messed up as she was right now, that light attached to whatever she was aiming held steady and true-- for the most part. She made sure to keep it on him, and hopefully keep him dazed enough not to advance, or try anything.

"Explanations would be nice.... also the time if you have it. Some of my equipment is offline. Something other than 'night', too. If you fancy bein' a smart-ass."

Yeah, that was Vaille for you. She was used to dealing with today's general public and all the unsavoury assumptions you could think up not to trust them for. She was also used to a little bit of snarky attitude from her own men and women. That thought made her shift. She needed to get in touch with them somehow...





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[casey]

Casey froze when he heard a low voice hiss its question accompanied by the sound of movement within the cave – and he stayed frozen when he heard the soft click of some kind of machinery activating a split second before his eyeballs were seered in their sockets by a blinding light.

“Ni ta ma de!” he hissed, involuntarily raising his left hand to shield his eyes a little from the glare as he quickly crouched, trying to make as small a target of himself as possible, whilst squinting into the brightness, his eyes watering as he tried to aim his revolver at the light or, hopefully, whoever was holding it.

“Darlin;,” he muttered softly, a hint of exasperated anger in his voice, “I dunno who all y'are but I truly do not want your corpse – or anythin' it may have on it. What I do want is to take me some shelter until the sun comes up an' I surely do not mind sharin'. Oh, an' it might help a tad if'n you was to turn that handheld sun down a few gigawatts afore you attract half the undesirables out there,” nodding his head behind him to the desert and grimacing as he heard a low, mournful howl.

He paused a second and hunkered lower down before continuing, “Too late. As for the time. I'd estimate it to be somewhere's betwixt dusk an' dawn with a leanin' a mite closer to dusk. So yeah, it's night, it's gonna be a long one, an' that's the best I can tell ya.”

He sighed as that first howl was answered by a second, and then a third, each one sounding just a little closer and lasting just a few seconds longer than its predecessor.

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

It was probably a bad move, or at least not the smartest idea Fran had ever had. Lighting up the place like a Christmas tree probably wasn't going to do anyone any favours, but even some of the best soldiers make the most rookie mistakes. Especially with the knock to the head and all that-- yeah, that's right! Fran's own mental, feeble excuses aside, she'd give a grunt, the scrape of her shifting again as the light dipped and dimmed a little bit. She hadn't heard the first noise-- or the danger. There wasn't a lot of worry from a woman with a loaded gun... well, in her bravado-filled head. Stubbornness aside, Fran clenched her jaw on her dark side of the cave.

"That's Sergeant to you." She muttered, although the steel behind her words was getting less and less uppity and forceful. More or less just grouchy at being stuck and injured on this crap rock. Away from her team and until morning hit, not much chance of getting any word out. She needed daylight to assess her situation. She needed a clear head, and not the one splitting in two, but what can a girl do, right? Sergeant, even.

And then she actually heard the soft, menacing call in the background of their charming little piece of picturesque Whitefall. Immediately, the light on her torch dimmed and finally cut out. There was a huff in the darkness, and another shift. She was dragging herself further inside and hoping there was nothing at her back but a wall.

"Okay. Okay. But just pick a spot and not too close." She'd already gotten a good look at his face from the light. Fran would remember it well for when the sun came up. The stranger was yet to get a decent look at this Sergeant lady with the bad attitude, but at least she'd be able to tell his face-- especially if he crossed her. As for that face... Something was nagging at the back of Fran's fuzzy mind. Nah, probably nothin'. Just her eyes playing tricks.

The gun was still clutched to her chest, her body still scooting back until she felt wall. So it wasn't that deep. With a grunt of her aching body settling down, Vaille rested her head against the rock.

"So while we wait for the locals to come a knockin', you got a name?" It was still all whispers. Her accent had more of a drawl than usual, less of that semi-crispness she had from years in the Core. Fran would always be a down-in-the-dirt grunt, though. Never really high-class. More working-class. Soldier-class. The men and women in the purple that got all the go se from everyone else-- mostly the Border folk.

She tried to peer through the dark at him, but she was still adjusting. Still wasn't the best idea to be flashing that light around, but at least she'd ID'd him as a person with no-- supposed-- ill intent and hadn't just fired on him.

[casey]

Casey frowned as the light dimmed. So, he was going to be sharing this little nook with a Purple Belly, huh? And one with an attitude, too. Things were just looking better all the time – not! But still, two guns were better than one, especially if there were two-legged coyotes out there along with the four-legged kind.

