2020-07-02 - Sinnerman

Graham is dressed the part of a citizen mourner, suit-and-tie and sunglasses (because it's not raining and there are so few occasions to wear them). He makes no fuss, obviously isn't here to rouse a rabble. He's just watching the watchers, as it were. Though, with that thunderhead, he starts easing away from even the fringes of the funeral, putting eyes on the car that brought him here, parked way over yonder, currently being minded by Andre - who was crying too hard during the service so had to go wait in the car.

Attired in a black dress, blonde hair swept up and sleek, standing near those gathered from the police department who aren't part of the ceremony itself, Olivia picks up her black umbrella and opens it against the summer rain. Her attention slides from those she stands near to those running the show and then over the less familiar faces gathered.

Alexander has two suits. This is one of them, and was last worn to a very different funeral. It's expertly tailored, although he doesn't wear it as well as he should, with his shoulders a little hunched and his expression furtive and nervous rather than confident. That expression, along with the unrelieved black of the suit, tie, and shirt, make him look like a goon. Not a high ranked goon, but the weasely one who gets knocked off in the second act, and it's even odds whether it's the hero or the villain of the piece who does it. Adding to the general impression, his hands and knuckles are bandaged, and he looks generally a little bruised around the edges. He shuffles his feet and stares creepily at people.

It hasn’t seen the light of day in a few years, but Cristobal has pulled out his Dress A uniform for the ceremony. Seams pressed, shoes polished, he could almost pass for respectable. Even his face is freshly clean shaven, done just prior so there is no hint of a shadow on his jawline. His ‘Retired’ badge from the El Paso PD has a black band over the crest, and yes, he’s wearing his sidearm. His pale blue eyes seem sharper when contrasted by the dark bill of his cap, likewise shined to a mirror finish sans of any finger smudges thanks to the gloves that finish off his uniform.

Dressed as such, Cris might not seem so mismatched next to Dante for once, the taller writer/restauranteur at his side as Cruz comments quietly. "We're hanging at the back."

Coming off the high of a mostly relaxing, yet somewhat emotional vacation in France, Byron returns back to the troubling shit that is not only his life, but the lives of many here in Gray Harbor. It's a wonder why he even came back after being gone for a good week. So here he is, dressed in a dark suit, looking somber like many others in the crowd. He's grown up to consider the GHPD to be a part of his family, cop kid that he is, so that's why he's here today. While she didn't have to come along with him, Liilth is by his side today, sharing in this remembrance of the late police chief's life. He greets several familiar faces, the cops who were part of the GHPD since he was a child. Some are retired, some are still on the force.

He hadn't much time to get into contact with anyone regarding some of the... issues that had presented themselves to him before his vacation and for now all of that will have to wait. He does, however, take note of Alexander when he sees the guy in the crowd, giving the other man a concerned look. If anything, he'll have to ask his questions after this is all over.

Alisha while not part of the honor guard is in her formal dress blue's. Well pressed and rarely worn. Boots well polished and hair pulled back, like she usually does on duty. With the other's of the force who are following behind those going to lay the Chief to his final rest. For those close enough to see, she wears a stern expression on her face. She follows behind. A few too many of her fellow officers have been laid to rest this year. Though even one is too many.

"Seems appropriate, at least for me," says Dante to Cristobal. It didn't seem to make sense at first for him to attend, but he was reminded that he is a businessowner now, and it would make sense for him to pay his respects. He's wearing an all-black suit over a black dress shirt with a faint sheen. The only pop of colour is a blood red pocket square. His shoes are gunmetal wingtips because he's incapable of being understated even at a funeral, it seems. Then he leans in to murmur, "You look very handsome."

Amidst all the dark and somber colors, the snowy white of Navy full dress stands out starkly. Joe's got his cover tucked under his arm and a black umbrella popped open. His expression is grim, but not particularly sad - he was no personal acquaintance of the Chief's. He's looking around as if in search of the interim chief, or the musician, though he nods at those he knows as he meets their gaze.

Joey really could give two shits about the fucking GHPD. That's like watching the opposing team not win a game. This is different though, especially when they blame him for being involved. Is his presence here out of spite? One big mighty Fuck You to the cops for trying to pin this one on him, or something else entirely. He isn't in dress uniform or some shit. He may never have done an honest day's work in his life for all anyone knows. What he does do is show up with a bunch of guys from the gym who don't go anywhere near the actual service but stand at the perimeter like some manner of sentry. Predators warding off other predators it seems. Eh the leather's black. It counts for somber attire don't it?

Alexander sidles around the group. Cristobal is given a visible doubletake when he sees the uniform, but he doesn't approach. Nope, that 'honor' goes to Byron and Lilith, who soon have a Clayton lurking in the vicinity. "Hey," he says, quietly, to them both. Offers a smile, brief and thin. "You came back." He sounds like he's not sure that was the right call, and yet, still visibly pleased to see them.

It's a brave card for Graham to play but, since he's fading back toward the safety of his car anyway, he necessarily passes by Joey and all Joey's people. So it makes him pause and, frowning at the lot of them, back-pedal till he's got eyes on Joey himself. "Hi," with a quick, confused smile that translates to 'wtf?'

Devlin may not be a police officer but he is a first responder paying his respects. Though in this case, Devlin is in full dress greens with the 82nd ABN patch on his right shoulder and for those that read fruit salad, he has been awarded 2 purple hearts and the Bronze Star accompanied by various campaign ribbons and awards. His jump boots polished to the point of having a volcanic glass like shine. When it rains, he is slow to raise an umbrella. His black beret is rather new carrying the fold and rake typical of paratroopers with it stretched to the point of covering the upper part of his right ear. His manner even more somber than many would give him credit for.

For Gohl's funeral, Itzhak didn't wear black. He didn't cover his head. He was there not out of respect, but to sacrifice his beloved violin and win peace from Gohl's violent ghost thereby. Everything was a not-so-subtle 'fuck you'...including the fact that he'd flipped off Gohl's coffin.

This funeral, he shows respect. Dressed in a sleek, black-on-black-on-black three piece suit, he's impeccably turned out: shaved smooth as glass, his unruly black curls tamed. He's never before been seen (by any gentiles, at least) in a kippah, but he's wearing one now, in black velvet, embroidered with a silver Tree of Life and neatly pinned to his black hair. No tallit; in his Jewish tradition, the deceased wears the tallit. It'd be impolite to show up the guest of honor.

At the moment, he has his hands in his trouser pockets, jacket swept back over his wrists, trying to pretend he's not anxious. But he is. He's anxious as hell, his tall lean form imbued with restless energy.

Lilith, naturally, is standing next to Byron looking appropriately dressed for funeral in a black sheath dress, heels, and hosiery with muted diamond accent jewelry and a chignon. She's wearing a red thin belt, though, and red heels and lipstick as accent flairs. And while she's mostly here to accompany Byron, this is a town to-do and she's also a business owner. Like many others around GH, she's darkened the Pawn Shop lights for the day in a sign of respect for the procession. She doesn't look all that sober, though, mostly she's standing there eyeing the collective like something is going to break through the crowd and eat them.

Yes, her France vacation was nice, but... it's hard not to be paranoid in a crowd, at least to some degree, now that she's back in town and feeling the weight again. Nevertheless, after some quiet time surveying, she looks up and aside at Byron with a small, personal smile and then turns mind to the clergyman while standing under an umbrella.

If it weren't for the height and the hair, Rhys wouldn't stand out at all here right now, and even those don't do so much. Neat black suit, white shirt, black silk tie, black shoes -- it's probably the most popular ensemble out here for guys today, barring, of course, GHPD uniform. He's quiet, with appropriately polite and periodically sympathetic greetings for people, more or less a piece of the background. Random citizenry paying respects. And during the droning of the clergy, probably thinking about something else altogether until things get interestingly poorly-planned and then bagpipey. He probably isn't the only person taking a moment to debate whether he likes people too much to have those at his own eventual funeral or if he'd rather take advantage of that last chance to make people do things they don't really want to also.

