[center][h3]Brewing Storm[/h3]
[@krayzikk][@sho minazuki][@herecomesthesnow][@kaithas][@plank Sinatra][@suku][@narayank][/center]

Beneath the crushing force of a burly teenager’s boot, the door to the room of Mar Millade slammed open.  Instantly the dual mysteries surrounding the room, presented in the forms of sound and scent, were solved.  First and foremost, the tiny apartment appeared to have a nonstandard –not to mention sporadic- paint job, done in brownish-burgundy.  No source of the fluid used could be seen, but a fair amount of it lay around the remaining fragments of the broken window.  A look straight down from the shattered aperture revealed the outline of a body in the mud below, though one too small and apelike to be human.  An astute eye would reveal more rivulets of dried blood drawn like streaks of rain down the side of the building, indicating that whomever ruptured the window gained the roof.  A clawed-open airduct in the room offered an easy hint as to why someone might want to vacate their supposed safe haven swiftly.  At that point, noises could be heard from inside Moss's unopened room, elicited by Benjamin's clamor.

Vague expectations had filled Ivor’s mind as he entered the cafeteria.  As odd as the scantily-clad Faunus and gray-obsessed fellow appeared, he imagined that they might have come with a regular paramedic team in tow.  He certainly did not expect to find a pair of young women in various stages of undress huddled around two of his co=workers.  For a moment his wit abandoned him, leaving him wearing an [url=http://ih1.redbubble.net/image.117503291.2796/sticker,375x360.u2.png]expression[/url] of mixed surprise, amusement, and admiration.  Soon thereafter, however, the keen programmer offered his two cents.  “If this is how an average rescue team works nowadays, I should nearly die more often.”  He seated himself on a cafeteria bench with his back against the table, and reclined.  “Gray-haired guy sent me over.  I’d be glad to help any way I can.  Oh, I know!  While you’re busy, I’ll keep watch.”  This could, of course, not help but strike a paradoxical note given the constantly near-shut state of his eyes.

[center][i]-meanwhile-[/i][/center]

Bent on following the directions of her team leader and contributing to the operation’s success, Cian in her haste rushed across the storage room toward where the survivors allegedly were to take up a defensive position.  She did not, apparently, take much notice of the solid steel door that separated her from the control room in which the survivors held up.  Through a small peephole one of the refugees watched Cian turn her back to him and the rest, setting up a shield with which she would valiantly protect the door.  The lad furrowed his brows in consternation, and despairingly asked those near him, “What the heck?  Are these guys here to help us or not?  None of the monsters even scratched our door but this girl’s hunkering down to protect it.  Why doesn’t she let us out already?”

He pressed his nose against the glass, strands of blue hair splayed in every direction.  The other survivors closed their ears, remembering the boy’s prodigious lungs.  “Hey!”  His shout bounced off the walls.  “Fighter girl!  Let!  Us!  Out!”  After a deceptive moment, he belted out an afterthought.  “Priscilla!  Took!  Keycard!”

While this went down, the damaged barrel almost certainly containing a human sat, ignored, in the refinery room.  At the very least the no-doubt terrified and uncomfortable hider within would not suffocate to death, given the rends in the drum’s metal, but thirst would be just as bad a way to go if the remaining two members of JCL did not cease their ruminating and start saving.