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Greg knew well the fragility of society; that rules, that safety, that law, were falsities only a few scant days away from dissolution. Supermarkets were but three days stock from depletion if the trucks ceased delivery. Hunger pangs and fear of court rooms were all that stood between neighbors if iced roads and downed power lines emptied their pantries. Violence, kept at bay by the wail of police sirens and twirl of lights. Often, that double edged sword emboldened the weak. How many days had he sneered from his office, watching pencil necked wretches pop off at someone that could remove their teeth, only to hide behind security when their barking angered greater men?

Society had forgotten the rule of strength.

He himself had learned it behind bars, bent over cots with his prison suit around his ankles until he learned to make shivs sharp enough to cut into the men who used him every night. Until he learned to crack his knuckles into skulls to protect the final shreds of his dignity. Strength, power, fangs, blood… to be ruthless, was to break your chains. To grind others into stepping stones and cement them as your foundation to power was the only way to stay there. Comfort weakened, attachment created vulnerability, mercy begot betrayal.

Rats ate rats.

You stayed on top until you became too old or too weak, or until someone stronger came along and smashed your skull in to take your place and remove you from their path. That was the real world. All else was a perversion. All else was a hammering of the natural order into some pale mirror image for no other reason than to sate some misguided desire to feel better. To hold hands around a fire and sing camp songs to watch the embers fade. For what? To feel cold when the flames died.

So when Elias, his best security guard, the one who kept the women safe, wrenched his arm behind his back until the shoulder popped free from its socket? He didn't scream in anger or betrayal or defeat. Pain, perhaps, for it did hurt… but no, this was simply the turning of the wheel. He'd had his kingdom, Wild Gregs, and now the wheel was turning to the next chapter. It was nothing more than the way of things.

Rats ate rats, after all.

"Can't tell you how long I've wanted to cave your nose in." Elias yanked on his old boss's broken arm harder, the crunch of shattered bone wrinkling under his hold like glass beneath a blanket. Warmth bloomed beneath Greg's hoodie, stiff from grime and cheap cigarette smoke. A distant memory, something about how the thin man preferred the low quality tobacco over more expensive tastes. Preservatives, chemicals, cut corners. Everything was about dominance to him. Control. He'd looked down on Elias once, in the parking lot, as the two smoked their respective cancer sticks. The guard had produced a pricey brand of high end tobacco and water, not much else. Bending to the earth, Greg had said. Being its bitch, as opposed to the cheaper brand full of chemicals that forced good ol' terra to bend over. Elias had said nothing, ignored him. That was fine, back then at least, Greg was in control. Greg controlled his money, his work, his time. It didn't matter how he justified things in his head, for reality was different. Reality was that Greg was on top.

Now?

Reality was that Greg was about to die.

Dead Man's Crescent boasted calm yet deep waters, a lake darkened by a steep cliff not far from the shoreline that flowed into white water rapids promising the doom of many unprepared campers and thrill seekers. Clouds obscured the weak night sky above, churned dirt leading towards the water's edge away from the van Elias had dragged his former boss from, bloody and bruised from several deserved beatings. No stars would bear witness to the club owner's final moments, the gods' sight shielded by the wrath of nature. As always, alone and despised. Greg had long since accepted his lot. He'd die as he was born, bloody and unwanted.

A defunct kayak awaited him, faded yellow paint stark over the dark green grass stomped flat by a sea of kobold paws, all chittering and yipping at his passing. It was the duo of feral ladies that awaited the humans by the water that ran Greg's blood cold, however. Why was he surprised? Of course, the last people he'd see were those he'd treated the worst. It was the way of the spider to eat the fly, but sometimes things would fall into its web that bit back.