Then the light went out and Casey shook his head at the woman's, uhh, the Sergeant's words as he blinked against the after glow of the glare and shuffled into the cave, making very little noise and using the sound of her breathing to steer himself to the rear part of the wall well away from her, muttering under his breath, “Zhe zhen shi ge kuai le de jin zhan...”

OK, so she was here first, he'd grant her that, but wasn't that attitude just typical of the alliance? This is my cave so we'll play by my rules. Not, hey buddy, it ain't safe out there so why don't y'all come in and set a spell.

Casey sighed softly and eased himself down to the sandy floor, resting his back against the wall and glaring in the general direction of his new-found best friend – at least she was until the sun rose and then it was anyone's game – and waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust enough to the darkness, broken only by the light of the myriad stars and the moon, in order to discern her shape slouched against the opposite wall in an attitude similar to his. He could see the vague outline of a long-gun held across her chest and he shook his head -- the Alliance got all the good stuff.

“Name's Casey,” he said, “but that'd be Mister Casey to you -- Sergeant.”

He needed information, especially a confirmation of where he was, and the easiest way to get that was to take his best guess and see if she confirmed it. Also, he'd really like to know why she was here alone and how she seemingly got herself hurt. But first things first, “Listen, darlin', I ain't likin' this any better'n you are but it seems we're in this together so it'd be behoven of us to make the best of a bad situation. So tell me somethin', what's the Alliance doin' on Whitefall? An' where's the rest of your army at?”

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

Fran made sure to keep an eye on the outline she was just starting to make out, watching as this man moved further into the cave. She still didn't know who he was or why he was even here in the first place-- lost in the middle of no and where? Didn't seem like a common occurrence to her, but then this was Whitefall and the best punishment other than death she could see would be dumping someone out here. Had he ticked off the local powers? What was that old crone's name... Patience? Part of her made the assumption he seemed like the type to get in trouble with the wrong folks, but she could be wrong. He didn't look that injured, so he probably didn't crash like she did. Fran stiffened as he got closer, her hands tightening around the gun. The purple-belly was definitely alone out here. Not a friendly Alliance face for days, most likely.

He could've easier opened fire on her beforehand-- unsure who would've won that-- but instead, he wanted the shelter and was, unlike her, okay with sharing. It wasn't that Fran would deny someone aid like that. It was more to the fact she wasn't in a position where trust was an easy thing. She'd just almost been killed by some criminal and stuck out here to probably die if she didn't get help soon enough.

For now, the Sergeant was going with the 'benefit of the doubt', and letting him made his own impressions. Good or bad. She heard the muttering, but ignored it, eyes closing against the dark for a moment. She took a deep breath, maybe to sober her, and a part of her wondered if it was a good idea for her to fall asleep. That caused her eyes to flick open ahd, another deep breath to try and keep her awake. Funnily enough, in that moment, she remembered the coat. The flash of brown material draped about shoulders from where she'd shined the torch. Fancy that. And there she was just starting to relax. Fran had no real grudge against the Browncoats-- I mean, the Alliance won, sure-- but even through all the grief they all got as a whole, Fran didn't hate them. It was more the fact they hated her. Vaille was a soldier, she followed orders. People took it out on the grunts far too much, when it was the higher powers giving all the orders. Fran made no excuses for following them. Her side, her life. Why wouldn't she fight for that?

When he spoke again, she didn't realise her eyes had slid near closed and she lifted them, looking his way. She snorted.

"We always gotta have an army wherever we go, huh?" She joked, with almost an ounce of bitterness, but tried to make it seem more light-hearted. Not that anything about Fran right now was light-hearted. Light-headed, maybe.

"Me and my team were here on Alliance business. Apprehending a criminal." She closed her eyes and rubbed across the arc of one eyebrow, trying to soothe the slight headache away. Her tongue was being a little too loose, here, but she hardly saw the need to lie.

"My team ain't exactly an army, Mr. Casey. Just a small patrol, keepin' the peace. Didn't expect to be chasin' some ta ma de hun dan to Whitefall." Some tension had settled in, her muscles tightening and her jaw clenching at the remembrance of the man who was now dead due to his own fault. Fran had wanted him dead, too, after what he'd done, but would've arrested him all the same.

