2021-01-26 - The Good...

The last thing Esme wants to be doing right now is mall duty, but tensions are still sort of high even after the bust at the police station the other day and in her gut she is sure this whole thing isn't over just yet. There's a few other things that have been weighing on her mind too so, instead of going stir crazy at her desk? Here she is, walking the mall with one of the mall security guards where the event is going on. "Never been one for gardening myself. No green thumbs. Knitting though..." She is telling him as they idly chat and keep an eye on things.

Nothing like a garden expo to get people thinking about spring. Many of the plants on display are the same ones visible in the Venetian garden in Addington Park, which no doubt explains why those get the most sales and interest: helleborus, snowdrops, crocus. There's also plenty of interest in the 'plant now' variety, since some people are only just thinking about what to do for the year.

August is less bundled up than usual, as he's moving about and engaging with customers; he's got his black, leather jacket over a gray Henley, denim jeans, and heavy hikers. He's looking tired and worn, which is what you get for healing people after warehouses blow up and random gunfights erupt in police HQ. So it goes.

Flowers and gardening. Not exactly the main field of interest of one Ravn Abildgaard, let's just get that on record. Walking, however, is -- the Dane takes Coach Kelly's orders to walk for at least two hours a day very seriously, and the mall expo is at least something to walk to. He's not looking for anything or anyone in particular; keeping to himself and not drawing attention as is his usual modus operandi, the copper blond in black finds himself looking at a tea rose and thinking that it reminds him of his mother's rose garden. Mercifully, he lets it live all the same.

"We are so old now. Hit thirty, suddenly start going to things like gardening expos. Do you feel a little abused? Should my hair be bigger and should I have lots of butterscotch and Kleenex in my purse?" Lilith jokes to Byron while browsing at the gardening expo, doing more wandering around to try and get a sense of possible picture how-to books to buy or pretty vases and planters, so on. Granted, they do have a plot that Byron won in an auction over 'round August's land-way, so it's kind of a good reason to be here,

"I guess this is as good an outing as anything and I might get a pretzel on the way home." There's a pause, "See? Listen to me. You need to take me out on a night where I end up dancing on a bar." The brunette woman cuts her eyes aside to gauge the dark haired man right nearby with an amused, lopsided minx of a grin, then notes August in peripheral to give a sudden wave.

Even lab monkeys like Cecil have been lured out by the gardening expo. He browses the perrenials, always thinking ahead. He's in jeans and a sage green henley, and his hair is disheveled as ever. He pushes his coke-bottle glasses up on his nose as he peers at some daffodil bulbs. Hrm.

More than likely, it's because Byron owns a plot out in Roen's garden space that both he and Lilith find themselves here today. Obviously, they were planning on hitting the mall as well, but the lure of something different and possibly useful is what drew their attention to this expo. That and he also has a hand in the beautification projects, along with Hyacinth, to make Gray Harbor a better place... appearance-wise.

Wearing a dark wool coat over his business attire, a warm scarf wrapped around his neck, he wanders the rows and rows of various seeds and books to see if anything catches his interest. "I thought all women carried at least tissue in those black holes that they call purses." He pauses in front of one display or other, letting his leather gloved hands flip through some instructional on plant growing. Not that he didn't have the opportunity to do so last year as it is, but it's always good to further expand your knowledge.

Turning to Lilith, the edge of his lips lift into a smirk, "You make going out for hot pretzels sound like a bad thing." Brows lift, "I could go for that and some coffee once we're done here."

August isn't paying much attention to the comings and goings of cars; he's too busy having a conversation about ornamental cherries and Japanese maples and dogwoods with someone trying to pick between the three. He does spy Ravn, and then Lilith and Byron, and gives each of them an up-nod of greeting.

Joe's there, in his greatcoat with the enamel pins of the Little Prince and his Rose on the lapel. Old jeans, plain dark t-shirt, battered boots. He's just gotten something ridiculously sugary from the coffee shop, and is now heading somewhat towards August. Beware, Roen, Joe with enough caffeine in him is a very Chatty Cathy indeed.

Esme and her walking buddy turn the corner to start walking down the other end. Drawing nearer to some familiar faces, talking about the best sort of trees that might grow here - though they don't have any idea what they're talking about. "Alright, why don't you keep on and I'll grab us some coffee." She offers to the man, who seems to agree with this just fine. She alters her course to split off from him and head towards the coffee shop.