"I'm looking forward to putting some wrinkles in this get up later." Cris mutters to Dante, but despite the flirtatious suggestion, his face remains pulled into a grim expression as he starts eyeing those assembled during the eulogy. While he holds an umbrella over Dante's head, he remains in the rain the droplets held at bay from his face by the brim of his uniform hat. "Remember our deal. Things go cockeyed, you leave."

August is in his service uniform, and lucky him he has one of the new Army greens. This is no doubt meaningless to most of the mourners; to them, he probably looks like he belongs on a World War II movie set. It's not a bad look, really: dark olive jacket and tan slacks, black boots, a maroon beret bearing a unit flash in blue and gray. He's standing near Itzhak, a black golf umbrella held up to keep their (let's be honest here, expensive) outfits dry. He's calm and resolute; this is about the only reason he puts on this uniform, ever. He flicks a glance at people he recognizes here and there: Byron and Lilith, Alexander, Cris, Joe.

Byron didn't intend to wander over and invade Alexander's space, but the other man decides to do just that with him! No matter. With his eyes still on the proceedings, he says with a ghost of a smile at his lips, "I'll take that as a greeting." He adds to that, still not turning to look on the man, "There were several points during our vacation that I'd considered not returning, but..." His shoulders lift into a shrug, "I still have business to tend to here. At least for now."

His eyes look down at Lilith, before they sweep over the gathered once more. Finally, turns to Clayton to ask in a cautious whisper, "Is izzy back yet?" If she was, no one had told him while he was on vacation. It's then that his eyes meet with August across the way as well and he gives the botanist a nod of acknowledgement.

"Do you really expect things to go sideways at a bloody funeral?" says Dante. He tries to take the umbrella away from Cris, but he'll only try so hard if the other man insists on being gallant. "I thought we just settled at the back so we can get back to the car quicker once they're finally finished." Then he leans in and says quietly, "If nothing else, it was worth coming for all the sharp men in uniform. Proof that this town could do with a good tailoring. Or a Taylor-ing," he drawls.

Joey hangs back, one hand covering the other sans pistol this time. Sans being a French word that means without being dumb af. He looked that one up too. He watches. hes not emotional and doesn't particularly give a shit necessarily, but he's not about to shit on the people that do. He can take a seagull approach to Sgt. Mulroney's good day some other time. Looking to Graham, and partly on the periphery instead of the ceremony, he tells him in such eloquent flower language quietly, "Because fuck the limp bag of dicks that tried to pin this one on me. I'm waiting to see if they're gonna start some shit here too." His jaw tightens and he murmurs to Graham plainly, "Feels bad man. Meeting up later about it. I'll text you."

It'd be a day for compliments, save for the occasion. Joe picks his way over to where Itzhak and August stand, as decorously as he can. "Roen, Rosencrantz," he murmurs, as he ends up beside them, allowing just enough space so it doesn't end up in a tangle of umbrellas. Nothing like turning a mournful gathering into something out of farce. He doesn't look like he's armed, and it's not standard for the uniform he wears....but surely he's not here relying on Glimmer alone?

Cris relinquishes the umbrella from his left hand - the right meant to be clear for saluting. The fact that it's also his gun hand only secondary. "It's Gray Harbor." He answers only to the first, though the second part draws a bit of a sneering smirk from his lips. "You just want your hands on aaaall the inseams, don't ya."

Though Alisha still rather serious and mostly focused on the ceremony, no matter how it seems to drag on. She spares a nod of recognition and greeting to both Alexander and Devlin. Alexander she needs to talk to later, now isn't exactly the best time. Also perhaps a little surprise at Byron's presence nearby. Likely remembering him from earlier times in family functions for the department. Maybe there will be time after for drinks and remembering the departed with any of the three.

"I hear you." Graham nods through Joey's profanity, glancing back over his shoulder like he might be able to pick out the limp bag of dicks in question from afar. He has his biases, so his attention might linger on a couple of familiar faces longer than others (Ruiz, Alexander, Lilith - though that last one is more with a quick 'hi' smile than 'definitely she's the bag of dicks'). "I got Andre in the car a couple more minutes if you need anything. We're just," he takes a breath, looking for the right way to phrase it and smirking when he gets there, "seeing how the other side lives. Or dies, in this case." So he's good to mill around the general vicinity for a minute, just in case.

"It was a greeting," Alexander informs Byron, solemnly. He seems to tune out the sermon, but his gaze never stops roaming from face to face. He smiles, briefly, but the relief comes through. "She's back. I'm sorry. She's been sleeping. I've been sleeping. I should have called. I'm sorry." A pause. "She's okay, though. Just...battered. A bit." His hands close into fists, then relax. His gaze doesn't rest on anyone longer than anyone else. It's like he's trying to memorize everyone here, from gym tough to Interim Chief.

Bagpipes. The pomp of it gives the blonde under the black umbrella time to take in the crowd more openly than the eulogy did: the various clusters gathered, conversations, expressions, postures. Olivia stands comfortably as rain slides off her umbrella, considering it all. She is not starting up a conversation with the officers standing nearby, however.

"That would be entirely unprofessional," says Dante with a tug at the line of his jacket. "Good job I'm not an actual tailor." And then he stands there, hands in front of him, until there's that all-too-familiar feeling of reality being skewed, smeared like paint that's only half-dried. He stares up at the sky full of black winged birds, then pulls the umbrella close down over his head - as if a little bit of canvas will protect him. "Why did you have to be bloody right?!" he calls to Cristobal.

Lilith can certainly be a dick, but she's probably not a whole bag of them, it's true. After making a tiny upnod at Graham in that tell-your-girlfriend (and Andre)-I-said-hi kind of way with a twitch of lips threatening smile, she turns a full smile on Joey nearby before following along with Byron toward Alexander. In passing, she clasps August's upper arm, mostly paying mind to the ceremony. But Alexander himself draws a lot of her study and attention before she catches onto his quiet words to Byron. Her own eyes close with prolonged relief at something overheard, but she doesn't get long to really do that.

Because of course she doesn't. Welcome home, babydoll.

Lilith starts blinking once her eyes are open to try and take in visual shifts, but the noise is more concerning to her and after a moment, she just looks resigned to the fact that CROWS are the true bag of dicks in life, "... oh good sweet hell is that..." It's kind of drowned under the bird screams, but she makes good and sure any crowd surges don't separate her from Byron's side while trying to see if she should maybe set something on fire. She refrains for now because she's not a maniac, but... despite the resignation and general tension of 'surprise', she looks damn ready for someone to send her violent instructions, much like a pit bull waiting to get off of a leash and lunge.

Itzhak frowns in the direction of Cris and Dante. Dante's unmistakable, and usually so is Cris, but... "Issat Cruz?" he leans to mutter to August. "Why's he..." why IS he wearing a cop dress uniform, Itzil? The answer occurs to him. "Christ." He glances at Joe as the man, snow-white as a swan, comes up to him and August. "Hey. Stick close, yeah?" He spies Alexander and Byron and Lilith and there's Joey Lee Kelly on the edge of the crowd with Graham. Well, if worst comes to worst they can set bad guys on fire... He doesn't notice the crows at first. It's the Pacific Northwest. There's crows everywhere, and frequently in huge sky-darkening flocks as they head to roost. Music far more atonal than bagpipes sounds in his ear and he looks up. Not the best direction to look, with a thousand black beaks diving for eyes. "Oh FUCK."

Byron shoots Alexander this look of 'Yeah, you should have told me earlier so I didn't have to worry during the entirety of my vacation', but in truth he feels more relieved than anything that Isabella was no longer Lost. The partial glare is followed by a slow nod and then a heavy sigh to show that relief. "God, that's good to hear. " A pause, "I'll need to stop by to check in on her--" It sounds as if he's about to say more, but the wind starts picking up, forcing him to hold on tight to his black umbrella.

"This is the town's asshole way of saying 'Welcome Home'." He can't help but mutter beneath his breath, already missing the sunny skies on the French Riviera. At first, he just thinks it's awful Gray Harbor weather that's assaulting them, but when he realizes that this might be something out of the ordinary all he can do is shake his head in disbelief and annoyance. "Son of a--" He remains ever vigilant now, using the umbrella to shield both himself and Lilith and whoever happens to be nearby.