Sade, sleek without her silks and jewelry and makeup. Nothing to hide the gills on the side of her neck. The fin upon her back and along the top of her head. The angle of her snout that gave her the appearance of a sneering shark. Gray up top, off-white underneath… visible now, without all the makeup and glitter and lights. No wings either, an illusion of her outfits most likely. An aquatic she was, through and through, a Great White shark with maw full of triangular fangs, eyes black as pitch in the dark, ears like fins that lay nearly flat and webbed paws that spread across the cool grass. Beside her, like a specter of oil, sat Moonbeam in a coil of the dragon's finned tail. Every feather a swath of pure night aside from a single line of sliver from her beak to her tail, bisecting the gryphon in twain. Her raven beak was like a spear in the gloom, held forth by lithe panther paws and a still tail. Greg never heard the dancer say a word, not even when she was choking on him under his desk or glaring death into his eyes as he forced her to ride him after work. She'd refused, every so often. But a few glances at his computer… knowing what he had on her. What he had on others…

Sade was the same. One little call and she'd have been back behind bars. Unlike Moonbeam, he didn't have to forge false crimes or fake evidence. He had other ways to keep the gryphon under his thumb. None of that mattered now. Elias tossed the wiry man to their claws, kobolds descending upon him with stones, sharp edges and dull thumps cracking bones and bruising flesh. Kobolds he used to use, forced himself upon, watch dance and be dragged into dark corners by men much like himself. They were his revenue farm, his power, his property.

Slaves.

Now, like a scene made biblical, those same reptilian eyes that gazed upon him with fear tore him apart with hate. Each crash of stone held by paws that wanted to claw and rip. Something in his head cracked, crushed, vision splitting. Colors were wrong. Copper on his tongue and sound… distant. It hurt, familiar pain. This was the real way of things.

"Aye aye, no cuts!" Sade sighed, inspecting her claws, for once not sheathed in bright polish. "Gotta look like 'e died usin' the river tryin' ta flee." Sharp shark fangs glistened in the low light, a conical tongue licking sleek chops as the aquatic dragon hen let her tail swipe across the grass. A fin… Sade had a fin.… she'd always been so covered in silks that he'd never noticed. Not that he cared. It was a hypnotic thing, that tail, even when rocks were smashing into one's pulped eyes. Greg remembered yanking on it one sordid night, forcing his top dancer to feed him wine as she bounced. It had rubbed his hand raw, now that he thought about it. "Is enough, all of ya's. Hurrys it up, Moony. We's still committin' murdah out here."

As if pulled by chains, the pack of bloodthirsty kobolds dropped their implements of revenge, circling their tormentor turned prey. Talons ghosted across the grass, silent as serpents, as Moonbeam's shining blue-white eyes bored into the wheezing lump of flesh below her. How often had she looked up at him as he beat her? Screamed at her? Threatened her? Made her please him beneath that desk. Now, he was just… a man. No files to hold over her head. No emails to ruin lives at the touch of a button, drafts ready and waiting to be sent by him or his flunkies. Once the money stopped, once the investigations began, once the detectives came sniffing? Greg's empire fell apart. Vile scum that he was, he'd have vanished into some Belarusian yacht if Elias hadn't been waiting.

Moonbeam didn't care about his money or his power or his connections. Not now, not as she straddled his hips and bore her ice-eyes into his, her talons around his throat.

'What… can't get it up?'

Squeeze….

Squeeze…

Flesh had always been so soft.

Giving.

Wasn't this your favorite position? Haunches around your hips, tail around your ankles? Cigar at your lips?

Choking, silenced by claws, skin bruising, feathers bristling.

Silence.

Not a word. Not a whimper. Not a huff nor snarl nor growl. From neither.

Just…

A squeeze.

Harder…

A lifted hand, fingers wrapped around her avian ankle, claws tightening, eye rolling back.

The veins were stark in his whites. So unfocused. So unlike him, his predatory gaze, always looking for the next fix. The next girl to make his own.

Yet no anger. No betrayal. No judgement. Greg accepted his death without struggle. Without fuss.

Moonbeam thought that would fill her with anger. With hate. As if he were denying her his final fight. In the end? She just didn't care. His wants didn't matter. Thoughts didn't matter. Fears didn't matter. Only that he stopped breathing.

Squeeze.

Squeeze.

Squeeze.

The shivering in Greg's feet fell flat.

Lips blue.

Eyes glassed.

The last thought Wild Greg had, as Moonbeam forced him from this world, was how terribly slow she was being about the entire ordeal. Emotional. That had always been her weakness.

'Hurry this up would you… I've Hell to get to…'

Still.

Quiet.

Only the distant click of Sade's claws upon one another.

"Love, are ya done? I appreciate ya gettin' off but the cops will come if'n ya straddle a dead guy's hips until the sun come up." No answer. Moonbeam's eyes locked upon Greg's blanked expression. One death wasn't enough…

'Die again. Die again. Die again.'

