[center][h3]Loom: Midtown Swait District[/h3]
[i]Day 2, Evening, 2254[/i]
Roanne, Ian, and Zadkiel[/center]

She grit her teeth, unable to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks. It was karma, perhaps, that she should wind up quite so humiliated after making idle threats to Jasper. Curled up on the ground, being fussed over--[i]Goddammit, this isn't me! People can't have faith in this![/i] Roanne felt a sharp pang in the back of her skull as her thoughts smacked against it. She was going to wind up with a headache on top of the pain spiking through her side if she didn't get it together.

“Jasper—” Her hand moved to his wrist, but stopped before she could shove his light grasp off her. As her gaze met his, something seemed to snap in her tight half-smile, her lips softening into a real one. How could she berate him? A sly remark would taste too bitter, the warmth of his hand and the reassurance of his presence damning any sense of ingratitude brought on by his teasing. Hate it as much as she did, she was in his debt. Again. Without having to expend any strength of his own, she could feel the bond between them surge in her body. Her heart literally strained at first, pressured by every connecting vein as her angelic essence flared awake. For all his quiet grace, the ambivalence he seemed to exude, the burning strength of his will seemed to fill every pore of her body.

To become the metaphysical extension of righteous desire, to defy the reality of personal despair—that was the true nature of a Guardian's essence, and it was impossible to manifest without a source of will to embody. She'd lost that strength as soon as the girl-demon had turned on her, which had undoubtedly been part of its plan. Trapped in a state of vulnerability with only her instincts and claws to attack with, the demon's raw strength would have been enough to tear her apart if she'd hesitated for even a second. Only as the power came gushing from under her skin did she realize just how dire her situation had been.

“You were faster than I anticipated.” Roanne's free hand slipped down to the claw before yanking it out without hesitation. The sickening, suckling sound of its leaving was followed by a gush of fresh blood. Red streams soaked down the tears of her jacket, the metallic stench of blood warming the air immediately near her. Yet her smile didn't so much as flinch. 

The bleeding stopped. Roanne chuckled freely, standing up as she examined the claw in one hand and her sword in the other. “I'm sorry to make you deal with it. Sloppy of me, huh? But I guess there's no denying it now: the demons are getting stronger. They've been feeding.”

Her gaze swiveled to Ian, and this time she slipped the goggles off her face and down around her neck. “You're right about the judgment thing. I know how peacekeepers and you Academy pawns think. That killing a demon on any grounds should be punishable means you and I probably won't get along all that well. Demons aren't equipped to kill angels—everything they've evolved thus far has been to hunt humans in pursuit of the same level of power. For every dead angel, there's a hundred, sometimes a thousand human lives gone with it. That's the prelude to war that's starting now, right here in the streets.”

She flicked her sword dismissively, sighing. “When you were busy fussing over me, you left yourself completely open to attack. I didn't react because I was shocked by my own response—that I actually [i]thought[/i] about killing you. So maybe I do owe you an apology. We're even.”