August gives Lilith a small, tight smile when she grips his arm, returns Byron's nod. "Cavanaugh," he murmurs when the sailor joins them. His eyes shift to Cruz at Itzhak's comment, and he arches an eyebrow. "Mmmm. Why indeed." He cuts Itzhak a wry look.

The weather picks up, and he tightens his grip on the handle of the umbrella as the wind yanks at it. (This is why no one from Washington carries an umbrella, and why this one is brand new from the hardware store.) He winces, shaking his head as the bagpipes sets his left ear to ringing.

Oh, not bagpipes. Crows.

"Fuck," he mutters, turning the umbrella so it's a shield from the crows.

When he can, Devlin nods to Alisha in response when he can do so without being disrespectful. For the most part, he remains standing and watching the ceremony, that is till he feels reality take a strange turn right out of Hitchcock. He shifts his umbrella so he can see.. rain be damned for now. He focuses on his abilities and starts to protect himself as he walks towards August. "Damn it.." is all he says for now.

Alexander ducks his head in an apology that stops just sort of cringing at Byron's half glare. "Sorry. I was distracted. And you should. She'll--"

And then there's thunder, rain and /crows/. So many crows. He looks up, wide-eyed, and steps out under the swarm, his eyes locked on the diving flock. They're birds. Sort of birds. Bird-formed. So, he tries to grab as many of them as he can in his mind and send them into the rest. Of course, he should probably duck while doing this.

Stick close, indeed. Joe's already turning as if to put himself back to back with Itz and Roen. "Is there shelter?" He's trying to peer around, find somewhere they can make more of a stand, somewhere they can wall the creatures out of.

With a glance up past the edge of her umbrella toward the incoming murder as that cacophony overwhelms the bagpipes, Olivia mutters, "Bagpipes. It's always the bagpipes." She tips her umbrella a bit into the diving mass of dark wings while glancing around for potential cover.

Alisha gives Devlin a quick smile. At least that is before she notices the black clouds aren't the weather, but feathers. "Fucking hell." as her gaze in on the sky and her shotgun is in the patrol car. Drawing her weapon on instinct, not that it will do much good. There are many times she really hates her hometown.

A muscle jumps in Cristobal's jawline, a sure sign that he's gritting his teeth as the sky darkens. "Wasn't quite what I meant." Cris steps in front of Dante, providing his back as a target instead of the Brit, closing them into a tight circle beneath the umbrella as the birds start to dive bomb. "We gotta get you to shelter. They mess up that pretty face of yours, I don't know if our love will survive. C'mon, safety in numbers." Or, you know, targets he cares far less about. He starts shuffling them towards others with a grip on the umbrella handle.

"Where does one find shelter when reality goes bloody askew?" asks Dante as he grabs hold of the umbrella for a moment to shove a squaking bird back. Then he relents and gives it back to Cris, keeping low like he sees in the movies. Truth is, he has no bloody idea what to do in a tactical situation, let alone against a murder of crows.

Joey looks... up. Glass-bottle green eyes narrow in contempt at the cloud of black-beaked buzzards. The glimmer in the air around the boxer gets thicker for a moment and then... well nothing. Does he even know this is called shielding? No, he calls it not getting pelted with a goddamn bird. Why people gotta be fancy about shit? Well he dunno. The sunglasses slide down though so he doesn't lose an eye, and the coat gets zipped shut for protection. He warns Graham, "Don't shoot em." If any come near him he's apt to make a grab and turn them into Nature's Little Lawn Darts(tm).

Graham observes brilliantly, "Whoa. Fuck." He starts a sprint toward the safety of Andre's waiting arms his car, and that's when the ground starts rumbling under his feet, so he puts on the brakes real quick. Turning back, taking a few tentative steps forward, he grimaces at the sight of crows-and-bagpipers, adding a heavier, soul-deep shudder when the crows start chattering the name of the dead police chief. "Why the fuck not?" he asks immediately - 'cause shoot-'em is exactly where his mind went, witness the pistol he has in hand, like, right away.

HE HAS A PERMIT.

Alexander blinks. "That didn't work," he mutters, then dives to the side as a hell of birds comes tumbling down. He bats and swats at birds as they dive and collide with his face, getting mud and grass stains all over his suit. He rolls to his knees just in time to see a Hitchcock revival land on the musicians. He grimaces. "Fuck."

August spies Devlin heading his way, nods for him to get behind the umbrella already. He focuses on deflecting the crows, which thankfully means he only sees the bagpipers being torn to pieces out of the corner of his eye. That's bad enough, though; he grimaces, sets his teeth against a flicker of nausea. "No more funerals. Cremations only."

Bagpipes and rain are one thing. Even firmly in summer rain isn't exactly a surprise. Rhys is prepared for that. Umbrella, like so many others. Reenactments of The Birds, though? That, he was not expecting. Though it could, at least, happen. The graveyard not being otherwise right... that, on the other hand... well, it could get a guy starting to wonder if he was under the influence, and if so, of what, because he definitely didn't do it on purpose. A look around to see if it looks like everyone else sees this too or what is delayed by the sight of the bagpipers getting attacked, and he winces, muttering something under his breath. Everyone's a critic, should anyone be near enough to see. The umbrella's held like an upward shield against birds as well as rain, effective as it's unlikely to be with the former, and at some point in there he's ended up with a pistol in hand as well. Hey, he has a permit too. But... there's probably more crows than bullets, in any case.

Byron has had enough of these birds calling out people's names. He's been exposed to something similar before! If anything, he's trying to keep Lilith safe, but he knows just how much damage she can do these fowl fiends. While Alexander is quick to try and pull the birds under his sway, Byron has an urge to fry their tail feathers as he moves to join the others towards relative safety. The sound of bagpipes, screams and torn flesh isn't lost to him and while others might not care to look, his gaze is pulled towards the slaughter of kilt wearers but doesn't linger for long.

Lilith has seen a lot of things, and to be fair, she's not a fan of bagpipes. She also knows birds are dicks, especially once they start cawing names and she's ready to knock some out of the sky with violence and power exertion in whipsnap anytime one comes near to her and Byron. However, when the faces are being pecked and torn across the way, she can't help but turn to stare a moment and not want that to happen to her or most of the people in the little cluster nearby where she stands. When August is swooped for, her eyes snap with refocus and she steps backwards to focus on that specific crow instead of randomly causing murder in the murder.

Lowly, through her teeth, she tells Byron under the raucous, "... if I miss incoming, scream. I'll reinstate your man card later, you are not getting beaked in the face and I'm keeping both my damn eyes."

Graham was told not to shoot things, but he's absolutely going to shoot things. Right now. Like, anything that comes anywhere near him or Joey or fuck it. "Are these zombies? You see?" He shakes his head grimly. "This is why people hate the fucking cops."

Alexander's hair is disheveled and there's a feather caught in the back of it, just hanging out there like 'yo', but he doesn't notice. Instead, he's watching the things rise up and the crow begin to sing, and his expression just gets...pained, exasperated, and finally resigned. "I hate the undead," he remarks to no one. He reaches to the small of his back with one hand, pulling out a wicked looking knife, and the other hand points at the lead shambling horror. "Muscle spasms, coming up. Hopefully."

Joey isn't taking his eyes off the damn birds to answer Graham. "Because opening fire at a cop's funeral doesn't ever go well for u- fuck it. Shot em. The deadheads. If you hit a cop and get caught? I dunno you." There's the flicker of a wicked little grin that fades as fast as it shows. Now it's time to hit a motherfucker with another motherfucker. Right, it's like a little angry flapping speedbag. How bad can it be? In a bout of irony it's the brass knuckles that he got from de la Vega that go on his meaty mitts now. He agrees, "This is why people avoid funerals."

The combat medic lacking an aide kit.. like who brings one of those to a funeral? Takes action once he is close to August, "Fire in the hole.." he calls out as he attempts to employ he talents to light up the runner going after August.