A gentle touch on her shoulder-

Moonbeam snapped, her beak nearly taking Elias's finger away at the tip. It wasn't anything the former guard had inexperience with. No one touched Moonbeam. No one. A gryphon's glare was piercing; wide, round eyes like spears into your own. Head tilting, talons finally lifting from Greg's neck with a creak. Deep purple bruises left evidence of her hatred. Elias sighed, nodding for the gryphon to leave the corpse be.

"Off, Moon. We gotta go." More staring, a slow rise of her feathers. A scoff from the dragon nearby. "We gotta go." He didn't understand, how could he? Still, they didn't escape the club just to end up arrested by a lake. As if the act pained her, Moonbeam pulled herself from her perch and stomped into the woods, Elias stuffing what was left of his former employer into their shoddy kayak before kicking it into the lake's flow without preamble.

No ceremony nor final goodbye, just taking out the trash. None stayed to watch Greg float faster and faster down stream towards the distant rapids. None cared to see. Born alone, to a mother who didn't want him and a father who didn't stay, who died alone, surrounded by those who hated him. In the end, Greg left behind naught but pain, his remains sinking to the bottom of unfeeling foam and ice cold water.

Elias sighed, turning to try and catch sight of Moonbeam in the gloom.

"Aight, all yous, pack up in the van!" Sade's bark had her kobolds running in formation back towards the stolen vehicle, its plate obscured by dirt and rust. A lick up the human's neck, one he swatted away, broke his search. "Ahaaa. Love how ya flinch. I'll have ya in bed yet. Need me's a good fuck on my terms for once."

"Don't count on it, fish." Elias grunted, glaring at how his defiance only made the hen's cheshire grin wider. "Let's find Moon."

"Baaah, she a big girl. Moony be at the meet up point before we do, I reckon." A hiss, webbed paws spreading in the grass as deep inhales filled the aquatic with unfiltered air. This was real, not the thump of a night club or the howls of men waiting to pay for her tail. Greg was gone, so was his hive, and they were free. "Jus' us now. No muppets or pervs tuggin' on my ears."

"Yeah yeah, freedom. Broken chains and all that. Let's get in the van. We just killed someone and the grass is still bloody." Elias shoved with his shoulder, forcing the dragon to stumble with a guffaw. "I want us in Alyssia in the hour. I have a place, remember?"

"For sure! Though, you keep pushin' like that…" The tip of her finned tail made its way between the man's lips, anger flashing in his eyes as he rocked a fist into Sade's neck. Muscle rippled as she barked, pain blossoming in her spine yet a smile on her maw. "Ah! Damn! Jus' joshin'! Careful though, hun. I bite back." True to her words, blood dripped from Elias's knuckles. Running your hand from nose to tail tip on Sade was a simple matter. Tail to nose? Like a cheese grater. A wag of his hand sent droplets into the grass, his eyes narrowing as the dragon inhaled his scent.

"Come the fuck on. In the van."

"Mmmm, where was this Elias all along?"

'Fucking bitch…' Wind tore through the boughs above as Elias sneered at the snickering dragon, following her pawsteps back to the kobold filled van. Still, he couldn't help a look back into the shadows between the trees and bushes, thunder rolling overhead as if the gods themselves were ushering him away. A feather, a flutter, a shiver in the bushes. Something to let him know she was there. 'Damn it, Moon.'

The gryphon knew he was protective. It had been his job, after all, and ever since Greg's had been raided, ever since more than a few of the dancers had gotten snatched up, she'd been… well… Moonbeam had always been quiet. Withdrawn. Silent. Never spoke in crowds and getting even a chirp out of her in private was like pulling teeth. Elias knew more than most, heard more than most, during those few times she let him stand there in her changing room while she cried. Never sobbed or shouted, just… tears.

"Aye, lover boy. Bird booty gonna wallow like she does for a bit. Come on!" Metal groaned as she slapped the side of the van, kobolds yipping and chittering as they closed their goddess into the back. Elias huffed, risked one last fruitless look, and slid into the passenger seat. Vertez took up the driver's, a male kobold Elias had pulled men off of before. A solid head on his scaly shoulders but still completely subservient to the dragon in the back. A nod, a twist of a paw, and the van was rumbling away into the forest, shadows dancing and leaves twirling with the coming rain.