"Also, keep callin' me darlin' the best of this bad situation would be me leavin' you with one good gao wan, Mr. Casey." It was unsure how serious that threat was, but it sounded half-joking, half-threatening in this little strange arrangement they had going on. Fran never really had liked those feminine endearments much, either. And here, it was taking away the fact she was a trained woman of authority and standing. A soldier.

"An' dare I ask what's gotten you into this mess, too?" Her head lolled to the side, still leaning back against the cave wall. Her eyes had adjusted a little better and she could see a little more of his form. Fran herself was propped against the wall, rifle hugged to her chest with one leg bent out to the side, the other straight out. Hair was a mess, and there was some dried blood on her face; some bruises starting to show.

She felt at a disadvantage, but was too stubborn to let it show she was weak in any way.

[casey]

Looking across at the woman Casey grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. She sure as hell wasn't trusting him too much, hadn't put that gun down since he'd disturbed her. But then, he didn't trust her one little bit, either. She was a Purple Belly, for chrissakes. But hey, she hadn't shot him – yet – and she had all the chance she needed when she had him all lit up. Well, he knew that they weren't all as bad as some but as far as he was concerned if you play with pigu's you end up smellin' like gou shi.

He shook his head and took a chance by lowering his revolver and placing it on a rock close by his right side. If anything, or anyone, came into the cave uninvited he wanted quick access to the gun and, if Sergeant darlin' over there took it into her head to shoot him while he was unarmed it wouldn't really matter where his gun was and he'd die knowing he was right about them.

Electing to let the comment about his testicles pass he gazed outside at the moonlit desert and half-smiled, at least she'd confirmed that he was, indeed, on Whitefall even if that did open up a whole new can of worms. If patience found out he, or even she – maybe especially she, was here on her moon then all hell would be let loose. Patience didn't like him none too much – hell, she didn't like anybody none too much -- but she hated the Alliance.

Swiveling his head to look at her again Casey said, “Judgin' by the way you look I'd guess somethin' went wrong with your apprehendin'? One thing I'll tell ya for free is this is not a good place for either of us to be an' I don't just mean this cave. You talk like your arm... team are still around. That bein' the case I'd call 'em up an' get your sweet self a dust-off before that ol' mu gou figures she has unwelcome guests.”

He chuckled, which came out sounding more like a grunt given that his vocal chords had like as not forgotten how to laugh. Scratching the tip of his nose he squinted towards the cave entrance again as he heard the sound of those three coyotes singin' for their supper again. He was sure they were closer but he sure couldn't swear to it. He wasn't sure yet what he'd do if they actually came to the cave, stay and fight alongside the soldier girl, or sacrifice her and make good his escape?

“I'm here by way of bein' a victim of circumstance. Had me a little disagreement with the skipper of a ship I was on, an' he took offense. Some wangbadan cold-cocked me an' when I woke up here I was. No offense, darl..., uhh, Sergeant, but I truly wish I was somewhere else right about now.”

His ears were attuned to the sounds outside the cave and he figured that, very soon now, he'd have an answer to his question. He slowly lowered his arm to rest his hand on the butt of his revolver just as he heard claws scrabble at the stone outside the cave and a huge, dark shape hurled itself through the opening, almost blotting out the moonlight, to crouch, ready to spring, between him and the Sergeant.
Outside the cave, and barely audible above the low, throaty growl of hunger from their visitor, he heard more claws clacking on the cliff-face.

"Supper time," he muttered as he started to lift his revolver, which answered his question. But he didn't know why he was staying -- to help the girl, or because he never backed out of a fight?

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

She caught the movement-- possibly of his arm-- and wondered what he was up to over there. It was hard to see, but he might've put something down. Couldn't be his gun. Nobody out here ever put down a gun unless they were dead, and even then they usually held it in a death-grip. Fran shook it off, and didn't dwell on it. If their little hungry friends came a callin', she wasn't going to be high and dry without her rifle cradled in her arms-- not that she was trusting him just yet. But there were other priorities. One thing at a time.

"You could say that, yeah. Didn't really take the fact he was gettin' away to heart and well-- fightin' on a speeding mule hoverin' across the desert isn't exactly gonna end with the best results. Although he died instead'a me, so I guess that wasn't so bad..." She trailed off, her tone turning rather matter-of-fact and flippant about the whole deal. The guy was a corpse, and she wasn't quite one yet. As for Patience? Well, she didn't think she'd be stuck here that long... or at all. Bad luck, really. Not that the ol' woman scared her much.

