I’m here...the 9th layer of White: it’s Coachella! White Mecca!

@The Don @Neil @Bruno

Qiana has been a part of organized crime but not necessarily The Don's Collective

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She was flying, a bundle dangling in her claws. The package was valuable, but she was a loyal, trusted runner. She knew the city like the back of her paw, was small and nimble enough to bob and weave through the urban jungle, large and fiesty enough to fight off the worse creatures.

But it was valuable. So she was chased. She had done a good job of it all, trapping her pursuers. She'd intended on losing them on 5th Street, doubling back before she made her way back to the drop off point. She looked back to see the gleaming claws of an owl coming after her, ducked to miss it and then —

Then she hit the side of a mountain.

A —

A fucking —

A mountain? She was from the city. How'd she end up near a damn mountain?

She tumbled in the air, momentarily dazed, before crashing into a soft bush below. “Shit,” she rubbed her head with a claw. It wasn't too bad, she'd had worse injuries, but —

Where the fuck was she?
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It was a spectacular crash. The pallid bat was a marvelous sight as she tumbled in her daze, and the velocity and the turns as she plowed into the soft bush were something to see. Granted, pallid bats were perhaps, what, twenty grams in weight when they were well-fed and soaking wet? So the actual impact was, perhaps, comparable to a large raindrop falling on a pillow of grass. Did that make it any less incredible to behold?
 
Yes.
 
At least, these were the vague thoughts of a porcupine who had half-ascended a whitebark pine nearby. It had been by chance that Bruno had been looking out in time to spot the ill-fate flight of the bat. The pine, itself covered in hardy needles which echoed those growing from Bruno’s hide, had been one of his occasional feeding grounds for the last two days. He had been munching this trees pines, to the exclusion of nearly a dozen other whitebark pines of the exact same size in the area. He couldn’t explain ‘why this one’. He had just picked it, and he spent hours up there, gnawing away at the green needles, watching the sky and the clouds and thinking.
 
When one of those clouds had seemed to birth a tiny winged creature, it had gained his notice.
 
Ponderously, the porcupine descended after the crash. As a being relatively fearless of predators and dangers, Bruno easily gave in to moments of curiosity like this one. What could a tiny bat possibly do to something like him? He drew near, but not too close, as he had no idea what this little creature was like. He also knew that he, like all porcupines of his species, had a bit of a body funk that some animals disliked, and others somehow seemed to adore.
 
Calling out to the bush, and to the crash-victim within, Bruno’s voice was deep and clear. ”Hey, d’you need any help in there?” he asked.


Note: Archiving after mutual agreement with Qiana's player in Discord.
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