[color=ed145b]CORRINE DOOLAK[/color] - battlefield

"CORRINE, GET DOWN!  FLATTEN YOURSELF!"

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATHWISH?  GET THE FUCK DOWN, NOW!"

Both James' were screaming at her.  Reflexively, she looked up and around, instead, wondering what the immediate danger could have been.  The cultists were aiming at the shooters, almost deliberately avoiding her.  She wiped snot and tears off her face with her sleeve and looked back down at the ruined Avery.  Seeing the mess that had been her friend caused another wave of sadness to rise up within her, and she started crying all over again.

The shouting and gunfire continued around her, but the world was lost to Corrine and her grief.  She buried her face in Avery's robes, completely consumed by her grief, sadness, anger, and confusion.

It was quiet for a few moments.  A gentle hand on her back broke her from her fit long enough for her to hear the gruff, familiar voice.  "She's gone Corrine....best leave er' be. We'll give her a proper Harbor funeral. Whatever she became...she at least she still deserves that. Come on now lass....lets get you up..." 

Corrine straightened slightly, her face wet and blotchy from her weeping.  She accepted Longfellow's hand and stood, her cold, arthritic joints screaming at her from within her body.  "She should'a come home.  I should'a tried harder ta make her stay, earlier today," she gargled.

Rose had appeared and was frantically jumping from body to body, crying out as she did so.  Suddenly, it was her turn to crumple into a wreck of sobs.  "Th-they're synths!"

Corrine sniffed and wiped another stream of mucus from her nose.  "Synths?  From Acadia?  An' like --"  Her eyes widened and she turned around on the spot, taking a quick role call in her mind.  "Steve.  Where's Steve?"  She looked at the townsfolk who gave her blank stares.  "The mainlander I was with, in the blue coat!"

"Oh!  The young fella," called one of the folks from behind a particularly large rock.  "He's over here.  He's down, but still breathin'."

Corrine stepped towards the islander and knelt next to Steve.  "Shit," she breathed.  "He needs bandages.  Bring me my bag!" she barked, pointing at her discarded duffle lying at the edge of the clearing.  One of the townsfolk next to it jumped and did as bid.  Corrine tore through her belongings and found nothing but a couple of rags.  She pressed one onto the worst of Steve's wounds.  "I can't have ya die, too.  Please."