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==[b]When Trouble Rolled Into Town[/b]==

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9 PM.

It was after hours for the public face of Cafe Thaza, but beneath that first floor of sweet aromas and cool, chic furniture was a beating heart that never rested. A heart that accepted the grungy, the beaten, the vanished. Three floors of miraculously well-maintained living space housed over a dozen names whose identities had become the subject of hate, violence, poverty, or worse. There was little natural light that came into it during the daylight hours, and so, even as it transitioned from dawn to dusk, the shaded -oftentimes fully shut- windows offered little clue as to the time of day.

For all of its colorful folk, the living spaces tended to be deathly quiet, broken only by the occasional light conversation of conscious occupants.

...Or the cries that accompanied a grievous wound.

The doors of Cafe Thaza floor B1 were thrown open, as they usually are when someone came in with a gunshot to their stomach. Two individuals carried the wounded man by his legs and arms down the short flight of stairs in the corner of the living room as blood trailed along the clean carpets. Melanie "Mom" Dresdain and an older gentleman whose identity was unknown to those present in the room carried him over to a couch while he groaned in pain, occasionally shrieking as they jostled him just a little too roughly. Time was of the essence.

With nary the energy or will to even curl up on the couch, the wounded young man left his wound for all to see. Mom stepped back, blood staining her apron, while the other man spoke in a hurried, gruff tone. Sunglasses and a fedora obscured much of his face, as did the overcoat he wore.

"Damn idiot," he grumbled, the sound of a smoker's habit clear in his throat, "Fucking thinking you could be a hero. You ain't got the firepower with just two hands, boy."

Mom stayed silent, grimacing at the boy. There was little she could do besides hope; she was no healer, and as much as she'd love for one to fall right into the Cafe's lap, she'd rather spend her breath hoping to win the lottery. A doctor on call would have to do, but that meant waiting for them to show up quickly enough.

"I've probably asked this a thousand times," she said, turning around to face those that had already been in the living room, or wandered in upon hearing the commotion, "but does anyone here know any healing spells? The doctor is... Twenty minutes away." She gazed long and hard at the watch on her wrist, face tightening up as if hoping to convince herself she were exaggerating. The boy continued to groan, unable to retort at his older colleagues musings. Mom huffed to herself in frustration before stomping off to a nearby bathroom, throwing open the mirror cabinet to fish for some wrappings.

The older gentleman took of his hat and held it at his chest, turning to the others gathered.

"Awfully sorry about the trouble. We'll have him out as soon as possible," he said. Putting the hat back on his head, he looked about with a hint of curiosity; a raised eyebrow behind the shaded glasses made it clear.

"What are you all here for? Bad magic?" he asked as Mom returned from the bathroom with a heap of materials. Before anyone could answer the man, she chimed in for them.

"Stuff. Stuff that you don't need to know about. Now how about your grandson?" she said with a twinge of poison in her voice. The two began work on the boy as best they could. No matter how many times a bloodied citizen had come in through those doors, Mom had never truly learned how to work it out on her own. Stress always welled up.

While the injured one had been there for obvious reasons, the others were there for a variety of reasons.

It was a simple decision for those who didn't have a home, or couldn't afford one. A roof over your head that was free and welcoming was nearly impossible to come by. Those children who had been displaced by their past... Blood-stains and traumatic imprisonment barred doors to old homes and locales.

For those that had gotten on the bad side of the law, it was one of the few safehouses they could keep. A traitor of the Magus Prohibitum was unwelcome by both the society and Policus alike. A killing machine no longer wanted by the world was the sweetest of targets for the cities most elite kill squads. For a scientist of boundless imagination, captured on camera at the greatest criminal arcane hotspot... Even walking outside was a risk.

Whatever their background, Cafe Thaza was a haven for them, even if only temporarily.