A rag flew from behind to land on the center console, one Elias wrapped around his still bleeding knuckles without a thought. Sade grinned from the back, kobolds carefully rubbing her skin from nose to tail. Black eyes zeroed in on the blood seeping down human fingers, nostrils flaring. Gills fluttering.

"…Is your neck alright?" A huff left the man as he eyed the dragon, her gills trembling in the cold air.

"Mmmm, throbbin' jus' right. Feels… real." A nip sent a kobold scrambling away from her maw, lips pulled back into a wretched grin. "Raw an' rough. No money in'it, ya know?" A sigh pulled the dragon's gaze to the window, her angular head settling on the center console, neck stretching forward to join the man up front. "It's all been money an' sex an' transactions. Now I can piss ya off an' get somethin' without earnin' a buck for someone else."

"You could have done that before, Sade." A glare through the rearview, one she returned with a half lidded stare. "Just been normal between shifts."

"Weren't nothin' normal about Greg's." A huff, a growl, her ears flat across her head. "An' besides, ya were always as quiet as Moony on duty."

Not normal had been their constant for the past week. One moment, business as usual, the next, an insider from the police station squealing an entire legal force was dropping down on Greg's head. The dealers had been the first to pull out, alcohol lenders next, and suppliers third. Carefully crafted networks vanished overnight, dancers fleeing into the nearby city as their master's blackmail fell into the hands of the police. More than a few ran into the protective hands of law enforcement, the promise of lightened sentences under the threat of duress. Sade and Moonbeam didn't have the benefit of their crimes being so… one sided.

And Elias?

A grunt left the man as he wrapped the proffered cloth around his knuckles, blood seeping between the fibers as his thoughts turned to Moonbeam.

'Still out there. Raining. Alone. I should be looking.'

"So, yous said ya gotta place?"

'A place? Right.' Elias turned his thoughts away from Moonbeam. 'Shivering in the rain probably. Glaring at nothing. Too stubborn. Fucking bird… We should stop for towels. Her fur will be a mess.'

"…Yeah. Far side of Alyssia, Broad and Duval street, private docks." A few taps of his phone, one that nearly refused to be pulled from his cargo pocket, and Elias had Vertez on the right track. Any other day, the feminine kobold would be a chatter box of barely contained lust. After the week they'd had, though? Even through scales, Elias could see the bags under his sharp, emerald eyes. Uneven dirt and grass gave way to smooth road as the city loomed ahead, lights piercing the rain-fat clouds hovering above.

"You hit Sade." Vertez mumbled, his usually sugar sweet voice had been subdued as of late. Always on the run, always hiding. There'd been no time to indulge in the flesh to forget. No time to let Sade break him and clear his head. Greg's had been terrible, of course, but it had been routine. Safe. Now… unsure. Tiring. He wanted rest. Wanted someone to help him rest. Only once had he asked Elias to… help. Out of respect, he hadn't asked again. "You're supposed to keep her safe. That's your job."

"Was. Now we survive. Equals." A flash crossed the kobolds features; indignation, anger, offense.

'Good. Bit of fire will warm you.' Elias kept his thoughts to himself, watching the rain splatter the window as they entered the city. Every street corner was a risk. Every red light a trap. It would only take one traffic stop to ruin everything…

"I see. We just tag-alongs, now? Or…"

"You're equals, Vert. But I won't just stand around and let shit talk fly when Moon was-"

"Moony ain't fragile. Girl won't lift her tail so easy though." Sade's hissing chuckle rose between them, a pleased groan filling the cabin as one of her kobolds massaged her dorsal fin. "Gonna have to smoke me to really get her feathers wet. Wan' me to act up? Can 'ave a field day wit' it. Get you ya basic broad." Fangs glistened in the passing street lamps, a cheshire grin stretching wide enough to swallow a man's arm.

"…What?"

"Bah, forgets ya, chucklehead. I'm beat."

"I can tell. Your accent gets horrid." A glare, one returned by that wide smile. Always teasing, pushing buttons, often not in a fun way. Sade liked to stir the pot. Liked to get a rise out of those around her.

Control.

