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"TEXAS!!"
The scream freezes her blood solid. All senses on high alert. She smells apprehension, fear, and strangely, a sense of confidence -- the latter likely from their assailants. It gives her pause enough that her sword swings too-sudden, slices at the wrong angle, and her opponent snatches the chance of gaining the advantage.
"You won't save her in time by yourself," the enemy tells her as they struggle in the clash. Flickers of steel, but still none of them meet. "Give it up and we'll spare your lives. See how much you're really worth to them."
"Shut up and fight," she growls, more as a reminder to herself than anything. She doesn't have the time for this. The cry for help came from what would be a mile away through the enemies that blocked her path. Where is she?
The baton flies like a fish through water, and her blade whistles through the space between them, interrupts his attack -- but it glances off his armour, mis-aimed.
How long has it been since the cry? Ten, fifteen seconds?
The blow comes quick when it does -- slams diagonally into her shoulder, speed compounded by its heft. Makes her drop the sword in that hand, leaving her with the one in her right. "We could make a show of it," he continues, as she brings up her remaining weapon for a parry, "that might be more effective. Your heads on a pike."
The adrenaline burns. There's something that clicks within her, like a key finding its spot on an old lock. It's been some time since she fought an opponent aiming to kill.
Another twenty. That's all you get.
Texas feints to the side, narrowly avoids another hit -- they're locked in a frenetic dance, no-holds-barred, her grip white-knuckled and ears flat against her head -- and eventually, an eternity or instant later, her sword finds its place in-between the defensive plates junctioned at her opponent's neck. Wide slash. Extract.
He chokes, gurgles, makes clear the blood on her hands. Falls to his knees where she attempts to pick up the fallen blade and finds that arm useless in combat anyway. She slides it back in its sheath and tries to suppress the panic that threatens to consume her chest. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale --
She doesn't recall much of what happens then, only the vaguest memory of searching for a flash of red, a shimmering halo, a pair of inscrutable wings. What she does remember in full is coming across the back of one of the fully-armoured, firm-and-forceful types, in close proximity to the bushes she'd asked Exusiai to use as a vantage point to cover her.
She spots the axe poised to destroy, handle greased with death; Exusiai's a mere foot away, and Texas could smile at the sight of her, but the angel's standing still, shadowed, unstable in her position. The extent of her injuries isn't clear at a glance given her stance, but Texas decides it's best to dwell on that later. Staunch the worry that's already tightening her chest.
Time slows. Exusiai startles a little when she notices Texas, conflicting emotions in her wide-eyed gaze, running the gamut of happiness, fear, relief, dread. She begins to say: "You should run --"
Texas sees the attack coming and scrambles to block it from its target, barely making it in time. The strength of it shocks her -- evidently an upgrade from the shoddier-built ones they used to face -- and it braces against her sword, threatening to snap it in two. Sparks. She grits her teeth and ignores the pain. It doesn't let up.
She expects it when it happens, thankfully, the axe relinquishing its pressure and slashing hard directly downwards -- she darts out of the way and drives her sword into the enemy's hands. There might have been a grunt behind the helmet, but his grip remains.
Despite the weight to the weapon his movement isn't slow at all, but he doesn't seize the moment to come for her. Instead his helmet tilts slightly to the side and Texas follows the line of sight from its visor to see it lands squarely back on --
"Exu --"
A charge and single swing. Exusiai doesn't back away in time. There's not so much as a shout before she collapses, falling to her knees.
The floor's covered in would-be ichor, and Texas explodes forward, eyes stinging. The enemy whirls around.
Arts always did come easier to her when emotions were concerned. In that split second Originium energy tears through her, multiplying her swords and casting them down in a murderous rain. By some miracle -- or maybe some overextension of her abilities, judging from the effort it takes to keep it going and the scent of blood in her nose -- the blades pierce armour they couldn't before.
Some sick gratification fills Texas at the sight of the fallen enemy, with blades all sticking out at various angles and the sensation of Arts still in the air. She snaps out of it seconds later -- tastes bitter, with everything now coming into full focus. Spent shells, metal pipes on the ground, injuries she hadn't noticed she'd sustained. And in the middle of it all...
Texas is knelt down on the floor in front of her immediately. From here it's evident Exusiai's state is dire, breathing irregular and eyes struggling to be kept open. She steadies herself against the Lupo's body with her free arm -- grip shaky, voice weak and strained and it breaks Texas to hear: "I'm -- sorry you had to save --"
"It's not your fault," says Texas, simultaneously detached and acutely aware of all the red painting her swords, clothes, hands. It calls back memories from long ago. No tears, she promised herself; if Siracusa couldn't break her then Lungmen shouldn't be able to come close. "I'll contact -- they should be trying to reach us soon, so --"
"The signal here's scrambled..."
