An Insignificant Truck Stop // Open

Skipper sat in the back of the police car, her hands on her lap. She had a pounding headache and a nasty bruise and cut on her forehead. They arrived at the station and the police sat her down at a table and they sat across from her. "Okay, what's your name?"
"Marlee Tames. Can you please just help me find my friends! They have gone for more than an hour! Last I saw was the had bags over there heads and were being drag away." Skipper rushed through the information, she didn't know how long she had.
"Slow down there, We will find your friends, can we get a description?" Skipper was worried, she had never had something this bad happen before.
Skipper described them and the kidnappers, even the names she remembered. The police sent out some searchers and sent me to the hospital for stitches. I walked home to get some supplies, and a change of clothes.
Skipper now had on jeans and runners, a gun in tucked into the back of her jeans and she had a few knifes. She fixed her hair and went out, she would have to find them one way or another.

Torrid's reaction to her little remark was a soft snort. "So she was knocked out, too. Probably still at the bar. I hope she stays there," he muttered. His main objective was to try and chew off the ropes around his ankles, which he couldn't reach. John didn't actually seem too worried about it, but more so about the demon in the chair. Torrid has to give it to her: she knows how to be the center of attention. He'll definitely let her have it in favor of trying to break from his bonds. Honestly, he's not counting on Skipper's intelligence to find them at all, let alone her competence to bypass all the burly men, and get them out of there. He'd have a better chance at sweet-talking a rat into chewing through his bonds... no, really, that's not an exaggeration. He's keeping that as a totally viable option. It's hard to smell anything with the overpowering spraypaint still lodged in there, though. 

---

Which is fortunate and unfortunate, because the eyes from the rafters remained undetected. This Skipper person was still at the bar where she'd last seen Warren and his gang. And if Skipper's a friend of Torrid's, she's a friend of her's. Judging by the look in Warren's eye, she didn't have much time either. Not to mention the spiritual time-bomb she'd planted... yeah, better find this Skipper person fast. She fled the scene quickly and hopped a ride on the back of a vehicle heading into town, back to the bar, and picked up what she believed to be Torrid's scent. But no skipper. So she followed it back to their motel.

"What is with this place and doors..." she sighed in frustration. Even if it was unlocked, she still wouldn't be able to open it. Think, Tori, think. Where can she find someone who can handle five hunters and a furious imperialistic ghost? And at this hour? Sighing heavily, she leaned her head against the door and just tried to breathe.

To her amazement, the door opened all on its own. Or not. She followed the feet in front of her all the way up to the face of the blonde human. After a moment of blinking up owlishly, the little feline finally spoke. "You Skipper?"

---

Warren smiled down at Clover. She is a clever one, that's for sure. It's not that he wouldn't like for her to be as altruistic as she says, it is simply a fact that she is lying. Redirecting blame, that's a nice touch. That is her nature, and he understands. Though, the creature on the bed, he doesn't understand. He's yet to encounter one of these. But if this is Clover's husband, as Downey suggested, maybe it is a completely different weak spot for you. "Somehow, with how much your mouth moves, ya don't seem to actually say anything," Warren observed ambivalently. "D'as alright. I's lookin' forward to ya commen'try." And he turned to Torrid, flashing the knife, and drove it down hard.

Torrid cried out, but the knife never touched him. It was driven into the rotting mattress right beside his chest, close enough to shave off some fur. "You's one ugly-lookin' demon, ya are," he observed. Torrid didn't get to reply as Warren suddenly uncorked his flask of holy water and dumped it over Torrid's face. It felt like every single cell touched by the stuff was dropped in a vile of acid. "A skinwalker demon, though, that's a new one. Did ya' girlie teach ya ta' speak?" A bone-chilling howl rang out from the beast, rippling through the rafters.

"Yes. Your accent's fake," snarled Torrid, gasping through the pain that's slowly receding. He bared his fangs at the men watching with amusement from the other end of the room. Warren chuckled deeply, and produced a silver knife, which he thrust swift and deep into Torrid's side. The hound barked in pain, but ground his teeth to keep from howling again. For a moment, Warren seemed confused, and Torrid cast him a dark stare. "Not a skinwalker, dipshit." Warren just left the knife in his side, and Torrid writhed to try and dislodge it. "Use your brain. How the hell would either of us be able to cannonball someone?"

Warren had his back to Torrid, busy with something. "Simple. S'no cannonball t'all. Teleport in, spread the chest with telekinesis. No use in askin' the why, with you type." Torrid's eye twitched. If this is the story that Warren believes, what are they trying to extract out of them? "Who's next?" asked Warren calmly. "We're right here. How do you expect we'll kill someone else?" snapped Torrid. "Who are you working with?" "No one! HNNng--!" Warren was suddenly in his face, something wedged behind his teeth so he couldn't bite, and dumping salt down his gullet. The hound thrashed, but his neck alone wasn't stronger than Warren's arm around it. 

Warren, still restraining Torrid, looked to Clover guagingly. "Ya's bout to watch ya mate get sent to Hell, lass. What say you?"  A puff of condensed breath came from their mouths, and Warren grinned maniacally. He must be getting to her.

Skipper was focoused on thinking out a plan, when a voice startled her. "Holy crap! Trying to give me a heart attack?" Skipper looked aroundd but then her eyes met on a small cat. "Oh my. Uh- who are you?" She asked, hoping it was friendly, she didn't want to kill a cat. She briefly thought aboout Torrid and his dog form, "You have a human form?" She asked. Skipper didn't answer her question, if she wanted to know who she is she would have to prove friendly first.

((Sorry for the short post, not much to say.))

Skipper looked at the cat, "Excuse Me? If through threats like that then maybe I will take you as an enemy. " Skipper straightened her shoulders and back. " And of course I'm going to save Torrid and the Demon, Clover is my only family." Skipper dragged out the word 'my'. She was annoyed by the creature already, the damn cat reminded her of something from a child's movie. And the fact she didn't seem to concerned about Clovers well-being made her trust non-existent.  
She watched the cat hop on the window then her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed the cat by the scruff and placed it down quickly."Get in the truck, and lets go. Do you even know where they are?" Skipper opened the door for the cat and hoped in the drivers seat. If the cat didn't know where to go she would check in at the police station.