To call this place a dump was a bit of an understatement. Every shambled home lay in disarray, many buildings no longer resembling buildings so much as heaps of stone and metal all compiled to the ground thanks to gravity. The buildings that were still standing were certainly decayed and deteriorated, vines spiraling up them in ashen shapes and spirals. No plant seemed to have gotten far, having rotted partway in their ascension, leaving browned fingers barely latching on to the higher up walls. It was a dump most certainly, but it was his dump.

Not much more could be said of any home he’d had over the years, though if Drake had to choose between the four walls he used to call home back in Erubesco, stained with horrible memories of a drunken father, a mother who was never home, and a deceased and innocent younger brother, he would choose to live his life in the wastelands any day. 
Of course, he could choose Liberty…

Ha, yeah right.

His large, leathery wings carried him from building to building swiftly, the thin fur coating allowing him silence while moving through the air. Some of the buildings he landed on were of sketchy infrastructure… Luckily for him, his hollowed bones made him light on his feet and thus the buildings remained standing for now. This attribute of his was great for scenarios like this, though put him at a great disadvantage in physical combat.

Silver eyes darted about the dusty floor below, searching desperately for something. And if his increased haste was any indication, he wasn’t finding it. His quickness was not doing him any favors, for as soon as he grabbed hold of one of the buildings ahead with the intent of pulling himself up, a sharp pain rang out from his hand earning him a hissed, “Shit!”
It seemed he’d sliced his index finger on a jutting piece of metal, causing him to falter and scramble a bit to get himself over the scaffold and onto the roof. A few stray bricks fell to the ground below, causing a small amount of noise but nothing too impressive. 

Moving to his feet, the boy inspected the wound with irritation. There was a bit of blood starting to ooze from the rather deep cut, and as much as Drake wanted to simply shrug it off, he knew better than to let it get infected. Luckily he had found some travel kleenex earlier in his journey and took this moment to pull one out from his back pocket. He placed it between his teeth and, from one of his front pockets, withdrew a lighter. With a skillful flick, he had a flame going in no time and placed it carefully against the wound.

One would expect the wound to sear shut - but they would have been wrong. Rather, the wound remained perfectly fresh. The only thing that changed was the layered dirt around it which slowly burned away from his skin and fell to ash below. It certainly wasn’t your traditional anti-bacteriating method but for someone with near-heat immunity, it worked.

The flame gave out halfway through the process, followed by several failed attempts to reignite it and earning more annoyance from the already disgruntled boy. He gave a muffled groan before tossing the lighter aside. Oh well, it was good enough.

Using his fingers and teeth, careful not to catch the tissue on his sharpened canines, he wrapped the kleenex around his finger as a makeshift bandage and tied it tight. There. 
What a nuisance.

A brief glance toward the discarded lighter resulted in a mild kick to get the useless thing away from him. He would find another. After all, the wastelands were practically riddled with them. Who knew a bunch of ashlanders would be tobacco-addicted smokeheads? 
Everyone, actually... Everyone knew.
He really couldn’t blame them, either.

Things were rough out here and, in most cases, it was smart to keep to yourself. Which was why the next thing caught Drake’s attention now that he wasn’t focused on his first aid. There were people nearby. And not just one or two, no there were MULTIPLE. How extremely abnormal and… curious.

And curious he was. The boy edged across the roof now, closer to where he sensed the auras of several starting to gather, his large wings folding in to make him appear smaller. Fortunately people tended not to look up unless cued by the sound of a helicopter whirring or bird squawking, at least in his experience. Still, he ducked a bit to remain hidden, his unnatural slitted eyes watching the group.

The one in the wheelchair had been rather bold - or recklessly stupid, depending on how one perceived it - to be wheeling himself along in the open like this. Perhaps he had nothing to lose? A death wish would certainly make the most sense. And yet it seemed to do something for the heavy atmosphere, drawing quite a few more out of hiding. Well, he wasn't quite so ambitious as to put himself out in the open, just like that. No, he would observe for the time being and gauge the danger level from his safe spot on the roof.