Ravn catches the upnod from Roen and decides to amble in that general direction. Why not? It's quiet here for a mall day, and he might even end up learning something useful about... flowers... and ... dirt ... and, fine, he's bored already and figures that he might as well go say hello to a familiar face. "How's business?" he murmurs as a form of greeting, just sort of fading in with the other ficuses in the vicinity. The Dane has never liked crowds, and likely never will. He's getting better at it -- he's still here.

Cecil gives up on trying to figure out bulbs and makes his way toward the coffee shop. He spies Joe and smiles at him. "Hey, mate," he says. "Long time, no see." He glances at two guys sitting outside the coffee shop and glances to Joe, just a casual look-around. "How've you been?"

Bundled up in her tailored and fitted woolen dark peacoat and scarf combo, Lilith is apparently getting hot despite the weather and debundles some after the wave to August. She might have over-layered, expecting to be walking from covered stall to stall along the strip mall. Unwinding a cherry red scarf that matches the snazzy lacing on her wedge heeled winter boots over skinny jeans, she peels off the matching soft gloves to handle a pot a bit better, admiring some stained glass decorative inlay.

"Don't make fun of my purse. How many times do you ask for hand sanitizer and I've got it ready like a champ? And I actually do have tissues. But... mints and gum, not butterscotch, gawh." Lilith tells Byron before ticking her head some, "Pretzel and coffee does sound good, though, should we get a few of these for the terrace? I like the design for potted flowers come spring."

Esme is nearly to the door when she pauses for half a second near a group of guys at a table outside the shop. Was that a gun? She quickly offers them up a smile in case they catch her looking and heads inside. Once inside, she puts in an order at the counter and sends a text to one of the cops in an unmarked car. Potential gun at this table outside the coffee shop. Keep alert. Then she would radio the security guard walking with her to circle back around to the shop. She retrieves the coffees and emerges back outside, placing them on an empty table nearby, scanning the area.

Spotting August across the way, Byron offers the man a nod in greeting, followed by a friendly smile, but then he's harping on Lilith's purse again. "I'm sure that if you look hard enough, you'll find a bag of butterscotch somewhere down there." Look, purses are black holes filled with forgotten items that needs to be rummaged through in order to reach the thing you're looking for. Or so thinks Byron Thorne!

"I'm not saying that having a deep, dark portable pit is a bad thing." Because hand sanitizers are great! "I'm just pointing out that you might be toting around bits of candy that you don't yet realize or remember." There's other familiar faces to be found as well. Almost ominously, he sees both Joseph and Esme. And also Ravn! The last time he ran into all three of them together...

If anything is amiss, Byron's attention is focused sorrowfully on flower pots. "Mm, I think that looks decent enough. I mean, it doesn't clash with the plants I already have on the terrace."

If there's one thing August is used to, it's letting people talk. And talk. And...talk. He takes in this barage placidly, nodding now and then at a comment. "Maples hold up around here quite well. Especially the bloodgoods. Dogwoods, only issue with them--and this applies to all of them--is anthracnose. Fall's best, but on saplings like these," he reaches out to run his fingers over a leaf, "as soon as the ground's no longer frozen you're good." Hopefully that'll be enough to keep her busy for at least thirty seconds, so he can respond to Ravn.

"Not too bad," he says. "I mean," he glances around the edge of the canopy, "considering..." He pauses there, having spied Joe, smiles a greeting to him which fades when he sees this group of...not horticulturally minded people coming their way. But it could be anything. Right? And yet he can't help the way his demeanor shifts to wary and tense.

Joe's ground combat experience is almost nil. But that almost is crucial. He's been in just enough in terms of firefights to have begun to develop those instincts that says that trouble's coming. So there's something distracted in his smile, as he greets Cecil. "Hey there. How you been keepin'? I been so busy workin' on the next book I've been barely gettin' out of doors....." A beat, and he drops his voice, "Cecil, you need to get out of here. Something's going wrong. Make for the exit now. Don't run, don't hurry, but go. Act like you just remembered you've got a meeting elsewhere."