Olivia half closes her umbrella simply for the mild impact she might have opening it should one of the hell-birds dive-bomb in her direction. In the meantime she picks one of the black-feathered fowl and does her best to focus on its trajectory. Under her breath she breathes the words low, "Say my name, you feathered fu--" Olivia watches the birds scream off into the sky, then trips to the side as the ground shakes, opens up, and Sinnerman tips its merry way toward soundtrack to the unspeakable disinternment.

Is this the real life or it is just fantasy. Alisha doesn't care, her weapon aimed at any threat. Any other time she'd find some humor in this situation. Not when other's lives are at stake though. And now zombies? FML. She is enough of a horror film expert to know to go for the head. And if that doesn't work...meh she'll have to try others things.

Somewhere in the crowd Byron hears a familiar voice. Is that Joey Kelly? He takes a half second to turn and regard the gym owner (thug) with a fleeting glance, before the umbrella is eventually lowered because he needs his hands to channel jolts of electricity through... he though he'd be frying birds, but it looks like they just stepped into the set of the walking dead down in here, mixed with some sort of Disney animated cartoon.

Looking to Lilith, he nods, "I'll watch your back. Just down as many of these undead freaks that you can." That is something that he already expected her to do.

It's not xenomorphs, not in any form, thank God. Shambling undead are almost anticlimactic by comparison. At this point, that's all he cares about. Joe's got that lack of expression on, and an ugly little Walther in hand. These things may not give a damn about bullets, but it's worth a try. He's drawing down on one of them, even as they head for him, and his power comes up in a shield that wavers like heatshimmer on hot asphalt.

Cris dares a glance up, regretting it almost immediately as a crow dive bombs for his face and he throws up an arm just in time, a long tear splitting his sleeve at the bicep. "Over here." He hisses at Dante, practically pushing him into a Mausoleum or at least towards it as the creatures start to rise. "La madre de cristo nos preserva, el diablo puede chuparlo."

"Are you sure pushing me into a crypt is a good idea when there are corpses rising from the ground?" says Dante, panic rising in his voice as he stares at the shambling creatures, eyes wide. "Christ. Sometimes this town just really leans in to being a horror movie trope nightmare, doesn't it?" He laughs humourlessly and tucks himself up against the mausoleum door.

Itzhak is shook by the bagpipers becoming food for crows. Not the musicians! Then further shook by the music brought by the boss crow. As his power rises, shielding him, he stands there trying to catch the thread of the music, but he can't. Nope! Time to fight.

August ducks, trying to avoid the crows he can't get to bounce off the umbrella. People and kids screaming starts to get to be a little too much. Then it's over, and the one big crow remains. With a bunch of self-playing instruments. And zombies.

Fast zombies. "This graveyard sucks," he says, folding up the umbrella and calling up a shield around himself even as two head for him.

The bird going to August isn't really the issue, Lilith realizes, as the ground shakes and other undead, shambling problems burst free at a dead run. In fact, there's two of them coming right at her personal space. After cursing and deciding action is better than calling warning, she focuses on the one ripping speed toward her flank with turn, trying to get one out of the way. She stays close to Byron while doing so and nods solid at his very simple instruction about zombie-ass-ripping, as it's totally her style.

But the problem with Lilith when she's like this is that she leaves huge vulnerable holes to get knocked out herself-- she gets very aggressive and hyperfocused on skirmish and the kill, especially over the past couple months or so. She doesn't turn around and dodge in time while like that as she's hit from the other side with clawing into her dress tearing fabric and blossoming lines of red and skin over one side of her ribcage to make her hiss and fall briefly into stumble as her heel sticks in the ground. But she's still standing and she's pissed and hurting, which sends her next attack ripping out before she's even fully recovered her balance.

Joey is a reactionary creature. He's got his directive right now: live. Moreso: make sure his people live. The first two deadheads run at him twisted bony fingers and broken teeth flailing with the snap-jazz beat. The first misses but takes Joeys' fist to his chest breaking it allowing Cruz to take a wicked good shot to the undead dome. THIS is why Joey tips him well, people. The second scores a slash to his side where the jacket lifts. Eye stings and flinches as the sharp bony fingers bite skin. Turning another rushes up on Rhys. He goes low to punch it in such a way one might think he believes he's channeling Sonna Chiba... still alive and all. Joey Lee: Enter the Yardboss. Mental note for self for later. He sets eyes to check on Cris and Lilith, B, Rhys... so far so good. Alexander? There's a slight frown. "Clayton, You have a bird to feed, bruh." Which is Joey for Do not die on me today.

Rhys has been to a number of funerals and even more graveyards and nothing like this has ever happened outside of a music video. Which... actually the act that there's music going on maybe makes it less weird? Maybe. Sort of? ...no, not really. There's not a lot of time to think about it with things going down, though, so he doesn't. A zombie-thing is trying to attack him, so he shoots at the zombie thing, while doing his best to get out of its way. The slash to his chest connects, though, slashing through his shirt and staining the white with red; it throws off his arm and the bullet sails just barely past the creature's head instead of through it, so it's a good thing Joey's fist follows it right up like that.

The zombie's bites on Alisha feel like so little. Still through her horror movie knowledge she believes she has gotten infected. But to hell with that for now, aka asking someone to put a bullet through her skull later. She couldn't get a head shot, so it's time to go all Palatine. Lightning lancing from her arm through one of the things attacking her. A snarl on her lips as she focuses on another of the horde. "Come on. Is that the best you've got. I'm going to light you all up."

If there were a single target, Byron would have stood in front of Lilith to take the brunt of any attack heading her way. But these attacks were coming from multiple angles from various zombies, so it was difficult to tell just which of the two zombies would lash out at her first and by the time he takes notice it's already too late. He'd already sent a jolt of crackling electricity through a random zombie in the near distance. "Lilith, you alright?" He calls out to her, spinning around to check her over, but seeing that there are more of those things in the distance, he can't focus on her wounds for long. "We're going to hurry and get through this, alright, babe?"

This time, he's trying to better position himself closer to her, so that he can move on a dime if any of those things get too close to her, but there really are too many of them.

Graham rolls his head over in the general direction where he last knew Joey Kelly to be located. "Don't shoot 'em, he says. What the fuck, I say." While he pulls the trigger, resulting in a very satisfying zombie shoot in the chest. The same zombie that winds up getting electrocuted, #double-tap. He is very likely to continue shooting stuff, and quite enjoying it (so long as the zombies keep attacking other people and not him, anyway).

Alexander is being charged by two zombies. This isn't fair. He throws himself to the side, neatly avoiding one and comes up on his knees near his target. His hand comes up, and his expression goes blank. An arc of blue-white lightning jumps from his palm to the chest of the zombie and it falls to the ground, jerking and twisting in involuntary spasms. Out of the fight. He stands, staggering a little, as the second zombie tears open his pants leg before he can hop away. "I'm fine, Kelly," he calls back. "Fuss about yourself." Still, there's a brief smile in that direction before he spins and tries to blast the hell out of one of the zombies who attacked him.

There's really nothing to do in Olivia's estimation, but choose a careening zombie and focus all her energy in that direction. The energy whips around her and slingshots successfully at the creature she was focused on. But while such focus hones an attack, it leaves her open to another creature flying at her from the side, open for it to drag vicious claws across her abdomen, slicing the black material of her dress and adorning her funeral attire with four stripes of dripping crimson blood. Red on black. She drops with a gasp to her knees, then grits out a curse. But if the choice is curl up and welcome the pain or continue to try to assist the others as long as she is able, it's an easy choice. One arm hugged close about her middle, knees wet and muddy at the hem of her dress where she fell into the muddy earth, she scans the mayhem for a nearby target. "You want to play? Let's play," she grits out and narrows her eyes around blue fire.

He was a teenager in the 80s....so the song that some perfectly inappropriate part of Joe's brain has started up in the back of his mind is 'Dead Man's Party'. Even though this is as serious as it gets. One of the things swipes for him and misses, and the one he's aiming for in turn goes down in a heap before he can even fire. So he's already reaching for his power - it's a far more visceral thing than any pistol. Though it all seems like trying to bail a sinking ship with a teaspoon - they just keep coming.

