[center][b][u]Mason[/u][/b][/center]
Mason cleared his throat, scanning the room. Not a large crowd today. It was still early though. Not every member sees the posters or has time to group up and that was fine. He gave Kennedy a half-hearted smile. “I wasn’t home…and I’d rather not go inside my ex’s house,” he admitted. Just a year ago it was his house too. A sigh escaped him. Before he could ask Kennedy anything about the reported gang activity, a familiar gruff voice caught his attention. He looked ahead and noticed Valentin addressing him. “Oh, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I think I only ever mentioned her once during my time with the Vox.” Mason had always weary about letting personal information slip out, in case it was overheard by the wrong people. Mason had few enemies but he’d rather not let them use his family against him. But, this was the Knights of Songbird. He had been around long enough to know that these were good people. Trusting people. “She’s fi—” before he could finish his sentence an unstable warp-like window slowly materialized in the room. It grew until recognizable features appeared within it. It was dark, even compared to the dim-lit basement. He stepped away from Kennedy and Valentin to inspect the mysterious formation when something flew past, nearly grazing him. He jumped back in cautioned before realizing it had come from behind him. 

“[i]I see you’ve been here a while, Arch…[/i]” he muttered under his breath. Mason hadn’t had many interactions with Arch but was familiar with him as a Knight and a skilled marksman. He was young, very young, but Mason respected him for his skill and devotion to his trade. A quite boy, never bringing attention to himself if he could avoid it

A sound came from beside him. Valentin must have been equally as curious an approached the odd window as well. He peered inside and saw a figure, most likely a man, overwhelmed by a group of what looked to be guards. As he watched the men pound on the helpless figure, Mason remembered the time he was arrested. These men were no better than those employed by the Prophet. Before he could process what this thing was that showed him this unforgiving scene, Valentin stuck his hand through the window and pulled out a struggling man. Mason backed up, giving his comrade space as the man he pulled through fought for control. Mason stood by, his chest shaking with suppressed laughter. Now he remembered why Valentin stood out to him. Many of the Vox recruits were there to fight for themselves, their own rights. Some, perhaps like Valentin, fought for more. Valentin struck the man and sent him sliding across the floor of the basement, knocking the wind out of him as his body made contact with the wall. Mason clapped his hands a few times, hints of laughter still in his voice, before remembering the beaten man within the window. 

Turning his attention to the window now, he could see a small mass of angry looking men approaching the window or, more appropriately, the portal. His hand flew to his waist and produced a small blue bottle. He chugged the contents down his throat when a sharp, familiar pain shot through his right arm. The length of his arm darkened and a few black bird feathers grew from his pores. His nails grew as well, tapering to a point and turning black. He lifted his arm up at the approaching men and a murder of crows flew over his head, as if out of nowhere. They surrounded the men, tearing bits of their flesh with their bloody beaks. In the midst of the mayhem, Mason saw the subject of the guards’ abuse. It seemed all of his assailants were now preoccupied. 
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[center][b][u]Charlotte[/u][/b][/center]