Then he's looking more purposefully for August, raising his hand and kind of jerking his head towards the exit.....before his gaze is darting in search of a fire alarm.

Ravn may not know a dandelion from a coltsfoot but the former confidence artist does know crowds (this, in fact, is a rather big part of why he doesn't like crowds). The subtle shift in atmosphere combined with the ever so slight wariness of Roen and the brief shadow flickering across Thorne's face -- he too tenses and starts paying very close attention to his surroundings. Cold reading is something he does very well, and right now, every person he's looking at is silently saying, manure is about to hit the propeller, buddy.

"I think we're about to have a bad day," he murmurs very quietly and looks for something to dive behind when, inevitably, the manure does hit.

Cecil smiles warmly at Joe and says, "I've been busy with work, you know how it is." He claps Joe on the shoulder, gives him a small nod, then says, "I just remembered, I left my phone in my car." And he walks away, putting some distance between himself and the non-horticultural newcomers. No bravado from the lab monkey. But he didn't leave his phone in his car, and once he's put some distance between himself and Joe, he finds a place to hunker down behind a petunia display, and he starts recording video of the area, just in case.

Lilith squints a touch at Byron with a sidelong glance, there's something about the way he's fixating on the flower pot she doesn't like while agreeing to it. Nodding some, she says, "We'll come back right before leaving so we don't have to lug and put them in the car right... now." The woman happens a glance toward the parking lot and almost trails off speaking entirely, some guys in bulk converging on the same place at the same time don't look like mall powerwalkers. She then casts a glance at the familiar faces around at the expo here and there nearby, pushing her tongue against an eyetooth.

If she was feeling squirrely, she definitely feels that way when some of the others look a tinge on edge with body language. Wondering quietly of Byron in bare murmur, she says, "Hey handsome... you got your gun, right?"

If anything, if they're out here looking for pots for plants, Byron's going to choose something he thinks matches the decor with the rest of his expensive apartment. So he idly eyes the items on display, before his own gaze wanders, once more looking on some of the other familiar faces, before he focuses in on the new arrivals who really seem like hardcore plant fans, they way they start making their way through in a far too serious manner.

"Of course not." Is the man's response to Lilith, which probably means 'yes' in some weird code.

Then things begin to move quickly and the next thing that Byron knows, one of those randoms tries to put a jump on Esme. She can handle herself, right? Either way, while he reaches for his own sidearm, he takes a headcount of everyone in play, noting the position of these threats and the way that some of them glow.

Esme is starting to reach for her radio again and that might be what makes the guy jump for her. Esme tries to dodge the man but no - he's got her. But hey, you know what? She has a gun too! Though, it's on the side currently closest to the man. She attempts to elbow the man who has her in a headlock, trying to ignore the pain of the gun getting jammed into her ribs. With the other hand, she is trying to summon up some of her power to rip the man's gun from his hand and therefore, away from her.

"Yeah," August says to Ravn, voice low. "I'd get inside a shop, if you can." He meets Joe's eyes...and hesitates. That's his wife's coffee shop this is happening in front of, and what are the chances he's just going to bail? Spoilers: sorry Joe, it's a negative number. There are parallel universes where it's more lilely to happen, for how unlikely it'll happen here and now.

And that guy is waving a gun near Espresso Yourself, which is expressly forbidden, as of this second. He focuses on the firing pin, one hand forming into a fist as he wills it to shatter, or at least jam soundly.

As it happens, Joe is packing, too. But he doesn't draw, not yet. No....his glance falls on a fire alarm, and he reaches out with his power to set it off. Let's try and get as many away from here as possible....and create as much confusion for the shooters as he can. Even as he moves towards the cop cars, at a deliberate pace. No running - running attracts attention whether you're talking about harpies or active shooters.

Cecil keeps his phone steady, gathering evidence for whatever the hell is about to go down. He's out of the way, hidden. No need to pay attention to the geek with a cell phone behind the petunias.

"Bit too late to leave the concert early," the Dane murmurs back. "The band's already taken the stage."

Ravn does not carry a firearm, nor does he consider himself any use in a hand to hand fight where a single love tap from an opponent would floor him, courtesy of his neuropathy. What he does consider himself good at is distraction -- and a distraction is clearly what the detective-inna-headlock needs in order to break free. He just stands there, looking for all intents and purposes like any other gawping mall goer who hasn't quite clocked what's going on yet.