Anxiety waned the deeper into Alyssia they drove; thicker traffic, heavier crowds, dirtier streets, and less police. Patrol cars gave way to taxis and beaters, blue uniformed officers of all species for hustlers and call girls, trash piling high in the gutters and corners as monuments to rot and decay. Rats nibbled away in the shadows, the clean concrete replaced by grime and steam that danced in the swirling storm winds, battered by fat rain and humid metro air blasting from manholes and metal grates. This was where they belonged. Not where people waved and smiled and passed by with easy turns of the shoulders. No, this was where folk kept chins downturned. Where cliques were loud around barrels filled with trash and flickering flames, where lost souls stood at bent angles in alleys, where half dressed homeless slept under discarded newspaper. Where cigar fumes braided with the fetid haze of The Rattler, the metro that never slept. Where people kept to themselves and hid knives and rusted revolvers in pockets. Where police didn't tread.

This was home. This was where the broken and the greedy and sneering dwelt, the high and the drunk and the dangerous. The gangsters and bangers, those thin from drugs or fat from booze. Here was the domain of the gnarled, the unwanted, the outcast. A seething boil under the shining uptown used in tourist pamphlets and internet searches. Strange enough, Elias felt more at home down here in the depths as opposed to up in the terraces. At least here the scowls were honest, the distrust true, as opposed to the fake smiles hiding backstabbing business deals and political maneuvers.

Snores filled the cabin, from more than just the dragon, her gills shivering with each squeaking huff. Elias laid a hand on the aquatic hen's head, careful to only move his fingers with the grain of her sandpaper hide. As much of a bitch as Sade could be, as rude and sharp as her tongue could lash… she was still his friend. More than once she'd cried his name, anger on her fangs, for Elias to rip some client off her kobolds or herself, claws trembling to kill a handsy drunkard feeling under her tail without paying. Not that… Elias didn't give as good as he got. The argument that followed the infamous Puddin' nickname had made rounds even during the week Wild Gregs was going under. Sade had not appreciated the moniker.

'Well, maybe she shouldn't have said my frappe was lame.'

"Keep an eye out… for d-techs…" Elias could only raise an eyebrow at the mumbled warning, sleep addled thoughts drifting to the surface as fangs idly snapped at his petting fingers.

"Fuck are d-techs… I can't understand her accent when she gets tired."

"Undercover cops," Vert explained, a bit of life returning to his eyes as the streets and buildings cleared, sloping down towards distant docks. Most were city owned, large cargo ships or yachts stuffed between cushioned pylons. Further down were the fisheries, distant from the city center where the scent of fresh catches would bother only the most extroverted residents. Gulls led the way as Vertez eased the van around an old sign, it's wood marred by time and weather. Joe's Sea Slips, the gold paint faded and visage of some… man, acting as silent sentinel to the dock parking lot.

It was a quaint place, Joe's; twenty slips, ten each side of a central boardwalk spotted with fish cleaning stations and hoses galore for fresh water wash downs of boats thick in salt and grime. Most cradled fat, old vessels, heavy with nets and skids, waves bobbing them in their slips to pull on mooring lines. As Elias had read, every single one had protective housings of wood that covered the boats, all large enough to have their own built in rooms for storage. The furthest slip was his, unused, free for calling in a favor.

'Speaking of…' Elias let his eyes fall to the squat office looming near the edge of the parking lot, a singular window glowing yellow.

"Be right back. Last slip is ours, on the right. Number ten." Vertez nodded at the man's back, paws already working to wake his mistress. Rain soaked through Elias to the bone within a few steps from the van, boots digging troughs through the mud up to the office and its heavy oak door. A bell signaled his entrance, some much younger man looking up from steaming coffee and worn books. Recognition, then disdain, followed by acceptance… Flint didn't like Elias. Didn't like his profession nor the crowds he kept. "Flint."

"Elias." _Clack. _A crack ran through Flint's mug as he slammed it on the counter, jagged and ugly, but… serviceable. "I told the boss lady you were trouble. You know the cops have a BOLO out for you?"

"Slip ready?" Heat pooled behind Elias's eyes, pressure building in his forehead. How many times had he helped this pencil necked little paper pusher? "And keep your mouth shut. Boss lady wouldn't want bad business in her docks."

"You are bad business." Further complaints died in the man's throat as his desk creaked, Elias leaning his weight into the wood. A warning in his glare. A twitch in his lips. "… fuck you. Everything that touched Greg is shit."

