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Seeing that rook was making sure Anya was alright, Clare moved over to Justin and poked the side of his head. "Hey, Are you Apologizing 'cause you're alive? Cause, just so you know, that's kinda stupid. Congrats on surviving a hedgespun shotgun blast to the stomach, by the way."
Anya fervently wished she had not been quite so forthright in darting up, only a split second after the movement had already been made. Her vision swam faintly, and the head-rush sensation was one that she could have done without. Her talons idly treadled the blanket that she was sat on, as she searched the room from her still vantage point.
Justin was also in a bed, too. Doctor Jack, Bates, Duncan and Betony Rue appeared to have replaced Spartan.
Immediate questions jumped into her mind now that she was awake and slowly taking grasp of the situation. The fight, injuries, the flash of intense pain before she went down and was pulled into the darkness. Darkness like the cave, and with the same discomfitting comfort.
Anya did not respond to Rook for several seconds, but finally her reptilian gaze slipped to his and softened slightly. Even that though, was mostly masked by the hard shell.
"I'm still alive," she answered, the comment lingering on the line between statement and question. Almost critically her eyes swept over the Metalflesh.
Standing, moving, talking. Not on fire.
"Tell me, please, did we win?" Anya requested a moment later.
Rook kept himself apart, standing back. Part of him was insisting that he should do something dramatic, like run over and throw his arms around her in relief.
The vast majority of him was pointing out to the stupider part that the only real result in that case would be a dragon with broken ribs and a snapped spine, and held him stillf.
"Yes, we won. Enzo is dead. His companions are likewise dead. You and Justin were badly injured, but Swilla and Spartan stabilised you both," the Constable said quietly.
There was a lot he wanted to say, but he wasn't the sort of man to open up like that. He kept his feelings bottled away, good and bad, and held them inside the pressure of his blazing heart. Fire on the inside, steel outside. And it wasn't all by choice. A lot of it was simply the nature of a chesspiece.
He wanted to tell her that when she'd fallen, he'd felt like he was shattering in some helpless way, that he'd realised she was a weakness of his and he blamed himself for her injuries. That he should have covered her more effectively.
But Rook couldn't find the words, and just looked helplessly at her, the look in his eyes lost behind the sunglasses.
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"....surviving a hedgespun shotgun blast to the stomach..."
He knew that anything involved with the Hedge, and by a greater extent holding any sort of connection with Fae period followed its own rules, but still. The reptile part of his brain was screaming at the realization he had just survived something that was supposed to kill him and humans couldn't do that.
Justin had never really denied the fact that he wasn't human, not anymore. He had experienced enough 'upgrades' in a fully conscious state to remember, if not clearly at times, what had been done to him. As an Elemental the subtle nature of denial was beyond his ability to experience - things either were or they were not.
He was a machine, albeit probably the most advanced model that Arcadian techno-sorcery or whatever else had played a part in his 'creation' could produce. He had been damaged, repaired and so it was.
The human spark that made him Justin didn't accept such a pat explanation. In fact, it pushed him into a realm of shock he had not come close to experiencing again since that moment he escaped from There and understood what he had been made into, and remembered what had been taken from him.
Turning his head, the Manikin studied Clare for a long moment, then, "Oh. Oh Dear God. I....didn't die. Where am I? I remember, yeah, Anna got hit with fire. Is she alive? Did we win? God. I don't know how to react...right now I'm scared as fuck, I'll admit it."
With that, Justin pulled back the sheet and looked at where he could remember getting hit, steeling himself against the sight of what was surely going to be mangled artificial skin, wiring and his Keeper only knows what else had replaced the real with the synthetic.
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Clare blinks at Justin freaking out, but quickly goes to reassure him. "Hey, hey, No worries. Spartan and Swilla stabilized the two of you and we brought you to the Four Seasons. Doctor Jack here patched the two of you up and made sure you didn't end up dying. We did win - they're dead." She puts a hand on his shoulder, and meets his eyes until he calms down.
For that split second before the Metalflesh answered her question, Anya searched his stoic face for any indication that he might try to let her know gently: that the mission had been an overwhelming failure, and Lost on their side had perished in the fight. But Rook was pretty blunt in general, and his tongue would not permit him to lie -
And then he spoke those three marvellous words: Yes, we won.
We won.
The Draconic did not allow herself to consider her own fragility or straight out bad luck in the field of battle. That was something to be concerned about later on. This was a time to feel relief.
Anya watched him still, her yellow eyes trained on his face. "And you?" She wanted to remove his sunglasses, to see what truths his eyes may tell, but she refrained. It would have been wrong to reveal them, when he tried so hard to keep them covered.
Rook's irises whirred as they focused on the face of the Draconic. He tried to think of a way to express himself. Something eloquent and precise, that expressed the thickness of the pressure inside his head and his heart.
He just shrugged.
"Alive," he said quietly. "I..."
There weren't words enough, and he shrugged again.
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Betony Rue finishes packing her stuff and then turns back to the Lost in the room. "You should all get plenty of rest, and avoid getting into any further scuffles until you are fully healed," she says to them, a frown on her brow as usual. "If you require further assistance, you know where to find me." With those words, she offers a nod to the group and a separate nod to Mr. Bates before she exits the room.
"Well, you all heard Ms. Jasons," says the Chatelaine. "Feel free to rest up in this room, and let me know if you require anything further." The hotel's manager gives them all a polite bow. "If you'll excuse me, there are a couple of things I need to check up on," he says to the group before exiting the room a couple of steps behind the Autumn Witch.
Anya waited to see if Rook would say anything further, and when he did not she reached out to carefully take his hands. The talons curled inward, almost but not quite, touching his riveted flesh.
"I understand."
She peered around the room, giving a silent nod of thanks to Betony Rue as she left the room, and studying the remaining Lost. Her gaze returned to the Metalflesh eventually, contemplative and calm.
"We survived. They didn't. Right now that's what matters," Anya noted gently. "You don't need to say anything else," she offered, with a brief but understanding smile.
Rook gave Mr. Bates and Betony a slight, mechanical nod as Anya took hold of his hands. His expression didn't waver, but he wordlessly threw his arms around her and pulled her to him.
Carefully.
Even the brief burst of emotion that he could express had to be restrained. He could have broken her ribs in a bearhug if he hadn't exerted precise, deadly control over his muscles.
He didn't say anything. The movement said everything he needed to, right now.
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