A clay planter nearby hops off a table and launches itself at high speed at the glass partition close to Esme and her assailant, showering the latter in broken glass, possibly offering her enough of a distraction to break free, though.

Though the man reaches for his gun, his dark eyes darts from face to face, burning the visages of some of their foes to memory, rather than quick draw, Byron's lifts his free hand to focus in on some of the other gunmen as the entire group is distracted. "Lilith, keep back." He says, without a hand to usher her away from what he's about to do. The air feels heavy and that burnt ozone smell grows more intense right before he sends out an arc of electricity, causing a chained lightning reaction as it jolts through one guy to another, frying five of them.

If Esme weren't physically pressed against her assailant, he might have tried to send a jolt through him instead. This way, however, he's hoping to help thin the herd of ne'er-do-wells.

Lilith does, actually, keep back when Byron tells her to, which might be surprising some days. In fact, she doesn't look to be doing much at all. She's distracted by Byron throwing lightning and all the commotion and watching her back, sure, but mostly she's standing. And turning. And watching the dance studio before everything breaks out. Her eyes cut into vague squint and there's a little 'huh' that comes out of her before the crackle of lighting from the dark haired man goes off.

Snapping her eyes to the converging group of men, she surveys them with her eyes critically and flashes with power she tries to view-supress, so she doesn't look like a threat with glimmer at the moment either. She's checking something to plan with, no doubt, but what that is at the moment... well, for all intents and purposes, she might as well be a sentinel brunette Barbie on the strip mall sidewalk.

Esme gets away from the man and draws her gun - holding it on him and his buddy. "Put your weapons down now!" She demands. This had Reyes written all over it. Then the chaos is erupting. She shifts just slightly, taking a more defensive stance and keeping her gun trained, trying to summon up a shield for herself.

August gets to be relieved for two entire seconds as the first guy tries to fire and can't. ...and then Byron lights a half-dozen people up, and the result is a free for all. Right in front of the coffee shop.

He grabs for the closest person and hits the ground, calling his shield up around himself. He has his Sig with him, but unlike these assholes there's no way he's opening fire in a crowded area, no matter how good of a hunter he is. So, hunting knife it'll have to be.

It's probably not good that Ravn finds himself locking eyes with the guy in charge of the other team. Some kinds of attention you really don't want -- and that certainly qualifies. He manages to focus what measly power he has on protecting himself, but even as the folklorist dives towards the nearest table and cover, he's keenly aware that with his talent -- or lack of it -- the odds of him stopping a bullet is miniscule. Or, to put it in the vernacular, Holy clusterfuck.

Cecil continues filming. He's focusing on the goons' faces, to later identify the ones who aren't already known. He's being good, he tells himself. He's not getting involved. Ruiz would be proud of how he's not the one with a gun in his ribs this time. Just a little soothing self-talk to keep him calm.

By the time open fire starts, Lilith has already decided the men at the dance studio are no threat to her and is damn sure of it actually for reasons that aren't for right now. She's also pinpointed the men among the goons with the most potential to soak up hurt and give it back and knows exactly what she's going to do after that moment of silence through all the chaos before. She doesn't cover, she doesn't run recklessly forward, she knows she's probably about to attract some massive attention if she makes the moment expressively violent enough.

But she focuses, hard. Very hard on that man she sighted before. She tries to break him in horrible ways from the inside out.

Joe looks, if anything, irritated. Adrenaline's pouring through his system, and he doesn't go diving for cover. No, he's pulled an ugly little Glock from under his coat, and is drawing down on one of the goons, even as he reaches f or his power. Instinctive as a turtle withdrawing into its shell. "You want some, you got some," he informs the nearest of the goons. As if this were welcome revenge for the assault last summer.

Look, Byron kept many of them from doing whatever they would be doing if he didn't light them up. Rather than make a grab for his firearm, however, with his hands still lit up with crackling electricity, he scans the area, perhaps making note if any of those goons had their eyes on him. What he does see, is not that he's drawing their attention, but Lilith seems to be. Well, Lilith and Ravn. It's tempting for him to zero in on the most robust of these goons, but with a few of them, from what he can see, with their eyes on Winslow, he'll focus on them first.