"Are you going to give me my keys?" It wasn't really a stare down, per say, more just one man waiting for another to get over his failed attempt a grandeur. Puffed chest deflated, begrudging submission in his eyes, Flint tossed Elias a worn, brass key.

"Already unlocked. Don't bitch at me if someone breaks in, I've only the one key." Elias was already out the door, bell drowning out Flint's final attempt to wrestle back control of his own office.

'Weak. If the man really hated me he'd call the cops and buck his boss.' Nothing for it though. The van sat empty of kobolds and dragon, activity bustling in the walls of their home. Dock Ten boasted high rise walls, a double wide slip, and a protective roof overhead to keep weather off expensive fishing boats. A second story had been built into the frame above where a vessel could be moored, the dock itself sadly absent, several kobolds were already bunking together under Vert's direction. Sade herself pawed at a room married up to the docking slip, water sloshing against its side.

"Eyyyy, hosie! This one is mine. Won't bother no one if I wants a midnight swim."

"Huh. Don't think I've ever seen you swi-"

"Fuuuck, don't remind me!" With a splash that soaked Elias's already soggy boots, Sade flung herself into the frothing water of the their private boat slip, fins and head visible above the surface. "Ahhhhh, yeeeaahhh… that's bettah. Get in."

"Think I'll pass." 'Especially when you chomp at the water like that…' "You look natural." A compromise, boots and socks were flung aside in a wet arc, caught by a passing kobold who was already putting together a laundry list. Thankfully, each slip had the basic amenities. A shiver ran up the man's spine as he dipped his toes in, sitting at the dock's edge to pierce the aquatic dragon as she split her maw wide to try and bite his feet.

"Course Ah do. Water is mah domain." A whirlpool twisted around her hide as she paddled. Around… around… around… "How'd ya swing this place?"

"The lady who owns it owed me a favor. Called it in."

"Mysterious." Flick of the tail, a splash of water across his already wet pants. A grin, wide and toothy and inviting. "Waaater. Come on in. I'll make ya forget things."

"Hm." Elias raised an eyebrow as kobolds worked in the back. "Thought you'd want a break from… all that."

"Never lifting my tail for some punk who throws money at me again." The playful tease left the aquatic, her circular path growing erratic before calming. Like ocean waves in a storm. "If I fuck, its who I wanna. When I want. How I want. An' I wanna know what it feels like to fuck for fun."

"Well, I don't wanna fuck."

"Baaahhhh…" Another spray soaked his shirt as Sade rolled to her back, floating along the bobbing water, her rump bumping off a cushioned pylon as Vert lowered the rolling drop gate to lock them all in, lest his mistress float out to sea. "What we gonna do now, huh? We gots a place. So… what, jus' hides away?"

"What we do," Elias rose, patting his soggy pants. "Is rest for tonight. Wait for Moonbeam to show up, and we'll plan from there. Need money of course."

"Elly." His flinch turned her hungry grin into something that could be mistaken for warm.

"Don't… call me that."

"Thanks. For not runnin' away wit' the other guards." For a moment, Elias just watched the dragon he'd kept safe drift around their boat slip. She was a bitch. A controlling bitch that pushed buttons and pissed people off on purpose. In the end, though, she was just as much a victim of Greg's as Moonbeam and all the kobolds currently running amok behind him. Raped. Used. Sold like fast food menu items to faceless men.

And he'd…

'I just watched and got paid.'

"Yeah, well. Someone has to lead you water."

"Ha! Ah… hm… like we's need ya." Bubbles rose around the hen's gills as sleep began a march across her features. Elias watched for a bit, how the water flowed through the dragon's gills and her body floated so effortless upon the surface. So easy, in fact, that if not for the slip's drop gate, she might drift right on out into the harbor. Fatigue dragged at the man, urging him to claim one of the rooms for himself. Flint had promised there'd be beds at least, but there was still work to be done. It was a strange dichotomy though; not five hours ago he was watching kobolds stone a man to death, only for Moonbeam to finish the job all while Sade bothered herself with cleaning a claw. Now? The aforementioned shark looked almost peaceful, if not for the tension in her finned tail. The thing had a mind of its own when she was relaxed, yet even while she slept it was ram-rod straight.

