[b][u]Aurora Claudwell[/u][/b]

Rory seemed to disappear into what she had become in those moments. Her dark waves of hair flashed around her shoulders with each twist that brought a heel to a solid temple, and each strike that sent her claws through a piece of fabric that might as well have been paper thin. She was aggressive, as if the fight was purely personal. On some level, it had become so with the threat to the only home she recognized. Was it fear that pushed her forward? That turned her into a predatory creature? 

She had been left alone in a grouping of half a dozen soldiers with the disappearance of Mr. Faraday who had gone to rescue Mila. Another mutant had been sentenced to crowd control. This battle had been required of her, and she tore into it with crushing speed. She felt automatically at the advantage with that point alone. What made her even more opposing was the odd intuition she felt. She sensed a hit coming before it landed, jerked out of the way with long moments to spare. She [i]seemed[/i] to be natural. However, what her speed and intuition couldn't make up for was her lack of experience. Somewhere in her passionate dance with guns and claws, Rory dissolved into her furious emotion. The footwork and fighting style that she had only recently undertaken increased in sloppiness. It would be hard to tell at how fast she moved, but her kicks became inaccurate, her lunges a little wide. It was a matter of time before one swift foot caught the ankle of a fallen foe. 

Ideally, cats always land on their feet. Rory, the exception, tumbled to the ground with a sudden "Oomph!" A soldier was upon her in seconds, and it was at this moment that she noticed the strange ooze replacing what should have been blood seeping from the three straight claw marks on his cheek. He wouldn't be able to overpower her, of course. But from where she sat, it was obvious that she couldn't outrun a bullet. She glared at the male as the cool barrel kissed her forehead, shiny with a thin sheen of sweat. "You're quiet the handful, girlie," he growled. 

Her heart raced beneath her heaving breast, breath high and elevated. She scrambled for thought, for solution. The only truth she knew was that would kill her. He [i]would[/i]. She had to [i]do[/i] something! 

Her hand shot up, fast as ever. She wrenched the gun to the side. The discharge of a bullet rang in her ears like thunder, particularly devastating to her heightened senses. She let out a horrid scream as she felt an angry force of pain ignite her shoulder, but her body was still in movement. Propelled forward by some animalistic momentum, she flipped the soldier hard into the solid ground. The gun clattered uselessly to the floor the instant her claws sank into his throat. His body gave a twitch, a last pathetic reach for life. The sounds of wet gurgling tapered off until he laid still amidst the several other corpses of his brothers. 

For what felt like a long moment, Rory sat still, claws drenched in the strange fluid of her enemies, her own shoulder dripping with red. Each breath came into her lungs tensely, and left with a painful shudder. It may have been the sight of her own blood that reminded her of her own mortality. That recalled to her the human parts of her being. Somehow, she felt as if the weight of each of their lives were resting on her back. How could she possibly stand when she felt so heavy? 

Her ears twitched when she heard the distant calling of a familiar voice, [i]"Rory?"[/i] 

Her hazel eyes lifted from the mess of bodies and bones, as if looking to the sunrise. "Luna?" she tried calling back, but her voice came out as nothing more than a strangled mumble. She staggered to her feet, wincing as her shoulder shifted uncomfortably. She lifted a hand to steady her arm, keeping it as still as possible. "Luna!" she called louder. Her eyes searched through the mess of the museum, eager or frantic, until they finally landed on the familiar face hovering amidst the fallen displays. She let out a breath of relief and darted to her friend, who seemed as golden and beautiful as ever despite the mess of ooze she was covered in. She only paused when her arm gave another painful shift. Her face twisted in pain as she clutched to her wounded shoulder. "Are you okay?" she questioned in a strained tone.