She almost blurted out about losing her radio-- and the darkness making it impossible to find or even see if it survived the crash-- but she either found that fact embarrassing, or an obvious sign that no one would be coming to her aid anytime soon. Instead, she responded curtly, "Sent up a signal. No responses so far, though. Probably interference."

All Fran needed was to make it until dawn without dying of either the head injury or the natural causes of the local wildlife. Then when light hit, or everything unfriendly was dead, she'd search for her radio, send up a flare, do something so her people could find her. Maybe him. If she was feeling charitable enough... as long as he stopped calling her 'darlin'... Fran would think on it. Scout's honour.

There was a slight grunt of amusement at his own woes, but she had to wonder if it was his own winning personality that landed him here. Disagreements happened, though, and some Captains didn't take too kindly to it. At least they didn't kill him, right? Only... attempted to by letting nature run it's course. And boy was it starting to run it's course up that rocky terrain. Or stalk anyway. At the last part, she gave a derisive little snort and uttered, "Likewise."

But they were being advanced on, now. The coyotes had decided they'd let them stew in wonderment for long enough and confirm that they did indeed have their scent, and decided that tonight wasn't their night. She tried not to scrape the floor as she pulled herself up into a crouch, legs going under her as she winced from the exertion. Teeth gritted and she tried to put it all to the back of her mind. Adrenaline would be nice about now. Although her heart was starting to hammer in her chest. The rifle was lifted up and she'd peer along it, watch her vision blur and blinked it away with an annoyed frown.

Apparently, he wasn't going to try and run for it. Idiot, right? Though, she doubted she would've just bolted and left some other poor slob to face the music. Wasn't her style. She was a protector, after all.

Fran lined up her first shot, steadying her breath to try and steady her gun. A firm squeeze began on the trigger... watching the front beast as it paused...

[casey]

Casey shook his head as he spared the Sergeant a quick glance, hoping she knew how to use that thunderstick she was snuggling with, and hoping she didn't count him as a coyote. His eyes swiveled back towards the coyote and he watched it hunker back on its hind legs, preparing to spring, as it was joined in the entrance by two of its dining partners.

In his peripheral vision he saw the woman draw herself into a crouch and figured by her careful movement that she was hurting some but it was too late to do anything about it right now.

“OK, darlin', let's see how well ya handle that street sweeper,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard above the trio of growling beasts and, suiting action to words, he squeezed the trigger of his revolver, sending a .44 caliber lead bullet hurtling towards the crouching coyote at 1500 feet per second just as it launched itself deeper into the room. The bullet, aimed at the head, hit the moving animal's neck, shattering its cervical vertebrae. With a loud yelp, sounding uncannily like a scream, it dropped like a stone and was dead before it hit the ground. It's blood spurted from the wound, causing a slick puddle on the cave floor along which the body slithered towards the woman.

Casey's ears rang with the echo of the shot. His nostrils quivered as they were assailed by the acrid burnt metal stench of gunpowder with overtones of the coppery odor of blood, and his vision blurred slightly in the haze of blue-gray gunsmoke that hung in the still air around him.

The sound of the shot startled the dead animals' companions, causing one to drop flat with a whimper and the other, probably more in panic than anything else, to bare its teeth and, yipping manically, leap into the cave.

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

The Sergeant narrowed her eyes, a slight frown on her features, or just concentration. His little quip, and that term of endearment slipping forth from his lips again might've been the cause of it, or she was just focusing on the enemy at hand. When her day had started, the soldier would've laughed if someone had said that by the end of it, she'd be in the thick of darkness in a small cave out the sticks, fighting over whether or not she was gonna be lunch with a gorram Browncoat of all things-- that hadn't shot at her! Hah.

As he'd gone about firing the first shot, and crippling the head animal severely, Fran's finger had also finished tightening around that trigger. The staccato burst of three precise rounds left the weapon, aiming for the crawling mass to try and finish it as it crawled labouredly towards her. She could hear it's breath panting with the pained exertion, but as the three bullets ripped into it's shoulder and back, it stopped, the mass of it's form a bloody pile not too far away from her. One of it's front legs was outstretched, kind of like an arm reaching towards her. Fran shook the distraction off quick enough and re-aimed, rifle shifting towards the next aggressor, while the third seemed on the defensive. That'd give them more time.