Ravn blinks as he rolls under a table; his keen spatial awareness tells him in entirely too much detail how a bullet tore through the air right where his head was a moment ago and actually, this is getting far more exciting than he would ever wish for anyone. The folklorist takes a few quick breaths, murmurs a few solid and hearty oaths in his native language (hundehoveder, hængerøve, socialdemokrater...), and tries to focus.

Some of those people are still standing. One of those people is pointing his firearm at the table Ravn is hiding under. The Dane focuses his power on another of Roen's clay planters and sends it flying towards the man -- it probably won't do much damage, but it might at least disrupt the shot.

Esme hisses out as a bullet grazes her and then fires off a shot in retaliation at the one who had shot her.

Cecil tucks his phone away and darts out to where Lilith has fallen. Oh, no! Not poor, sweet Lilith, who has never been anything but kind to him. As he inspects her wounds, he tries to remember everything he can from his first aid training.

Lilith is terrifying when she's hyperfocused, maybe moreso than when she's raging temper and firestorm. She can kill a man with pinpoint precision and horrible violence from the inside in so many different ways, like any spiritualist of mettle can luck into. But she also has no other power skills, she knows what she does and she does it frighteningly well more often than not. The woman has lived with violence in varied ways all her life, she's made for destruction and well-honed in practice, she's disasterously minded and creative to try and ensure someone will not move again once they've fallen.

The man she specifically took a moment to sight out in the parking lot has her so focused, she doesn't even notice the two shots coming from different directions. She's not covering or moving, she keeps her line of sight clear and deadly and after the planter is slung by Ravn, she snaps the Supergoon like a twig, right in half... at the spine... backwards. It's very, very disturbing and unnatural looking, straight out of the Exorcist to see a body in such a wrong way. He falls.

But she does too. She knew it was coming. Lilith is terrifying, but she knows too that it only takes a single bullet.

August is pulling out his hunting knife when the bullets fly; one comes dangerously close to landing a hit, but strikes the ground and sends up concrete instead, causing him to flinch. He winces, shielding his eyes, which turns out to be good happenstance because this means he doesn't see Lilith get shot. He just feels it. (Just.)

He half doubles over, coughing, tears in his eyes. People, bleeding and in pain, screaming, and gunfire in the middle of a city. It's like he's 20 all over again.

So, just like back then, he takes it one step at a time. First step: Lilith. "No lying down on the job, hon," he whispers, willing her injury to stabilize, informing her body that it's going to cooperate and keep on keeping on.

He should be seeking cover. He knows better....and only now is Joe doing so. But he's not firing. No, instead he's trying to seize the pistol of one of the shooters by using his power. He can't break from range the way August can, but he can seize control. He retreats to the cover of an upended table, crouched.

These guys must be new in town if they are threatening Lilith Winslow. Not that some of these bastards didn't try to drive him and Lilith off the road once upon a time... "Lil, be on the ready. Those assholes got you in their sights." Thorne is quick to act, the muscles in his arm tensing as he directs palm in the direction of one of the men attempting to fire off a shot at Lilith, sending a powerful jolt of electricity which makes the guy's body almost looks as if he's hanging there in the air and twitching violently for a mere few seconds before collapsing onto the floor, surrounded by smoke.

That's when he notices that big guy in the distance? Well, whatever just happened to him wasn't pretty at all and the businessman can only guess who snapped that one like a twig. It's that much of distraction that he doesn't notice Lilith's body lurching back at first, until the starts to collapse, almost in slow motion in his mind. Shit!

Diving down in an attempt to catch her, once she's safely to the ground, he tries to cover her, placing himself in the line of fire. "Lil. LIL!" He calls out, looking down at her, then at the guy who shot her. Thank god that August and Cecil were suddenly there, but there's no time to thank them just yet.

So that's what being shot feels like.

Ravn looks down at his leg. It doesn't even hurt badly -- yet. The bullet pierced his skin with enough impact to not so much bypass his messed-up nerve system as short-circuit it; he's pretty sure that in a while this is going to be insanely painful but at the moment it's more just a sensation of loss of mobility. And of warmth trickling down over his knee and saturating the fabric of his jeans with stickiness. Fascinating, in a way. Also goes to prove that the table's honestly pretty useless as cover goes.