With every flicker of Exusiai's wings Texas' heart misses the regular beat. She forces herself to look away, because that's the only way she can keep her mind clear. Or the clearest it can be, anyway. Best to keep her voice level. "We can go with your best route out."
"I don't think I'm in any shape to..." Exusiai pulls back from the clumsy embrace they've subconsciously entered, trying to catch her gaze with still-bright eyes that Texas would die before seeing burn out. "I'd just slow you down."
Maybe it's just an exhaustion-induced mirage, but Texas thinks she can see the halo starting to melt. Wordlessly she half-supports, half-carries Exusiai toward a piece of broken wall to rest against -- there's minimal protest, though she isn't sure if that's a good sign or not. More red gets on her clothes but she could care less.
Texas considers only for a moment before asserting, "I'm staying. We can't be too hard to find."
Even as the words leave her mouth she's not convinced, but there's no way she can desert Exusiai -- here was a star in her sky she did not want to see fade.
Exusiai tries to smile at that anyway, although it looks more like a grimace instead.
"I thought... you were the smart one... for the both of us," she jokes, because of course she would even with injuries like this, and maybe her eyelids are fluttering closed and she's losing her grip on her handgun and stop thinking about that, Texas! "The more we stay here… we're like sitting ducks."
She's so right, and Texas knows it. Exusiai is only stating the obvious, -- she is surprisingly intuitive -- yet it means she knows how Texas truly feels, and that's perhaps the biggest embarrassment. Maybe she'd known before Texas ever did.
Of course Texas would throw all logic out the window for her sake, even if it meant both of them were doomed. Of course she would fail to consider how leaving the area to try and get into contact with the rest of the crew actually meant a higher chance of survival because she just couldn't bear the thought of Exusiai drawing her last breath alone --
"Earth to Tex," says Exusiai, and the wolf pricks straight up. She must have been staring off into space. "If you're worried about me -- and don't protest, because I know you are -- you need to go." She coughs, wet, marring the conviction with a visible wince. Beyond the obvious there are likely more injuries unseen externally, the treatment for which Texas has her hands tied.
Texas fights to keep all her tells hidden -- tail neutral, jaw unset, ears straight -- but she has no idea if it's working.
She says, wavering a little, "Promise you'll be here when I get back."
(Their pinkies are cold and clammy, but they do the job.)
* * *
The signal stops being jammed once she's a ways away, static giving way like the weather clearing over a field. The radio slips in her hands, her message probably more than a little incoherent.
They're disconcerted by her tone of voice -- it comes out more angry than distraught -- but they get it. And beneath Emperor demanding to know if the goods are fine, the layer of genuine concern when he realizes the severity of the situation doesn't go unnoticed.
She imagines they run one or two or twelve red lights and damage some unlucky sod's property along the way -- that's just how the Logistics roll. But what matters is this:
They make it in time.
Whatever Croissant and Sora are saying fall on deaf ears, because the relief that floods Texas once a pulse is confirmed overpowers everything. Sora whispers a song to Exusiai, or maybe them both -- quiet and gentle, not the sort Texas would listen to while driving, but one of those that came up on shuffle when she had trouble sleeping.
The barely conscious Exusiai does not stir, but through the Arts-charged musicality her wounds begin to stitch themselves back together. It's not perfect, but it's enough for now. Texas can't keep herself from staring; it's almost like Exusiai is just taking a peaceful nap, and the sight reassures her.
It's okay. We're out of the woods.
"We think it's a splinter of one of the mafia groups that wanna get ahold of the Logistics," says Croissant, breaking the spell. "Or want to kill us all. Or want to steal our stuff. The baws won't say." She shrugs. "Anyway, this isn't yer usual scuffle."
"It should be a while before they try again." At this point Texas can't bring herself to be too concerned with attackers' motives. For now, anyway.
"Yeah, you really went at 'em," Sora says. "By some technical loophole I'm pretty sure this area is outside civilian territory, so... it's probably fine! Collateral damage notwithstanding…"
"We should get to the safehouse to figure out a Plan B," Croissant says. She nods to the van parked in the distance. "There's more medical supplies there, too -- Tex, if you could help carry her --"
Texas is all too happy to comply.
* * *
Sora's patched most of Exusiai's injuries up, but healing from Arts doesn't cover everything -- cuts still bleed and bones still need to be set, so Texas has been assigned (or more like she volunteered) to help with that. She's assumed a spot in a chair by the bed Exusiai's resting on, refusing to leave her side for long.
