Caverns of the Conscience

[Seren]

Seren had sunk into a lulled state of semi-consciousness as the rain poured down over her and over Genhao. Adrenaline had dulled the pain in her wrist to a mere ache, but she knew that it was likely sprained or broken; that arm was kept curled close to her body, shielding it from any other source of injury. Despite her anger toward him, she remained beside him, her hand ever present on his chest, if only to make certain that he still breathed. She felt loss, like a heavy weight on her shoulders, at the destruction of the warehouse, her home and base of operations. And now, if he died too... what would be the point of any of it?

Genhao's sudden movement frightened Seren, drawing a cry from lips blue with cold. She was shivering from the pouring rain, looking more like a wet cat than a human. Having pulled free of him, she watched as he backed away from her to lean against the building, knew that the fresh font of blood was a bad sign, that he was hurt badly. And then there was the fear, and she wondered what it was he saw in her face that frightened him so. The bright blue eyes widened with concern, and she dared to crawl toward him, still holding that hand just so.

"Tell me, Adlai... tell me what to do." Her jaw clenched, fighting this sudden attack of worry for him. She couldn't just leave him, could she? He deserved life as much as the next, no matter what he'd done.

[Seren]

Transport? Seren laughed bitterly at the question even as she watched him sink further into a paine stupor. Anything readily available had been inside that damned warehouse, but she did have contacts, could acquire something to get him where he needed to go. It was difficult to make the decision to leave him. What if the other returned to make certain he'd succeeded in killing Genhao? With a sigh, she realized that it was either that or watch him bleed to death before her eyes. She wasn't quite that cruel.

Time would pass, in which she would leave, gain access to a drab transport, something that would draw little attention. Her arm was bandaged and in a sling, her body covered with a hooded cloak. The flat bed of the wagon bore heavy blankets, and with the assistance of nameless others, Seren lifted Genhao into the back. Their silence was purchased, Adlai was made as comfortable as possible, and Seren drove the two of them toward that place from which he'd brought her.

[Seren]

Her stay had been a little less than pleasant. Upon their arrival, Genhao had been swept away from her custody, and she had been taken in for questioning without even the courtesy of a change of clothing. She didn't know how long she was kept in the small room, asked the same questions over and over, her arm aching, her body shivering with cold from the wet clothing she wore. By the time they were finished, satisfied that she had told them as much truth as she was able, Seren was exhausted, deep dark rings pronounced visibly beneath her bright blue eyes. It was then that she was led gingerly into her own quarters, complete with a steaming bath in which she submerged herself for hours, trying to drive away the chill. Her clothes were carried away to be destroyed; they weren't quite salvageable, and new clothing was brought in. The styles were similar to her own, but it had been seen fit to outfit her with skirts. She understood that it might have been important to create the image that she was his new consort; there would be less suspicion from outside sources that way.

The days passed, and Seren was allowed to see him almost every day after the last of the surgeries had been completed. He was unaware of the whispered conversations, when she told him all that had occurred that day. He didn't know that she had argued with one of his physicians over allowing her to touch him as he lay there. A strange bond had begun to form when she chose to help him, and she tried to ignore it but found she could not.

The evening that she was summoned by his own lips, she had been enjoying a quiet and solitary meal; once the message was delivered that he was awake, aware, and wanted to see her, she forgot food. Her cloak was even left behind as she hurried after the maids who had come to fetch her. Of course, once at the door, all eagerness and worry fled her face, and she entered as if it were normal to see someone wake up for the first time after a convalescence.

Her hair had grown out, hanging in black waves to her shoulders, the natural curl beginning to take over, making her look more girlish. The gown she wore was simple, dark green silk, with a strapless bodice and a flared skirt that created the illusion of seductive femininity. Those blue eyes were still startling in her face, and the only indication that an injury had occurred was a small leather brace that supported her wrist, looking more ornamental than anything else.