He ached. His knees were bruised-- he'd jammed them on the floor of the stage, and he'd been coming down off an hours long adrenaline high that just wouldn't quit. Humanity, at times, was horribly tedious. He'd been looking after his own for centuries-- his girls, whose faces changed over the years but each was no less important to him than the
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Knocking back the rest of his glass, he let out a sigh and waved the bartender down for another pour.
"She's fine. Scared out of her head, but in one piece. Which, as I understand it, isn't the end one usually gets after being fitted with one of those bloody collars."
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"Usually happens?" he repeated. "So it was something from home, not something wholly island created?" The only collars Mitchell was aware of in abundance on the island were on dinosaurs and those didn't just appear on people.
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"But that was before I knew her. I'd heard that she'd been broken when Angelus found her there, in Pylea, but I'd never seen her like that. Not until today."
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