33rd of Frost, 120
Out of the frying pan, and into the freezer. Step by step, Arkash guided the towering minotaur through Astoria's streets, toward the outskirts of town. The rush of injured, bloodied people never seemed to stop, as humans and elves alike ran through Arkash and Pod. Though the younger of the two didn't particularly care for their wellbeing, he had to at least appear sympathetic. So, he made the best effort he could to hide his cold nature, especially before the rathor in his company. His rampant hunger in the time he spent watching the scrambling humans was thinly masked by concern and pity; his gaze followed them while they ran, and sometimes looked back to Podvrak with sincere, sad smiles.
Whenever they had a moment of peace, Arkash would check his shaky hands, which were raw and numb from the cold, but also frayed in their nerves due to the confrontation just half an hour prior. The venom in his mouth spilled a little while he thought of it, but the rath oh-so quickly slurped the vicious, yellow fluids back into his mouth to swallow. Despite his upset, shaky nerves, he knew they were safe - for the most part. He wasn't as stupid as those who continued to run despite being so far from the epicenter of the attack.
A woman ran by them, holding a small boy close to her chest, clutching his head with a bloodied hand. She wore a meager dress that almost appeared to be new if not for the obvious scrapes and bloodstains that covered the majority of the bright yellow fabric. She was in distress, partway through panic, despair, and exhaustion. As she slowed before the two rath, Arkash held his hand out and pointed her down the road they were on. "Secon' left, then a rite," he directed. "We's taekin' in th' inju'd there; big abandon'd fa't'ry, can' miss i'."
Without so much as a thanks, the woman was running again. The braid of her dirty blonde hair flowed behind her as she rushed to the promised safety. Arkash shook his head, though he understood. The boy was hers; he'd somehow been injured in the attack. He briefly wondered who would bring their child to a riot, but then, as far as riots went, the protest was relatively tame. The worst the Rien citizens had done was pelt the Florent's estate gates with rotten food, but that was enough to let the hollows loose on a crowd of their own kind.
Arkash curled his nose and pulled his lips in a snarl when he thought about it. Humans... No, Nobles were disgusting. Symptom, not the disease, he reminded himself. It was entirely possible that Arkash treasured other members of his race because he'd only met a handful of his kind. If he was constantly surrounded by rathor, would he have the heart to butcher them for a slight? He hated humans at a similar caliber, didn't he?
As the woman disappeared from view, Arkash looked again to Pod. "She must be worried sick, right?" He spoke to justify her haste, then shook his head. "I can't even imagine..." he trailed off as he directed his gaze forward.
His breathing was still ragged, and his heartbeat stayed quick as he led the minotaur through the exact same directions he'd given the girl. The closer they came to the makeshift sickbay, the more his ears rang and the scents blinded him. Humans were stinky on good days, but when they were scared and stressed, piss and vomit was added to the stench of body odor; it was hard to bear, but he approached the dilapidated building nonetheless.
Two massive chimneys towered above the facility, they peeled their plating and crumbled in parts, but remained standing. The rest of the building was made of hefty stone brick with corrugated metal sheets for the roofing. Broken, barred windows laid scattered over the various faces of the factory's walls, and right at the front was a pair of hefty wood and steel doors that had been left ajar. Snow from the alleyway trailed in through the doorway and marked the path for Arkash and the Minotaur alike.
Despite his hesitation and dread of the scent, he pushed through the threshold, and held his breath for a moment or two before he sampled the eye-watering cocktail of human stink. With his lips pressed firmly together, he turned and motioned the cow to follow him in. "In here, Az can probably see to your wounds himself."
Inside, bedrolls of scattered quality were lined along the factory floor with a collection of broken, wounded, elderly, and sick laying upon them. There wasn't much space, but they'd managed to make room for two dozen bedrolls. Two men; an older fellow and his younger counterpart, both of dark hair and refined clothes, made their way between the bedrolls checking and tending to the sick and injured. Meanwhile, the towering, plate-armored velsign led the woman and her boy from earlier to one of the two remaining vacant bedrolls.
A chorus of pained groans, grieving sobs, and broken grunts made up the ambiance of the room. The sounds of the people were only occasionally broken by a distant dripping sound and the skittering of rats in the shadowy corners of the forgotten building. Snow and water dripped from the various holes in the metal sheet roofing while various barreled fires burned about the room to warm the air.
It was only after a moment of lingering in the entrance that Asmodei lifted his gaze to both the rathor. The lizard quickly turned to the bull and held up a hand. "Could you hang on a sec? I feel like he's grouchy," he asked with an apologetic smile, then wiped the sour-smell-induced-tears from his misty yellow eyes and breathed out before he left the cow's side.
Various pairs of eyes lingered on the minotaur where he stood, some curious, some hopeful, others afraid. The nameless and the citizens alike were scattered in that room, but all were equal under the supervision of the kind Lustrians that had chosen to lend their aid.
