Shealtiel considers for a moment. "No," he says eventually. "I've never made his acquaintance, but he's made himself known around the city. I just put little stock in holy men loyal to a dead god. Still, Typasius seems to have lived up to his legend. Which we should all be thankful for, I suppose."

Oh? The other psychic, eh. Dante sat up suddenly, hitting his head on a low shelf. "Thank you for your help," he replied to the theurge in response to the speedy and relatively painless treatment.

"And you," he whispered, turning abruptly and grasping the coffee-aura-ed psychic by the chin, "should be more careful." With a mischievous grin, he planted a quick kiss and murmured, "Thanks for helping us out, too..."

"I...wha..." Feenai couldn't even find words to express herself at the blind man's sudden kiss. I was so absorbed in feeling sorry for myself I didn't even notice him approach. I SHOULD be more careful, I don't even have my mental shields up and he surprised me so easily.

"You..you're welcome," she stammered, blushing heavily. "My name is Feenai. What's yours?" The name Dante came to the forefront of his mind as she asked the question. She also read that he was very hungry, so she took the bag of succor capsules out of her pocket. Taking his hand and placing one in it, she continued, "It's Dante, right? I know it's not really food but this will at least keep you from being too hungry for a little while."

Shealtiel notes both names and files them away. He is too exhausted to even try to figure any of these people out, yet, though things seem pacified, at least for the moment.

More worrying is the Babylonian psychic when she eventually wakes up. At least the fact that and this Dante seem to have been working together below is a comforting sign. Shealtiel is in no condition for another conflict.

Jeanne nodded at the words of the old man, although she was a little insulted by the way his words showed contempt for religion. "God may be dead but he is still worth our reverence," she said, finishing the healing of Dante's second wound and then standing up. She felt as though healing the assassin's wounds had taken little effort, and so she was about to move on when she saw him move over to Fee and kiss her.

A flash of anger rose over Jeanne, although as she took a deep breath, she realized that it was misplaced. If they were all to be together, they needed to tolerate each others'...quirks.

Had he been in better spirits, Shealtiel might have taken the effort to address the young theurge's quaint tautology, but he suspected it wouldn't be worth the effort. Ironic how theological education tended to move one away from God. Or had it been the Eschaton that had accomplished that for him....?

Seeing no reason to pay further attention, Shealtiel laid back as best he could on the crate and attempted to rest. He could still feel the spiritual reverberations of the Rephaim and Typasius' battle. He couldn't help but wonder what Acacias was preoccupied with, to be letting his comrade face such a foe alone.

Lev opened his eyes after a few minutes, his body beginning to recover after the infusion of holy water. He took a few minutes to recover his wits before trying to sit up. He pulled his torn pant leg upwards, feeling of the skin on his leg. His eyes widened in alarm as he jagged scars, fresh ones making his 'map' completely unreadable. He twisted his head this way and that, shouting at people.

"Lost! I have no map! They destroy map! We...we..."

He stopped, realizing what company he was in. The company from before, the group that had stood the trials in the sewers. It was slowly coming back to him, now that he was in what seemed to be safety. His eyes spotted Rue, becoming instantly distressed to see that he had failed in keeping her completely safe. He addressed her with genuine worry, or as much worry as the man could muster.

"Are you...complete? In just one piece? Original piece, not one piece but smaller piece than as you began."

Upon examining the red-haired more closely, Michael figured that she was Babylonian although disguised by the years of travel and the red cloak, when he first met her. "Not a good sign. I'm not welcome there. Hopefully she doesn't recognize me. Hmm...her wounds look fine, shallow although more than a few. The worst is near the tattoo. What is that anyways?" he thought.
Michael got up and explored the library, feeling that with time, the Babylonian should be fine enough to tell him about mind reading, like he wanted.
A number of the books he looked at were about psychic, in the past generations, even during the Calamity. Picking up one, he read about the a psychic named Gerard Gastoof, known for making a wall of iron out of his mind. "Interesting. Maybe my Psychic Block can used that way," Michael thought, making a note to try that at another time.
He then remembered to check his laser. Opening the hatch, he realized that the battery wires were roasted. He'd need to replace the wires if he ever wanted to use it again. Hearing an exchanging of words, he closed the laser, looking to Dante and Feenai just as they exchanged a kiss. He raised an eyebrow at them, knowing better than to interfere with the blind man's... tendencies, but when the young psychic pulled out the succor capsule, he grabbed some food from his regular rations. Noting that he would only have 5 day's worth after this, he tossed a couple of sandwiches to them. "Don't bother with the capsule, lover girl," he teased.
He turned towards his friend, next bringing his thoughts about the saint to the forefront. "If the Saint Typasius is fighting the Rephaim, it will sure be weakened by the time it is finished. Other than him and the other saint, who is wounded, the city will be extremely weakened." Michael paused here for dramatic effect. "It is an opportunity, should we choose to take advantage of it."