The Dane digs his nails into his palms to stay focused on things that matter -- such as the guy shooting at him -- and attempts to send yet a planter flying. It's not much, it's certainly not as much as he'd like to do, but as long as that guy is shooting at him he's not shooting at any of the civilian mall goers. It's all right, Ravn. You can be confused about your own civilian status. You've just been shot.

Cecil applies what first-aid knowledge he has to Lilith's wounds, and it turns out he remembered more than he thought he did. "Welcome back," he says to her with a small, shy smile. Then he looks up at one of the goons and, just because he's getting mad about it all, he lashes out with his mind. Stop. Shooting. People!

Esme narrowly dodges another bullet. She's just getting annoyed now. She shifts her stance to get a better shot at her target. Maybe she'll hit him this time even.

Not only does Lilith black out for a moment after falling, but she wakes up gasping and trying to breathe while bleeding out from that pistol bullet lodged in her sternum or wherever it may be. It doesn't seem to be anywhere exactly vital, but medical professionals are limited here and it looks (and FEELS) pretty terrible, a single shot made to take her down. But then she tries to regulate her breathing as Cecil applies pressure to her chest and she rouses at August's will more fully, hearing the gunfire once more instead of tiny pops with bubble wrap far-far-away.

She stays right where she is on the concrete, she doesn't move anything, managing a pale shadow semblance of smile in gratitude for the guy hovering over her and keeping her whole. For now, anyway. Staring upward, she sees the familiar shadow of Byron standing right over her and focused outward on the problem and it makes her smile a little more. For a moment, she's not sure if she's going to live, gunshots are terrible, she's had them before and this one isn't like the others, it's in a far worse and deeper place.

So she moves her hand. It's hard, but she moves her hand to touch at the back of Byron's leg before it falls limp again so she can focus on breathing and not bleeding out on the concrete. And when she does that, she tries to will him all the luck in the universe somehow.

The power answers to him well enough to send the gun leaping from the shooter's hand, but it doesn't have the gun winging to him the way it did in the police station altercation. But it's good enough - one shooter disarmed. And Joe's trying again on the next...and the result is even less useful. This time it only leaps in the goon's hand, making his aim falter. Still trying, though, with concentration intense enough to make sweat gleam at his temples.

August sags as Lilith responds to the healing. She'll no doubt need to go to a hospital, but at least she's not bleeding all over anymroe. So, there's that.

And now he has time notice that there's more: Ravn has also been shot. So has Byron. Joe is wading on in like he's Al Pacino. And August has had just about enough of this shit. He holds out the knife in his open hand, and sends it on a mission: a stabbing mission. Or slicing. He's not feeling picky at the moment. And if the guy who winds up with a massive stab wound under his chest also takes a bullet, thus complicating the determination of what killed him--a knife wielded by no one, or a cop's gun--well, that's just how life goes in Gray Harbor. Some things don't make much sense. He doesn't even notice the tear in the left arm of his jacket, or the blood flowing from his arm.

A potted planter to face keeps one man from firing -- for at least a moment or two. It all counts as far as Ravn is concerned. For the first time in his life does he question his own decision to not carry a bloody firearm or weapon even when he could -- it's legal here, he even owns one now courtesy of Seth Monaghan, it's just -- he still thinks that civilians carrying firearms in the streets is fundamentally wrong.

Oh well. Maybe now's more a time for launching that petunia over there telekinetically at 'his' shooter's face and applying pressure to his leg than for philosophical debate.

Cecil draws back to his hiding spot by the petunias once Lilith has been stabilized, and he directs another attack at another goon. All that time he's spent at the firing range has been great. Would be even better if he had a gun. Ah, well. He uses what he has, i.e. that allegedly sharp mind.

Thorne's attention kept flickering between the downed Lilith and those who rushed to her aid and the punk ass who shot her. He was partially hovering over the brunette, acting as a shield for her, in a sense. Being as distracted as he is, but still filled with a growing rage, he quickly directs a bolt of electricity at the gunman, just as he hears the sound of gunfire coming from that same location. The burning pain seared through his chest, tearing through his winter layers where the fabric bloomed bright red with blood.