Cris goes to shove Dante into the mausoleum and the man just...disappears. All the better, as far as he's concerned, to not have to worry about the undead rising from the crypt nor to keep any from entering. After a blink and moment to cross himself, Cristobal turns back to the fray. His side arm is pulled from his holster in a practiced movement, the sight of his white gloved finger almost odd against the trigger. He fires nearly by instinct, but in truth it's training, born in tandem with the uniform he wears. His focus goes to the threat nearest Joey, making his self-defense a hair too slow. Angry undead claws rip open his jacket and through his undershirt, leaving nasty furrows in his flesh that well immediately with blood. He pivots back and fires again.

A horrible naked twisted thing stretches its claws for Itzhak, and it seems for way too long a hanging second that it'll get him. He's staring at nothing, still trying to grasp the otherworldly music. As it reaches, he whips aside and where did those brass knuckles suddenly on his fist come from? Whatever, they're going right into the thing's chest. CRUNCH

Itzhak gurgles a choked sound of revulsion, plants a boot on the zombie thing and shoves it off his fist. Then one's going for Joe and he goes after that one next--but it's still the music that he can't help but feel is the key here.

August grimaces as the zombies close in and start slashing. God, those claws are nasty looking. ...wait, what if these zombies can bite and turn other people into zombies? "I hate this graveyard," he reminds everyone, in case they forgot. He sees a blonde woman he doesn't know fall to the claws of a few, grunts against the reaction to what that does to her. He drags in a breath, saying, "Get on up, lady, the Chief and these things are all that's going into the ground today," probably not loud enough to be heard, but the surge of his Glimmer ought to be felt.

He eyes the new wave of zombies, glares at the crow and his...band. "I think we need to break those things."

Adding in his bit on the zombie and seeing it get just torn/burned to pieces, Devlin changes target quickly... Seeing a friend is in a zombie's crosshairs, the Staff Sergeant again cuts loose with his talents to burn the target. "Alisha.. fire on the way!.. fuck.. got one coming to play here.. sorry.." As he catches one coming for him in the corner of his eye.

Why are there so many-- okay it's a graveyard, corpses are something it probably isn't lacking in, that's fair, fine. Rhys still doesn't appreciate this, particularly when three of them seem to decide it's his fault rather than Joey's that ne of their buddies just basically exploded and all converge his way. He does his best to duck and swerve away from them, but comes up with more rent- and red-soaked fabric all the same. Still, he manages to pop one of them right in the head, so by his count he's still winning. Also covered in more blood, but at least it isn't his? Though it's probably also... not fresh. He makes an unhappy noise, but there's no time to worry about anything but turning on the next wave of Things Looking At Him Wrong.

"I'm okay. I'm okay! We have this..." Lilith says to Byron, taking a moment to refocus in all the chaos after she's ripped into another that looks to be surging Byron's way this time around... along with another. In fact, she says they all have this, but in doing a split-second roundabout survey of the living people around compared to what keeps surging out of the ground... she knows fatigue and whittle down will start to become an issue.

And that goddamn music... Lilith starts to look around for the source of it, not quite expecting it to be that crow over yonder through all the chaos. But once she figures it out, it's damn probable she's going to try to take it out on principle. For now, though, she focuses on what's coming at Byron anew and sticks close, yelling over at him and August and anyone else nearby, "Where the hell is that music coming from? Someone spin me and point me so I can kill it. Maybe the dead can't dance without the song."

Or run. Whatever.

Alisha has to channel her darkest memories. She snarls as her bolts hit one zombie group. Maybe they smoke and stop moving. There are others to protect. She directs her curse to another grouping. "So weak." she taunts. She wants them all to attack her. That way no one else is at risk. Still they are zombies and her words are likely falling on dead ears.

Zombies keep not attacking Graham. Graham keeps shooting zombies. He does take particular aim at those that seem to have eyes on Joey, but other than that... it's horde-mode, he's got this (till the ammo runs out, but that's a problem for future Graham to worry about).

Zap! Alexander's lightning arcs out to hit the monster that attacked him; he notices that he wasn't the only one who put it (back) in the ground, and gives Olivia a quick nod of thanks, before taking another quick scan of the battlefield. He notes multiple zombies converging on one figure that isn't him, and calls out, "August! Look out!" He raises his hand to send a streak of lightning at one of the combat botanist's attackers.

Joey is not having a good day. "This is how I get repaid for not killing a cop? Diiiiick move Harbor. Dick move." Eyes are kept on his people and in an effort to keep Rhys focused yes, "Stop makin frieds. Keep eyes on Cruz. ROEN.... INBOUND." At the very least he's trying to play shield so Graham and Rhys can shoot around him (around being the really important key word here... nice job). So far so good! he''ll be proud of them later. Right now is go time Fist of the Pacific Northwest Star? yeah he's gotta work on that.

While Olivia locks that blue electricity on another zombie, a different one approaches her from behind. She laughs when the first one falls with a crackle of impact, then she groans at the pain the laughter slices through her bleeding abdomen. And that's when, from behind, the other wraps an arm around from over her shoulder in an obscene embrace and drags its claws in a diagonal across her chest, not quite so deep. "Get off me," she yells and twists away from those claws, even though that twist cost her, dropping her from knees to hip, one palm pressed into the muddy grass and upturned soil. She closes her eyes for several shallow breaths, trying to move as little as possible, then opens them once more and chooses another target. It's harder to keep hold of her anchor now. It's a matter of determination versus dimming focus.

The only zombie that Byron notices is the one quickly dashing in his direction with its clawed hand outstretched and that hungry maw. Perhaps that's the reason why when evading one of those fuckers, he nearly lands into the claws of the other, feeling it's jagged nails scraping against his expensive suit jacket. Focused on the one, while he'd rather make contact with it to fry the thing as he's so used to, he's instead forced to send an arc of electricity in it's direction as he does a little dance with the slower undead.

Lilith makes quick work of the one who tried to dig it's claws into him and Byron loses track of the other as new threats loom in the horizon. When Lilith draws attention the sound of the piano all that Byron can murmur is, "I'm surprised no one's tried that yet." He'd thought about it earlier, but was far too preoccupied to do anything about it. But there's so many of them here who can handle the job!

Glimmer's a better weapon to hand than the Walther, it seems, though Joe hasn't holstered it. His other hand comes up in a gesture like he's flinging something...and one of the first wave crumples like a soda can. He's still unwounded - not a spot on the white uniform. He still only looks intent, rather than furious, or frightened. Like zombies are an engineering problem he needs to solve.

Cris' pivot didn't take him out of the reach of dead fingers who just want to feel him up. The next slash to already sluiced flesh draws a hiss of pain out of Cristobal and his shot once again goes wide as the world sort of goes fuzzy and black around the edges. Great. This is how he goes out. From a dirt muncher with a hard-on for his pecs.

CRUNCH. Itzhak can't hit this hard with muscle and bone. His Song drives the gore-smeared brass knuckles riding his left fist--drives them right through the next critter's freakin' head. The misshapen skull pops like a watermelon under tank treads. Itzhak yells in disgust. "Fer cryin' out loud!" But the thing doesn't make it to Joe and that's what's important.

And then multiple bogeys are after August and Itzhak gets the fuck in their way. "Roen, INCOMING!" He can't go after the crow band like this! Which...is probably the point.

Success, the blonde woman is back in action. Except, now Cristobal very much isn't. August shudders, gritting his teeth. He sticks close to Itzhak and Joe, lest he get caught out throwing up. "No falling asleep during the eulogy, Cruz," he whispers under his breath.

He half-turns because, well yes, a few of the things are coming right at him. "Someone has to break those instruments!" he yells.

Now that there are a bunch of grunts(?) holding what passes for a line, Devlin changes mode to what he is.. a combat medic. He may not have supplies.. but he has other tricks up his sleeve as he bails to start treating people.. triage on the fly combined with heavy use of spirit on his part to heal what he can.. and attempt to use what is on hand to stablize others. His voice can be heard as he uses his best command voice to get the cowering folks to help him with the wounded.. just another day in a fucked up office for him... damn.. Iraq and Afghanistan were easier than this..