Moonbeam would never sleep well in these walls…

The rain had ebbed away to a trickle outside their little compound door, slowing dying as Elias dragged a fishing net near the pylons lining the outer edge of the dock. 'Almost like a little house… I think we'll be cozy in there.' Rope, or line, as it was called in the maritime world, looped end over end around both poles, stretching the net tight like a hammock. A pillow joined one side, fetched by a kobold he couldn't remember the name of. The sound of feathers snapped his eyes wide, hands faltering, yet he didn't turn.

Moonbeam's landing was paper soft, claws barely clicking on the deck as the gryphon landed with a whisper of a hop. Elias paused, glanced over his shoulder, then returned to his work, jerking lines until the hammock was secure. A glare, one the bird was used to, but a glare all the same. It wasn't the first time he'd been upset with her… wouldn't be the last.

"You left." No answer. Moon rarely graced him with words. '_Shame… miss your voice.' _"We've got cops up our ass, we'd just-" A sharp tug, the strain of line on wood. _"Killed _a motherfucker. What were you thinking? Just walking off into the woods?" Still no answer, just a calm stare when he glanced over his shoulder. All Elias could do was sigh. "I made you a hammock." Soft steps joined next to him, a raven beak poking at the swinging net and pillow sequestered at its head. "Yeah? Silent as always. Can't even open your be-gah!" Feathers and fur brushed his face, the scent of pine and soaked cat filling his nose as he was shouldered aside. Moonbeam allowed him a small trill, her throat inflating ever so slightly, as she turned a circle in her new hammock. The bird barely came up to his waist, so she had to jump passed him to curl up in her new nest.

Gentle drizzle from above, rolling thunder in the distance, and her guard grumpy at her. All was normal for a moment. Greg was gone, so were the twisted calls and whistles of pervert clients. No one staring at her rump or trying to put her tail in their mouth… A brush on her back paw sent her eyes cracking wide, body bending to snap at Elias's fingers, glad when he pulled them away with a jerk. Shame filled the gryphon. Even now, after Wild Gregs and its dead owner, now that she was free, and she was still snapping at one of the two people who seemed to give a shit. Not that she showed it, not that she apologized. He knew… right? Didn't he?

"Christ, woman. Just checking on you. You're alright? Not just managing? Today was… heavy. Greg and all." Heavy… Had it been? She'd been angry, how could she not be? Yet when Greg's eyes had gone to glass, when his twitches and struggles faded. Nothing. No satisfaction, no great elation of vengeance. Cold- she remembered the cold. How Greg looked bored. Inconvenienced. Had she hoped for begging? Crying? Whining? Maybe. In the end, did she really care? He was dead, but what he'd done to her, what he'd threatened, hadn't gone away. Still, what could a gryphon do? Besides wallow in a hammock under the rain. "Oi. You still in there?" A blink, a nod, and that was that. Elias raised his hands, only to let them fall, defeated by silence once again. "Well… if you need me. Come running. Like always. We'll be figuring out what to do tomorrow so… you know… good night."

Moonbeam watched him go, a writhing part in her chest tight with desire. To say something, to thank him, to touch him. Just a brush with tail or talon, something that wasn't disguised by shoving him aside. Disgust, a sensation she knew well, burned beside old, oily hate. Hate for Greg. For herself… Why couldn't she just let him touch her? A warm palm upon her shoulder or a debased scratch behind her ear?

She knew why.

Men, framed by flashing dance lights and the thrum of base heavy music rumbling her hollow bones. Tugs on her tail as money was thrown on her head, the burning invasion of men she didn't know under her tail. Greg's taste forced into her beak nearly every night, under the threat of-

Thunder boomed over head, the drizzle turning to a rougher rainfall. Moonbeam sighed, maybe a whimper, rolling to her back and slapping her feathered head upon the pillow. Why was there a damn lump in it? With a growl, she forced her paw into the case to force the fluffy innards flat, or… fluffy as they could be under the weather. A rough mass met her claws, her head twisting to a confused angle, before pulling free a shirt.

'Elias's…'

That was a familiar scent. His scent. Her guard… Why couldn't he be here with her? It was her fault, in the end, pushing him away. A thought that speared her like a white-hot lance. This… would have to do for now. His shirt pressed to her beak and filling her head with thoughts of a man who cared for more than what was under her tail, or the curve of her back. This… would have to do for now… quietly crying in the rain and imagining what could be in this new life without Wild Gregs.

It smelled nice… It smelled like Elias.