❰ she'd gone back for the bullets. and okay, maybe some explosives too, but bullets were top priority. the chick at the sheriff's office was all too ready to give back her confiscated rifle, but it was useless without the bullets they didn't confiscate. the ones sitting neatly at one end of her workbench in crowe's garage.

so of course she went back for them. this isn't her first invasion, and this time around, she plans to fight.

but she wasn't stealthy, not by a long shot, and they followed her home. too many of them — so many more than she could dream of gunning down, even now that she and her bullets have been so lovingly reunited. so as they closed in on the house, she shoved the bullets in her jacket pocket and seized the biggest bomb she'd managed so far.

the long and short of it is, she put out a brief warning to the network (one that hopefully came soon enough) and before a minute had passed, house 5012 and surrounding few meters were reduced to rubble and flames.

now, amidst the smoke, those drawn to the blast might spot raven shoving her rifle out of a broken basement window and dragging her sorry ass out after it. she scrambles to her feet, palm over one ringing ear, and staggers out to the sidewalk before dropping back to her knees.

she's scraped up and bruised, but for the most part seems mercifully intact in light of the blast that brought the house down above her. (man, if anyone needs a spokesperson for the structural integrity of these fucking basements, raven's your girl.) she's also too busy pulling her shit together to pay any attention to her immediate surroundings. good thing the blast seems to have scared off any other asshole monsters that might've been around. ❱

❰ it's long after midnight, and raven can't sleep, not even here where it's probably pretty safe. she sincerely tried, for a good few minutes... but then came the lovely soundscape of some sorry fuck getting their guts ripped out in the streets, and she knew sleep wasn't gonna come for a while.

so now she's posted at the window, rifle in hand.

the door to her room's wide open — maybe you see her, gazing out into the night through the scope of a gun.

or maybe you're out in the streets, and her cover fire from the second story managed to scare one off you before it tore you apart.

either way, she could probably use a distraction right about now. if she sits like this too much longer, she's going to end up with the worst sort of crick in her neck. ❱