Rhys manages to entirely dance away from the one that comes for him this time, and his bullet finds its target even if not quite so well as the one before. Endorphins might be kicking in, or maybe just adrenaline and success, who knows, because by the time this one ends up going down a moment or two afterward the CPA has a somewhat manic and rather feral grin for a second or two there as he turns again to survey the field and take in the state of the combatants, particularly the ones on the Living Human side. The music's still going but right now it almost looks as though he's blocking it out. Ghost pianos might be someone else's problem right now. Bullets probably aren't the best solution to them anyway. A nod to Joey, and he continues to work with him and keep an eye out. It's been working, more or less.

Alisha only laughs. Her attempts to affect the mindless have failed. Still there is the smell of ozone and electricity going out to the undead. Wraith of the dark men? That's just something she's had to deal with for most of her life. Music from the raven's, yeah that is out of the norm. She'll kill as many of these things as she can. Dealing with the rest of it later, that is just her way.

"Sonofabitch!" That's not appropriate language to use at a funeral, but it's what Alexander shouts as one of the zombies catches him on the leg just before the piano...tears itself to pieces. He blinks, then gives Lilith that look - half impressed, half worried. Still, right now, it's a good thing, so he hops on one leg and tries to blast one of the zombies stumbling away.

Joey hears Byron and Lilith. The Boxer bellows in gravely tone, "Lil, "I'll cover you" He runs on that full tilt feeling weirdly reminiscent of when he was still playing highschool football. The forward tackle being piano sized instead of teenager sized though. A flying leap and he comes at the thing with the urge to destroy and smash something expensive and beautiful. And then before him? It is torn in half as his fist comes down. That piano is hella dead. Joey looks at his fist in surprise. Did...he do that (no but don't tell him!) Looking from his fist covered in blood and ichor of the dead he pans up to. that. bird. He stares, and his eyes narrow making a grab for it and ignoring the rest of the field.

Her umbrella gone who knows where at this point, Olivia tries to focus on the piano. But focus is more difficult now. It explodes. Hip and palm sunk in sodden, muddy earth, her other forearm is held close against her bleeding abdomen, red disappearing into black material except where her pale flesh is visible: there it is a macabre portrait of wildly brushed crimson, haphazard droplets taking their time to travel separate ways over the expanse of her skin as though Jackson Pollack had a very angry day. The diagonal stripes across the top portion of the dress could be nouveau clubwear were it not for the blood soaking through. Her jaws clench as she blinks through the misty haze of consciousness to try once again to redirect her focus on a remaining zombie as they all scramble into a retreat. She blinks her eyes a few times, when what she sees doesn't seem quite credible. Still, she'll try to focus on one retreating figure with the vestiges of her scattered coherence.

Lilith doesn't hesitate once August speaks up and once she's lashed out one way, she has some air and space to step in with her back pressed against Byron's body when she turns to try and source the music again. Everything sounds melded together in echo, and there is a second where she might be reconsidering with the zombies stopping to dance. Isn't that good that they're distracted? She doesn't brain it too much or hesitate, though, she finds exactly what she's trying to spy for focus and once she does, she sharply upticks her chin and narrows her eyes.

Directed power unleashes with pinpointed violent precision of ripping starts at the middle keys and surges into the core of the instrument. Something about the way it feels and sounds alive makes Lilith stand and fixate with fascination when it starts to bleed and fall to pieces, leaving her back at Byron's for protection. You'd think the raven would be next, carrying on with song while she's still pointed that way, but...

Instead, Lilith rips herself out of her hyperfocus when Joey's words sink in and she notices him going for the bird. For whatever reason, though she might go for the throat of the creature any other time, this time, she hesitates and reaches for Byron's hand as the zombies start to withdraw, "... last time I killed a goddamn crow, it..." Lilith remembers what happened quite vividly and decides to take satisfaction in the Kelly's hamfists reaching to try and squish it instead.

If anything, Byron would have shut down those loud crows early on when he'd assumed that that was what they'd be facing. By now, they are a mere afterthought despite the sinister melodies that they played. Lilith was eager to locate and destroy the piano, so he'll follow suit, zapping any of those rotting corpses along the way so that they don't stop her from her goal, when really, he should be the one trying to stop her. But he supposes this was a necessary thing to put themselves into danger for, so while he doesn't keep her from going about this ruthless business, he makes certain that she has a clear path.

It's only then that he gets a good view of the piano, coming this close to it. It reminds him of the one he had back home now that he thinks about it. It's a fleeting glimpse of the instrument, because not soon after, Lilith destroys it utterly and completely. He's seen her destructive nature many times in the past, so it's something more along the lines of what he'd expected, thus leaving him not entirely surprised.

What he is glad to see, however, is that the 28 Days Later zombie types start to flee. Normally, Byron isn't a violent man (Hah!), so rather than try to attack the fleeing monsters, he stands there and watches for a moment, making sure that none of them are stampeding their way. However, he had the same ideas as a few of the others now about killing those things, though it's not really a strong urge either. Instead, he hears Lilith speak and he turns his full attention towards her, reaching an arm out once the crackle of electricity has dissipated to pull her in close for a bit of comfort. He then asks a question he'd posed to her before, "Are you alright?" He also has the time to give her a thorough inspection.

That next attempt doesn't work so well - rather than putting it down in one attack, it only wounds the next zombie. Wiser heads than Joe's are attacking the sources of the music, and the sailor's still there trying to bring down that one particular undead. Like it's become something personal. It's even fleeing, but that doesn't stop him.

If Cris' soul was departing his body, he now knows what it feels like to have it slammed back into his body. Or at least that's how his very Catholic mind will process it when August gives him the good stuff.

Cruz' eyes fly back open and immediately narrow with furious anger. And great vengeance. For those that attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you! Ahem. No, that would break like, a serious commandment.

But Cristobal's reaction is the same, to fire on the giant twat-waffle who tore open his chest. Whose busy getting his retreat on. Hey, don't waste an opening like that. But the opening taken with a quick pull on the trigger of his Walther PPK, the man flops back to the ground, clutching the material of his uniform to his torn open chest.

That terrifyingly fast zombie doesn't get past Itzhak. He lays it low, blocking with his right and going in with the left--SPLURTCH right in the moldy breadbasket. Itzhak turns green, yanking his fist out, a snarl twisting his expressive face.

He's not dancing along, but he is hissing the song under his breath, compelled, launching punches in time. "So I ran to the Devil - he was waitin', I ran to the Devil - he was waitin', all on that day--"

The musical crunch of Lilith murdering the shit out of the piano makes him laugh, bitter and fierce, and the poor zombie that stopped to dance is getting his brass knuckles down the throat. It's merciful. Itzhak wouldn't want to be a zombie. As he goes after it, he roars back at the boss crow, in answer to its lament and its horror:

"YUSEF!"

August isn't quite as successful at evading the zombies this time: one slashes open his right pants leg, just barely scratching him; the other tears across his chest, leaving a lovely, oozing scratch. And fucking up his uniform. "Motherfucker," he growls, staggering aside. Lilith and Joey make messy work of the piano, which sends the zombies into retreat. But that bird. That bird, is still, singing.

"That's enough out of you." Seeing Joey is of a similar mind, August makes to break the bird's wings so it can't just fly away.

The things are running. No escape for the walking dead rejects. Alisha's Lightning arches among them. Still laughing "You thought you could win? Back to hell with you all. I've fought your kind for so long." does she expect them to understand. Nope she doesn't, but still through the efforts of others and herself they are in retreat. "What is dead can never die huh? Bullshit."

The bird's whole body is strange and slippery, not a simple construction of bone and flesh like August is used to. It's hard for him to get a grip on it and force whatever supports those wings apart. He seems to make something happen? It's falling--then he loses his grip, doubling over from the effort.

Or maybe it's the blood oozing down his service greens, staining the olive drab jacket black. He straightens, coughs a laugh. "And here I was worried I was running out of scars to tattoo," he says. His eyes shift to the blooming poppies, and from there, to the scattered feathers dropped by the crow. Well. That's something, at least. Ignoring how Ruiz is standing there staring at them agog, he picks a few of the flowers, carefully folding them into a handkerchief. Next, a couple of the feathers. The question is, who is going to be a dummy and read them--himself? Alexander?