Shealtiel cracks open one eye, not bothering to get up. "A true child of the apocalypse, aren't you?" he asks Michael. "Well, you'll hear no objections from me. I've gotten to know the people of Corinth well enough to know that any of them would do the same thing -- come to think of it, they probably are. No wonder the walls were unmanned. The guardsmen were likely pacifying riots and arresting looters."

"No worries," Dante said to Feenai, succor capsule still in his hand. He placed it back into her pocket without saying more. Then he noticed a small burst of aura from the theurge who had healed him. Hm...Looks like I'll have to treat this one later, too~

Feenai caught the sandwich that the man tossed to her, blushing again at the 'lover girl' comment. She had just had a succor capsule a little while ago and still wasn't hungry thanks to the smell of sewer and burning flesh. "Thank you for this, but I don't need it right now." She lowered her voice some, and returned to look at Dante. "I know you're hungry, at least eat the sandwich that man gave you, and this one as well if you wanted more." She left the sandwich in Dante's hands as she stood up and moved away from him.

Feenai had also felt the sudden burst of anger from Jeanne. Though it had passed quickly it still worried her. I'm tempted to read John to find out why he was angry but that would be rude...and he's helped me a lot already.

She looked at the red haired girl who's name she had found out to be Ruebella. It sounded like she did not want people to know who she was, and a quick check of the Network told her that, while not exactly famous, she did have a lot of people wanting her dead. I don't like her that much, but she didn't turn on any of us in the sewer. Maybe she and I could talk things out, and I could find out what exactly is going on.

Dante lifted his eyebrows slightly. He could tell when people read his mind; it wasn't that hard, really. With two sandwiches in his hand, he'd finally gotten what he had waited several days for: real food. Even though he'd down two capsules that day already, he was grateful for having something to actually chew on, and quickly unwrapped one. Taking the psychic's head would have to wait for later.

"I was only taught by the best the east could offer, servant of Sheol." Michael said to him grinning. He looked up at the ceiling of the warehouse-like library.
"If there are lamps up above, there must be some sort of generator nearby. That means power and parts."
"I'll be right back," Michael said to the group, heading outside of the building. The building seemed pretty big on the inside for its size on the outside, although he couldn't tell in an exact measurement due to the growing sandstorm.
"Perhaps I should try out that shielding move now, Michael thought as the sand began to get in his eyes. He extended his hand out in front of him, like in the book and the sand immediatly stopped blowing towards him bouncing away from him as though hitting a windshield. While extending his psychic powers, he realized he was vulnrable to psychic attacks, as his mind was left open to the remaining psychics. He quickly stopped and returned to focusing on his mental block, forcing himself to deal with the sandy weather while he tried to find the generator.
"The young psychic has a overly curious mind. If I'm not careful, that'll be her downfall."

Lev winced at Rue's words, feeling somewhat insulted by them. Anger, like a glistening oil, began flow through him. Despite the ordeals he had been through, he stood up as he addressed her. Rage was evident in both his voice and face. For once, he spoke the language as if it was his own native tongue.

"You cannot toss me away. I see what you are doing. I have expended my usefulness and now it is time to let me go. It's evident in your eyes. Do you think I don't know that look? I've been put down in shallow graves before, and each time I have risen back to my feet. I will not be 'let go' so easily! You will continue to employ me!"

He raised his hand as if to threaten her with his revolver, only to realize it was no longer in his hand. He froze, looking at his hand dumbfounded. He let several moments pass before he muttered "Shto...?", his mind beginning to fall apart once again.