He only had a moment to check, but some of what the others were saying has him feeling the lightness of relief when his gaze falls on Lilith. "Is she alright?" Dark eyes search her face, before his gaze lifts to look on both Cecil and August, "Thanks." That gunman was still up and about, thus gaining his full attention once more as he prepared to launch yet another attack, sending forth another jolt of electricity that forces the guy into convulsion before collapsing for good.

Feeling a touch to his thigh, he slowly turns back to find Lilith's hand there before it goes limp.

This time, there's enough fury in Joe for it to really work. The last man standing has his gun summarily ripped out of his hand, and it goes winging to the sailor's palm. Because when in doubt, pretend you're Vader in Cloud City. Then this particular incident is over, closed down, and he's only just resisting the temptation to fling himself into Ruiz's arms. Instead, he contents himself with sort of staggering up with the unsteady stride of the adrenaline-drunk. "Sharpshooter, huh? Someone in for a bad day," he opines.

Of the two remaining guys August knows about, one gets dogpiled and goes down in a heap of electricity. Which is a good thing, as this other guy evades the knife easily, and doesn't go down to Ruiz's shot. August curses, pulls his knife back to himself. But before he needs to decide about doing something drastic, the guy just gives up. Well. That's good, then; his nightmares are going to be bad enough. He glances towards the coffee shop, checking for signs of stray bullets, then sees to himself.

And hey, he's bleeding. He eyes his jacket, sighs, gets up and moves to Ravn. "Hey," August says, crouching down next to him. "How bad is it. The leg." This is, in all likelihood, Ravn's one chance to refuse being healed.

Cecil settles back as the guy falls to his knees. He takes out his phone again to record this alleged information. It's hard to get a steady shot, because adrenaline has his hands shaking every so slightly. He's hurt people today. That's a first. Sure, they were bad people, but he hurt them. He'll just have his existential crisis in quiet behind the petunias.

Lilith lies absolutely still until people are no longer being fired on or at. Her head turns at some point to look at the broken body across the parking lot she did before falling with a morbid, detached kind of fascination. Mostly, though, she's trying to keep her eyes open while Byron is occupied and that happens to be one hell of a focal point. Drawing in pained breath after breath, she does nothing else to help, she did her bit to try and mitigate the damages on everyone else. It was enough, given what she's looking at with everyone else still standing.

Woozily, she watches de la Vega walk up to Byron and ask about an ambulance, lying prone and still while struggling with uncomfortable, shallow breath after breath. And something he says seems to spur her into trying to say something to Thorne, hand reaching upward a little to try and draw him toward her so he can hear.

De la Vega arrives on the scene, but Byron doesn't rise to stand right away. Not until he knows that Lilith is okay to be moved. He still hovers over her while scanning their surroundings in the case that new threats present themselves. "Chief." Despite how the world might feel comfortable at calling Ruiz this, Thorne is still used to calling him Captain, but Chief it is. "What do you mean.. a sharpshooter?" That's when he expands his mind out to search for... something. The sharpshooter? Anyone that they hadn't seen yet?

That's when he hears something that Lilith whispers into his ear and his eyes narrow, looking to the dance studio. "There are people on the move. Dance studio." He informs the others. As for Lilith, though, his brow knits. "Babe, you gonna be okay?" It's a hard decision to leave her side right now, but he has a friend to help, nodding to the second thing which she whispers to him. "Got it." Leaning forward to kiss her on the top of her head before the EMTs work to get her on a stretcher, he looks to the others. He doesn't so much as say anything, but it looks like he's going along for the ride.

Got to hope that the bloke who shot Ravn really likes petunias; at least he took a number of them to the face, one at a time, each flying off that table over there. It was not quite enough to take him down -- but at least it kept him too busy protecting his face to fire that gun at Ravn or anyone else again. As far as the folklorist is concerned, that's a definite win.

He was here to chew gum and throw petunias, and he was all out of gum.

Now, though, that the bloke drops his weapon and surrenders? Ravn just leans against the leg of the table that didn't offer him a whole lot of protection and takes a deep breath. Americans, man. "Pretty sure I'm not about to punch out," the folklorist replies to August's inquiry, sounding quite level-headed for someone who's presumably just been shot for the first time in their life. "I'm no doctor, but nothing is spurting. Think the pawn shop lady got hit a lot harder than me."