Probably both of them. But they can burn that bridge once they're on it.

Alisha breathes in deeply her curse tears apart at least one of the undead. Her attention turns to Joey "This is your fault. If you never did the deed for your boss. The chief would still be alive." electricity running down her wrist. Still he helped defend against the hordes...so Ali holds back. "You get a pass today. Another day...well we will see." controlling herself and going back to impassive mood.

There is now new dead to attend to. Going up to the new Chief, and well her old boss "Capt...Chief. What do you want me to do?"

Alexander never knows when to not read things, so he probably will be happy to. Just...not now, apparently. He looks around at the aftermath, and then down at his leg, sighs, and starts to limp away, head down, shoulders hunched. Alone time needed.

Where Cris was staring at a sky full of angry birds, he's now just looking up blankly at an angry sky. Rain drops patter his face, bringing him back to the here and now. With a groan he rolls to his elbow, a glance given around to make sure the danger is truly gone before he starts trying to shoulder out of his Dress uniform jacket and peel away his undershirt, only to ball up the latter and press it to his gashed open chest, torn from one side to the other. "My fucking ink!" He huffs, clutching that one hand to his chest while the other relinquishes gun for cell phone to check in on Dante. Blissfully, the man is safe back at Bayside.

Joey running around with fists covered in blood and ichor surrounded by insanity, gunshots, and cops?... this is a standard Joey Kelly Thursday. This cannot be a good sign. All he really gives a shit about is punting that little feathered asshole like Charlie Brown and that football. Sadly it goes neither as Charlie Brown nor Joey intend. It keeps neither from trying though. it is, however, a good time for the criminal element to amscray before too many questions get asked. Looking to Ruiz he tells him, droplets flinging from his finger, "So we're clear? Not my fault."

Olivia remains down on the ground on one hip, propped by the palm of her hand in the rain-soaked grass. Her umbrella is askew perhaps six feet away. What continues on does so without her. Surely she can wait until the funeral is over. She closes her eyes and mutters something under her breath.

Lilith nods emphatically to Byron a good three times in a row as she's drawn in briefly, then surveyed by those concerned, roaming dark eyes. But she doesn't really look until after she's done nodding, eyes turning downward to the claw tears lashed out across her dress and ribcage at one side. It's shallow, though, and the blood is already clotting on its own, unpleasant stings of pain aside. After wetting her lips, though, she turns her eyes up to him solemnly all of a sudden, "... if I turn into a zombie, you can have all my stuff."

No, really. She seems kind of concerned about this for a moment because of popular media, despite the dry, deprecating humor of her words. After a tiny shake of her head, though, she reaches to the tear on Byron's suit jacket when her eyes turn out over everyone else. Before she can get a real sense for whether or not they actually got the bird, she gets off another few words before the environs change back to normal and... well, aftermath messy and weird, "I guess if you're not a werewolf, I'm not a zombie. They got your suit, though. Good to see some things are constant in the universe..."

Then, while everyone is re-orienting and checking their own wounds and people, Lilith whispers to Byron, like propriety still MATTERS at the funeral right now, "... do we have to stay for the rest of the funeral?"

Itzhak, left arm dripping with gore to the shoulder, seems for a minute there like he's going to throw up. He pants huffing through clenched teeth, sweat running down his face. Oh man. Oh man.... no, okay, he's good, he's not good--he's good! He lets out a nauseated groan, mutters, "Bex gave me this suit, you fuck, may God put the best of the ten plagues on your head."

Oh. Ruiz reappears. Itzhak looks at him, blinking. Gore drips from his fists and nourishes the poppies blooming around his feet. He spreads his hands helplessly at him, silent Yiddish resignation and apology for literally everything.

Ruiz is indeed agog. People are injured, bleeding, August is staring at some feathers and flowers and.. well, nothing fucking throws him off about this town, anymore. He's distracted by someone coming up to talk to him, and holds up a hand to her, to nod to the master of ceremonies. Time to put him in the ground. "You can help me restore order here, Officer Williams." Brisk, professional. He looks her briefly in the eye. And of course he knows her name. He knows the name of every single cop who works under him.

Then with a breath, the captain's giving the signal to the pallbearers to take the casket away. There are a million things to coordinate, and he's dying to know whether two people in particular are safe. But now is certainly not the time to be paying social calls.

No more moving dead. No more attacking birds or self-playing instruments. No more not-quite-the-graveyard-you-know. Which means that for Rhys and whoever else in this crowd got swept into things without the benefit of having glimmer, there's one extremely salient (if quiet, because funeral) question: "...what the fuck?" The pistol's disappeared again as soon as it stopped being needed, and he runs fingers through the rips in his shirt, wincing as they brush the ripped and bleeding. Well, he's not imagining that. The Veil pushes on the rationalization centers of his and others' minds.

"They should never have served those sandwiches, you know what gulls do with food at the beach," one distraught woman says to the man beside her, regardless of whether there were ever any sandwiches served. Clearly the bagpipers must have had bread. "...outside gangs?" Rhys's mind comes up with, the question clearly feeling not quite satisfactory and directed quietly toward Joey -- probably too quietly to be caught, right now. One way or another, he needs to go do something about his chest, though, even if it's neosporin and bandaids, and he can't do that here. Tch. Leave other people's funerals early, they probably won't stick around for yours. But what can ya do.

Not a hit from a zombie, but that uniform's gonna be a loss anyhow. Joe's looking around for the worst wounded close to hand....and in this case, it's Cris. Who's apparently calling Dante. Heedless of what blood and wet ground are going to do to that white coat. "Hey, you," he says, "Looks like you really pissed one of 'em off." Checking the former cop over to see if he's safe to move.

Meandering back towards Itzhak, August spies the woman he doesn't know who was lighting up zombies, moves over to her. "Hey," he says, kneeling down next to Olivia. "Think you need an ambulance?" He's hesitant to heal a stranger; who knows how she'll react.

As he's tending to Lilith for injuries, not that he's a healer or anything, Byron senses an odd shift before noticing that they were back at the police chief's funeral. They must've looked like an odd sight, several of the congregation covered in blood, nevermind the far more gruesome carnage to be discovered. He ignores all of that for now, running a hand over the slit fabric at Lilith's midsection, pressing firmly enough to stain his fingertips with whatever blood is to be found.

He then hears a bit of banter between Alisha and Joey, something which pulls his attention in their direction with a lowered gaze. Interesting.

He's then distracted by Lilith and he breaks into a faint smile, "Who said I wasn't a werewolf?" He considers her question and if it were just him, he would stay for the remainder of it. In his mind, it was the right thing to do. However, he didn't want to keep Lilith here for any longer than was necessary, especially with what just happened. There might be questions asked of them due to... whatever just happened here today. It's probably why some of the criminal element might be scattering from the funeral right now. His eyes towards the front, he takes note of Ruiz and Alisha and they switch things up through all of this chaos.

"In a few. We'll just listen to what more they have to say and then we'll be on our way." He does, however, give a long look over at Thatchery's casket, perhaps giving the man his respects from afar. This is when he takes the moment to look over the other faces. Many of them familiar, some not. There were others who didn't get off so luck as he and Lilith did.

Olivia lifts stormy blue eyes to August and smiles a discordant bit of a smile at him. "I think I gave better than I got," she murmurs low, very careful not to change her position in the slightest. "An ambulance? I'd really hate to interrupt the funeral with a bunch of hubbub." She breathes shallowly, oh-so carefully.

Joey flicks his hands and looks around frowning. Back to one rather more well dressed Rhys he mutters, "Yeaaaah. Something like that. Look I'm gonna... head out. Things break out, call me but... something's up. I'm interested in showers and answers and... I think things here... are taken care of. " hey he's not got a piece on him in front of cops. He's following his tag and release orders...today. Looking to Byron and Lilith he nods. Phone is pulled out and he shoots off a text and heads back to his bike to take off.