Fran squeezed the trigger again, the weapon held tight to her shoulder and rocking her only a little. Her aim was a little off, but at least she hit the one looking to advance, the bullets ripped through one of it's front legs, causing it to go off-balance and fall, scrambling to right itself on the rocky ground. It had given another yelp, before it turned into a snarl. Fran's hands were starting to sweat, and the position she'd moved herself into was taking it's toll on possible injuries. Something could've been broken for all she knew, but doubted she'd be able to move this far. Sweat trickled into her vision again, and one gloved hand had to come up to wipe her eyes. A muted slew of curses left her as she heard the growling and snapping of the imminent attack for which she'd just left herself wide open.

Readying herself even as she struggled to keep steady, she felt the reassuring, hard presence of the cave wall at her back, but also her boot slipping underneath. One knee came down to touch the floor, and her tight-aimed stance was lost. Pull it together, gorrammit!

[casey]

Casey ignored the beast his bullet had plowed into, especially when his peripheral vision showed that the Sergeant had sent a three-round burst into it, finishing it off. Not bad for a Purple Belly, he thought, as he thumbed his revolver's hammer back.

He snapped off his second shot at the rock floor directly in front of the coyote crouching at the cave entrance, sending chips of stone ricocheting up into its face. With a yelp of surprise, tinged with fear, the animal launched itself backwards away from the attacking ground, and tumbled ass over teakettle down the slope to the sand below.

Another semi-automatic burst chattered out and he spun to see the third coyote fall onto its side with a yelp of pain, one of its front legs shattered by the Sergeants slugs. In angered desperation the wounded beast snarled and threw itself towards the woman just as Casey watched her slip in the blood pooling under her from the first coyote's corpse, losing her aim.

“Kao!” he swore, realizing that things could go horribly wrong if the Sergeant couldn't lift her rifle barrel real quick, or he couldn't figure what to do to help even quicker. He'd never be able to , aim, and take a guaranteed kill-shot before the coyote reached the woman so he did one of the most stupid things he had ever done in his life and reached out, grabbing the animals tail and throwing himself backwards. He felt his back careen into the rough rock wall behind him, followed by the sinewy rear end of the enraged animal slamming into his belly, winding him. Then things just got better as the coyote, mad with pain and anger, tried to spin round and, with its massive, slavering jaws, tear into the two-legged creature that dared to pull its tail. The only thing preventing it from doing so immediately was the fact that self-preservation was one of Casey's watchwords and he managed to ram his forearm sideways into the animals mouth, preventing it from sinking those sharp, strong teeth into his flesh – at least for the moment.

“Tian a!” he exclaimed breathlessly as he tried to fill his lungs with air that didn't stink of fetid man-eating dog, and hoping beyond all hope that the Sergeant would shoot these teeth on legs and miss him.

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

The slavering maw and foul breath was close as the beast had initial sort to attack that which had attacked it. Fran had been that target, and well, her folly and small moment of stumbling was the weakness that was probably about to get her eaten alive. Her heart was now hammering in her chest, and that late-arrival of adrenaline wasn't needed as much as she'd thought. Before the pounce could begin, those snapping jaws were filled with nothing but thin air as the beast was yanked back and away from her. Eyes went wide in surprise as she watched the creature stumble back into Casey, and oddly enough this gave her the time she had desperately needed to reposition herself. To gather what wits she had left in that addled brain-pan of hers, and raise her weapon again. It went tight to her shoulder, but she was having a little trouble at first-- the thing was so flighty and squirming to turn on Casey that she was afraid she might hit him in her attempts to stop it dead. Afraid? That seemed extremely odd for their little arrangement, but human instinct to preserve those around her in the face of dangerous aggressors had overridden any misgivings about him for the moment.

Independent or Alliance. Browncoat or Purplebelly. Right now they were two people looking to survive, and as much as she'd never admit to it now, or ever-- especially not now or when the fight was over-- but she could do with the help, considering all her insides had almost been on the outside when she crashed, and her mind was a scrambled mess. Still, Fran had the wherewithall to recover, take careful aim, curse under her breath and hoped she hit her mark. The rifle bucked a little against her shoulder, but the two three-round bursts came forth to hit the beast first of all in the flank, and then as the gun travelled with it's iffy stability, swinging along it's form, she managed to catch it in the neck and throat. Whether anything went through and through to hit Casey, she was hoping they didn't. Wouldn't be much of a favour returned if she put some bullets in him...

