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[color=seagreen][h1]Drake[/h1][/color]

[color=greenyellow][b]Time:[/b] Evening of the 2nd[/color] 
[color=greenyellow][b]Location:[/b] Tough Tavern[/color]
[color=greenyellow][b]Mentions:[/b] Everyone at the Tavern[/color]

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It was the scream that snapped him out of his dominant trance of his. Kalliope’s shrill cry for help called Drake’s attention just in time to catch the swinging door and the crowd that gathered around it in the blink of an eye. He took the time to aim and considered shooting once in hopes of securing some form of victory over this unseen kidnapper. But his better reasoning kicked in and he shamefully lowered his gun.

Then, as if on cue, guards and staff began swarming the scene. There were blades and guns that had been flinging that came to a stop once the kidnapping had concluded. Drake’s anger bubbled forward as he looked around the room, his revolver now swiftly holstered into its usual resting place. [color=greenyellow]”I hope you all can find it in yourselves to look the other way tonight. But for those of you who plan to tell the tale of what happened, and bring the hells upon my family…I will be there to guard the gates. So tell them to bring their best.”[/color]

Then is when the familiar and welcome face of his father stepped into his view.

[color=greenyellow]”Father…”[/color] His voice barely crept up before listening to his “Dad” voice. Quick efficient orders to control the room long enough for them to flee the scene before the man’s emotions got the better of him. It worked well, and before long they were all in the carriage, a somber air hanging over them as Gideon softly wept over his sister.

The gentle grasp of Drake’s hand made him look up, and register the reassuring words. [color=greenyellow]”I’m sorry it had to be like this…I wish I had done more.”[/color] He was sure his father would disagree, to tell him he did his best. But with two ladies now gone, and his sister in unknown condition, Drake found it hard to claim any sense of victory. He would spend his time in the hospital getting treated, gripping on what he could with cold sweat dripping down his forearms as doctors went to repair the tissue.

There were hushed whispers, concerns voiced, questions asked, and most of it was met with a cold stare from the young lord. If it wasn’t a bourbon or an anesthetic, he didn’t want any part of it. It took nearly 8 hours to treat his wounds that night – an exhausting endeavor for all parties. Drake spent the night in the families infirmary once the major injuries were treated, and began drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, the thought of those yet saved still lingering on his conscience. 
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