Alisha nods to Ruiz. Back to complete control and making sure that people don't go too crazy in the aftermath of the otherworldly encounter. She does her job to reassure the public that everything is fine. She'd do her father proud. Order above all. She still keeps a eye on Joey. There is blame for this and if the law can't reach the guilty there is another way. Ali needs to pretend that things are normal now. So she goes about asking the regular questions for witnesses. Nothing odd in Gray Harbor.

Cris marks Joey leaving of his own volition. Good. He did his job. Now he can rest. "What can I say. The digs really chick me." Cris makes a motion at his bare and split chest with his phone to Joseph like 'can you believe this shit?'. He tucks this cell away, satisfied Dante is far from the event now and the fallout, glad the man isn't around to see him torn to shreds. "Help me up, will you, Boatswain?" His bloodied fingers are held up to Joseph, pale blue eyes flashing with pain he tries to mask as he reaches. "I mean, I know everyone wanted to be the one to get me outta this uniform, but not really how I imagined it going down."

(TXT to Alexander) Joey : Thanks for remembering not to die on us. If you want to use the shower at the gym and avoid telling your woman about this it's unlocked.

(TXT to Alexander) Joey : also advised. You look terrible.

"Yeah you did. You did." August's eyes track the area, not lingering on any of the dead people (not those throats, torn out before any of them could do anything). "Kinda think it can't get more interrupted. Anyways, there's probably other people need one too." He pulls out his cellphone and dials up 9-11, but of course, from the sound of the approaching sirens someone's already done that. Maybe a few someones. He pockets his phone again, stands with a wince. "Sit tight, I'll make sure they know where you are."

"Hold on a sec," Speaking of getting him out of the uniform - it's apparently worked on Joe. For the only piece of cloth he's got on hand is the cotton t-shirt he's wearing, and that's only accessible by the expedient of him shrugging out of the uniform coat. By the speed with which he manages, it's something he's got long practice with. Then he's peeling off the undershirt and settling it over that wound. Satisfied Cris isn't going to bleed himself dry before the EMTs can show, he shrugs the coat back on. Only then does he offer a hand up.

Rhys doesn't really qualify as better-dressed than Joey now that the shirt's doing a great impression of bloody rags. Still getting bloodier, too. He looks down at it and makes a face. "Yeah, weirdly, feeling pretty interested in showers and answers and all that too. Not gonna be here if anything else breaks out, I gotta do something about this. ...so when someone ELSE calls you if things do, call me too, wouldja?" Sighing (and then wincing, 'cause it turns out sighing involves a lot of chest movement), he heads off as well.

There's something of a rueful smile from the woman in the sliced black dress as she casts a glance around before looking back to August. "Thank you -- what's your name?" Olivia watches the man dial on his phone to the harmony of sirens approaching, along with the way he winces when he rises. "Take care of you, too."

Itzhak tracks the crowd until he finds August, helping the woman who got clawed down. Good, nobody's better at that than Roen, even with a dinged-up leg. Joe--is taking his shirt off to help Cris, okay then! Ruiz is ordering the funeral to proceed. "Lilka, Thorne, youse guys okay?" Itzhak calls anyway, although he's feeling pretty rough. He did his part. He protected the healer and pushed through the choke. Soon he's going to get very, very drunk.

It takes him a minute, in all the hubbub, but de la Vega does spot the fact that the PD's very own CP is in need of medical assistance. He gets a Sergeant to call in the ambulance, and.. well, Thatchery certainly is well past needing him at this point. So with the end of the ceremony well in hand, the acting Chief heads on over to see if August needs a hand stabilising Olivia until the paramedics arrive. All business today, one might be hard-pressed to even recognise the snarly, prowlish Mexican in that crisp uniform.

He's noted, finally, the locations of both Cavanaugh and Rosencrantz, though makes no attempt to go over and hobknob with either of them. A brief nod to the former when he moves in to check on Cris. He's going to need looking at by a paramedic, too. And then Lilith. God, this fucking town.

There is a grunt and a bare of his teeth to Joseph as he adds his own shirt to the mucked up mess, a testiment to Cris' pain that he's not just ogling Joseph through his little military strip show. Doesn't even whistle once! But he does say in his best falsetto, "My hero." As he's helped to his feet, dragging up his own wrecked piece of uniform and tucking the shirt into his belt so he has a shredded black tail. "Listen. Anyone asks, I went to the hospital, yeah. Hazme este favor."

Lilith nods again at Byron's suggestion, and really, she's not that bad off, she just has the one bloody tear through her dress. She opts to smoke and mirror it away from everyone else, though, after the man's had his visual and tactile survey of her body. The woman hides it with affectionate (ow) lean against his side so she doesn't look all marred to the masses. Also she doesn't want one of the EMTs coming at her trying to get her to clean up and stitch at the hospital, nope.

After taking a long moment to find August with her eyes and check his physical state from afar, she waves to Joey's departure and then wraps that hand and arm behind Byron's back. Very quietly and unobtrusively with her weight against the Thorne man for concealment of injury and general resting support, she persists just fine for as long as they deem it proper to stay and properly pay respect to the ceremony once it's underway for interment once more.

A snort from the sailor. "You sure you don't wanna do it for real?" But he doesn't argue it. Cristobal no doubt has his reasons. Then, dryly, he adds, "You c'n keep the shirt. I got plenty like it."

A call to 911 and dispatcher just redirects to Alisha's phone. She is on scene after all. Answering the call in her questioning. Looking to August "Thank you for being a good citizen. We have things under control." yay she is going to ignore the supernatural stuff. That is another part of her job. "What do you think happened here?" and one of the reason's that Officer Williams doesn't mind him taking over. Ruiz cares for his own. With her former captain's back turned she gives him a smile, rare among her usual professionalism when in uniform

Now turning to Byron and Lilith "What did you see?" she asks the pair.

"I'll keep it in my Hope Chest right next to the Boatswain memorial stained scarf." Cris slants a wry smirk at Joseph, then angles out the best way possible to avoid the chaos that's about the descend of crime scene investigation. They wanna talk to him? They can find him, but he's not going to make it easy.

"August," he says, omitting his last name because how many Augusts are there in this town? Not that many. He looks down at the blood all over his ruined greens, shrugs at Olivia half-heartedly. "My fiance can help me with this." He frowns, realizing how that sounds ('the woman will deal with it'), but is also too dazed and tired to actually explain it. So instead, he adds, "I'll be fine." And then Ruiz is helping get Olivia sorted, so he joins Itzhak. Getting drunk is happening. Now. Also some stitching. And maybe doing some ill-advised reading of stuff he got at a funeral full of zombies.

Hearing Itzhak calling them from a distance, Byron turns to look over his shoulder, giving the other man a slow nod. "We're some of the lucky ones. Unless a zombie virus is a thing." This last part is added with a lifted brow, making light of the situation. One of his arms slings over Lilith's shoulder and he holds her close to his side even if her blood is now staining his suit jacket. They are both lucky that the jacket is of a darker material, but that doesn't help with the mild tear running across it. He's also trying to hide her injury from others, staying only long enough to listen to what other speakers have to say before taking their leave.

That's about the time that Alisha runs into the dark haired entrepreneur and the bright eyed woman by his side. He recalls her from years back, though she's several years his junior. "Officer Williams," If anything, he knew her father through his father. For a time he studies her. Alisha's light was almost as bright as Lilith's. He considers his response, his gaze sweeping over the area to regard just how closely others lingered to decide on what to say. "What do you think happened here, Officer?" His dark gaze slowly draws back to look at Alisha directly now. "I'm sure the fine citizens of this town are used to freak accidents of this nature going on. Today it's birds, tomorrow a falling star crashes and causes mass destruction to the vehicles in the parking lot of Cracker Barrel." Look, that happened, alright! "All I saw was a swarm of angry birds, but birds are assholes."

Now, did the wounded look like they were attacked by birds? He has no answer for that. " He, himself, is not trying to be an ass and despite it all, he says with a tone of resignation, "You really have your work cut out for you today, you know that right?" Turning to Lilith, he gestures with a free hand, now holding his damaged umbrella. "If you don't have any other questions, Officer," And he says this lightly with a smile, "I'm sure we'll be seeing you around."