#kc_necropolis

***************************************************

The wisp heads out from the freehold, threading through the warehouse district.

It eventually finds its way to a cluster of pre-war brick tenements. Several of the windows are blocked with cardboard or plywood, and the bottom levels are barred. A crumbly stoop leads to a heavy metal door. The center one has a rebellious Judas tree growing in the breezeway, alongside the fire escape.

The big man follows behind it, watching carefully and keeping aware of his surroundings.

It is daytime, but there is activity - groups of people on the street, a cluster of toughs by the convenience (Cheapest Cigarettes Allowed by Law!) store on the corner.

He frowns, looking from the spot in front of him that is a focus, and up to the building, and back. His expression says "Are you sure?" but it is unclear who he's asking.

Most take one look at Frank's stature and quietly look away, though a few give him challenging stares.

The wisp, meanwhile, dances up and up the fire escape - bobbing gently by a fifth-floor window.

With a grunt, he finds a doorway in and climbs the stairs easily.

Inside, the fluorescent lights manage to be both too bright and dim at once, flickering and humming away. The walls are thin enough for him to catch scraps of conversations - blaring televsions, crying babies, phone calls.... someone has a dog.

When he reaches the right door, he pauses, then traces the head and jambs as if painting them. He whispers "Is Sparrow here?"

An affirmative whisper back. "The bird sleeps."

"Is she well?"

"No."

His face hardens as he whispers one last time. "Is she alone?"

"Yes."

He huffs to himself, then raps lightly at the door.

It takes a minute, but there is a rustling sound from within. Soft footsteps, and a muffled voice. "Who's there?"

"Frank."

"..Oh." More sounds - a deadbolt being turned, the rattle of a chain. Sparrow opens the door - it is clear she's just awoken, but her kith allows a certain glamour even with bed-tousled hair and a nightgown. She isn't wearing her sling, so she's cradling her left arm against her torso. That same wing has been tightly bound in tape and splinted. She has a black eye, and bruises evident on her arms as well as several mostly-healed scrapes.

Frank's jaw drops.

The apartment itself is a shoebox - a futon with a tangle of blankets, some plastic drawers, a tv tray are the only furniture. A hotplate and tiny fridge serve as the kitchen, and the sink is shared with a curtained off "bathroom". A few thrift store rugs and the start of a chimerical mural give the place some color.

"I'm sorry I didn't call. I lost my phone..."

Frank does not seem overly concerned about the apartment. "Sparrow what happened??"

"Lost a fight... I was... Come in? I'm feeling a lot better. The satyrs brought groceries." Does Frank smell.. weed?

Frank does come in, making sure the door is secured behind him. "A fight with -what-? Sparrow...."

"I think it was an ogre. Not.. not a troll ogre." She hesitates, and then looks down, frowning. "I ran away."

"Not an Unseelie troll, but Thallain?" He clarifies.

She nods. "He was... big. Strong. But he spoke.. you know, like, cartoon cavemen? 'Me smash' and... I... I think he was Thallain, yes."

Frank sighs, still checking her damage visually but not touching. "Sparrow, if I were fully armed and ready, -I- wouldn't want to take one of those... creatures... on in a fight, not without backup. Did you have backup?"

She shakes her head again, avoiding his gaze. "I was out painting. My sword was here. He said I was... that it was his alley."

Frank leans against the wall, crossing his arms casually. "When was this, yesterday?"

"...Last week."

A frown. "Why are you still injured?"

"It... it takes time? I had some help, it's been a lot better since my wing was set. And Luke brought stuff to help me sleep."

"Yes, I can tell." Dryly. "Sleeping by a Balefire should have had this taken care of in a few nights... unless it was much worse? You were able to run away, but... adrenaline is an amazing thing. Sparrow, how bad was it?" Real care and concern evident in his tone and expression.

She sinks down to sit on the futon, rubbing at her face with her good hand. "I didn't want to... impose.. I was.. I was thinking of going to see you and ask, but... I... "

"I went to Firnost on Sunday, and they helped with the wing. And Luke and Sassy brought me food here..."

"Impose?" Puzzled.

"It's not a life-threatening injury. It'll heal. I try to ignore it at work, you know? And I went to the hospital, so they fixed my shoulder. Did you know they'll do it without insurance?"

"Sparrow..." his eyes narrow "... It might not be life-threatening now, but it damn well could be if you meet another Thallain. I've got reports they are on the rise, you know. Why didn't you sleep at a 'Fire?"

"Nobody to ask at Firnost. I'm a guest there... and just... it's not... I thought about it last night, but Luke came by and I was tired and he brought me home..."

"I thought about coming out to see you, I thought, maybe, the Chieftain... you've all been very kind... but I've just been so -tired-..."

His jaw drops again. "Nobody to.... Sparrow, it's -Firnost.-"

"Yes, of -course- the Chieftain...." He huffs with impatience. "Do you have a bag?"

She nods. "Backpack."

"Where?"

"Um..." She pushes stiffly to her feet, moving with less than her usual grace.

The backpack is found, shoved under the futon. She drags it out.

Frank takes it and pauses at the weight and soft clanking inside. He looks carefully at Sparrow. "Sorry. I meant to ask, do you have a go-bag? A pre-packed overnight, or even 3-day, bag?"