This safehouse is still unfamiliar -- Emperor had to pull some strings for one no one would know about -- but she feels at peace. A welcome change of pace compared to what she had to deal with the previous day.
The clock on the nightstand reveals it's approaching 2AM.
Exusiai says, sounding half-asleep, "Three years, six months, two weeks, and -- I think this makes four days."
Until what? Texas almost asks, but a hunch tells her the correct question is since when?
The angel continues unprompted, confirming the wolf's suspicions: "...Maybe she would have come and saved me like she did my sister."
"I'm sure the situation was more complicated than that." None of the P.L. members had ever truly understood Mostima, and it was a futile effort to try.
Exusiai says nothing for a moment. Her gaze flicks up to Texas', and she asks, then, "Why'd you fight for me?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"It's just," she muses, "you could've died. I know you're amazing at hand-to-hand but we were outnumbered. To try and take them on yourself was..."
"It was a risk," Texas admits.
"They could be off with both our heads and our precious goods," says Exusiai, "and then what would become of Penguin Logistics?"
Texas' fingers curl and uncurl. She says, firmly, hoping her blinking isn't too conspicuous, "What matters is that you're alive."
Exusiai shakes her head. "What I was going to say, back there… I wanted to apologize for failing. I know how you feel about her but you'd probably still trust Lappland to --"
"That was different," Texas states levelly. The simple thought of the other wolf makes her bristle. "You didn't know they could get to you. And anyway, you're completely different. You're… less tiring."
"Never thought I'd hear you say that."
"In any case," she quickly continues, "I don't compare partners like that."
"Mm-hmm," Exusiai hums. "Hey, Texas…"
"Yes?"
"Are you going to be sleeping in that chair? It looks pretty uncomfortable."
Texas tilts her head.
"It's fine," she replies, "I got a cushion from downstairs."
The look on Exusiai's face shifts immediately, serious to playful: "Come on~ doesn't this bed look tempting to you?"
It's impossible to tell whether her smile is genuinely intended to be devastatingly cute or if she just finds the situation funny. It could go either way. Texas isn't about to ask.
"Exusiai," she says instead, half in embarrassment and half in disbelief, "you're not even half recovered yet."
"...Yeah, you're right, bad time for that," the angel admits. Tries to sit up but immediately yelps "Ow! Ow, ow --"
Texas shoots her the best withering look she can muster. Exusiai huffs: "Fine, you win, I'll stay down."
The time passes in comfortable silence. Texas remembers what she forgot about quite suddenly; she slides the silver out of her pocket, tears it open and silently offers one of the pocky sticks to her. Most of them aren't whole anymore, but they don't have to be.
Their hands brush as Exusiai accepts it -- it's warm now, alive, and Texas has never been more grateful.
"You're so predictable, Tex," she sighs, waving the stick in the air for emphasis. Picks at the chocolate-covered top before continuing, "Next you're going to take the chance to say something like 'I was so worried I wouldn't get to tell you that I love you!'"
"I wasn't thinking of that at all," says Texas, mortified. Clearly they'd spent way too much time together. The last three words of Exusiai's sentence dig themselves into her brain.
"Well I was."
"You can't base people's actions off of --" She begins to snap, but her brain catches up with her mouth only seconds later. "Wait, what'd you say?"
"...Nothing."
Exusiai is fixated on the ceiling. She gnaws off half of the stick too-quickly (a sudden movement Texas should chide her for, really, but she's not thinking about that right now) and doubles down: "I said, 'Go to sleep.'"
"Oh," Texas says, as calmly as she can, "then I guess I will. Good night."
"Wait -- no --"
Exusiai looks so disappointed then that Texas can't help herself -- she grits her teeth and amends, quietly, "If you keep it a secret that I was actually thinking of saying 'I --"
She stumbles then, face burning, but continues: "'I love you' -- because I can't let the chance slip away again, then I won't say a word about your mistake either."
The angel -- her angel -- blinks at her. Texas doesn't dare to look back.
"That was so many words in one go," Exusiai says, but she can't keep the grin from spreading on her face full-force. She smiles like this all the time, but this specific one feels special because… well, because. Are those tears in her eyes? Texas doesn't know what to do with herself.
Then: "Oh, sorry -- I meant to say, you have yourself a deal!" And: "Also, you have a free pass to caress my face when you re-dress the bandages tomorrow."
"I'll… keep that in mind."
"...Wait, one more thing. I have a clause to add to the agreement."
"What is it?"
She says, with an air of cheeky exasperation, "Stop trying to suppress your smile already!"
(...Texas, finally, concedes -- takes Exusiai's hands in hers and lets that speak for itself.
Exusiai can't recover soon enough.)