The third had plucked up the courage to venture back towards the entranceway, and she could hear the low whine turn into a growl. Still in the stance and mind of a soldier, Fran snapped around, going to aim at the creature and end it, but instead of bullets ripping into it, her gun jammed. Surprising it hadn't already, really.

"Still one left!" The Sergeant announced, still unsure he was okay, but didn't want to take her gaze off the last coyote.

[casey]

Casey had one arm in the mouth of the coyote, pushing those jaws away from his own face as he tried his damndest not to breath too deeply of the fetid, spoiled meat breath that dampened his skin. The beasts pinkish tongue lolled out under his sleeve, hanging over its lower lip and dripping vile-looking saliva onto the front of his coat. His other hand was clenched into a fist and he was frantically punching any part of the animal that he could reach that felt soft enough to maybe hurt it – it just didn't appear to be hurting too much, even with one of its legs blown almost off.

Then the coyote stiffened and slammed against him and something spattered painfully against his cheek and neck at the split second that he heard shots.

“Ta ma de, tian xiao de!” he yelped as the beast went slack, its jaws opening slightly in death. The corpse slumped to the ground at his feet and he raised his hand to his cheek, bringing it away wet with blood – his own. He glanced quickly at the wall beside him, seeing the cleanliness of new rock at the points where bullets had chipped away at it. Aiya! She could have killed him. At least three slugs had gone clean through the coyote, assuming they actually hit it in the first place, and were close to hitting him – close enough that the ricocheting rock chips had lacerated his head.

That was when he heard the Purple Belly say, "Still one left!".

Spinning, he cocked his revolver and seeing the third coyote, the one he had hoped would have slunk away after being scared out of the cave earlier and tumbled onto the sand, had been emboldened by the fact that no-one had shot at it again. So it had decided to rejoin the party and stalked back into the cave, growling menacingly – big, bad, and mad! Casey pulled the trigger, holding it back as he used his other hand to fan the hammer three more times. Three shots rang out, followed by one click on an empty chamber, and three slugs slammed into the flank of the coyote. He couldn't miss, it was so close. Quickly reversing his revolver he held it by the barrel and prepared to either bash the animals brains out or, at the very least, give it a headache to prevent it from enjoying him as a meal.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. The beast was down, blood spilling from its body. It wasn't breathing – it was dead. He figured he'd pierced its heart with at least one bullet, which is the only reason he could think of for it dying quite so quickly. Dear god, he hoped its relatives weren't waiting for it to come home any time soon, but if they were he hoped they wouldn't come looking for it until he was no longer anywhere near this place.

His hands shaking slightly he slowly began to reload his revolver, just in case there were any more surprises. His right arm felt as if a giant dog had been chewing on it and his cheek and neck were stinging something fierce – and he needed someone to blame. He glared at the Sergeant. She was looking a little ragged round the edges. OK, so she was hurt and that could put anyone's aim off - but that was gorram close. He opened his mouth to tell her just what he thought of the Alliance, then looked down at his hands before muttering, “This has not been my best day ever!”

[Sgt. Francesca Vaille]

The beasts were slain-- at least she hoped they were all slain. All the ones that were close enough to bother trying to eat both the Browncoat and the Purplebelly. She was sure the other would taste better, but she doubted they were the picky types lurking out in the desert. Now their little hiding place smelt of coyote, and pretty soon it was gonna smell of dead, rotting coyote. The floor was slick with blood and Fran just wanted this whole mess over with. The small bout of adrenaline had come and gone pretty quickly, and the Sergeant pretty much just slumped down onto her pigu. A sigh escaped her, trying not to breathe through her nose. When he spoke last, she did shoot him a brief glare. Not his best day? Her mouth had opened, too, looking for something to slur at him, but instead she just grunted and closed it. Fran wanted to move away from all the corpses, but found little strength and a lessening care. Then she accidentally breathed through her nose. Her stomach tightened and she scrambled feebly along the cave wall.

"I've seen better." Fran noted in a flat, deadpan tone, eyes sliding near to closing.

"Gonna be smellin' dead coyote for weeks..."

An eye cracked open, trying to gage where he was and what he was up to, pretty sure she'd heard the sound of a gun being tinkered with. Reloading? She really needed to check her rifle. Hands slid up it, jostling it in her arms before snapping the clip out, ejecting anything that might've ended up chambered and snapped it back into place almost in that 'soldier' kind of mechanical way. She even did it with her eyes closed.