Braving new pathways into the unknown...

[savesherself]

Flash of headlights, crash of metal, the whole world spinning wildly as the car rolled, PAIN...The pain hasn't gone anywhere. Emily's entire body aches, and the throbbing in her head is the worst, but even through that... the second she starts to come to, she knows something's wrong. It's too bright. She's lying on her side, not in a car seat. And

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[itchafes]

Neal is standing at the barracks gate, holding a cat and watching the winter wood while he debates the merits of going out to look for Kitsune again. And possibly getting kidnapped by her or horribly killed by Peter.

It's a passing fancy, not the kind he'd normally follow up on - except for the fact that there's a woman out there, and injured woman, making her slow way past the barracks in apparent obliviousness to its existence.

It could be a trick. A trap. It's probably both. But there's a person in apparent need and he can maybe do something about it.

Neal starts forward - and then stops, sets the cat down on a snowless patch and flips the communicator open long enough to tell Peter he's going just outside the gate and would like some back up but is going either way.

"Hey!" He doesn't make any secret of his approach, jogging through the snow and hoping his shoes will hold out just a little longer. At least he got a shave. "Hey. Are you all right?"

[savesherself]

Prentiss swivels quickly toward the sound of footsteps and a voice, though she doesn't actually process what that voice just said to her. The abruptness of the movement making her sway a little, and it's possible she only manages to keep her feet by sheer force of will. She brings the gun up and fixes it on the man in the same movement - though her aim wavers a little too, as she can't make her eyes focus quite right.

"FBI, don't move!"

Given the windbreaker she's wearing and the letters emblazoned across her ballistic vest, she's probably not lying about the FBI thing. Given the blood on her forehead and the wobbling on her feet and the way she keeps squinting at Neal like she's trying to make him come into focus, though... she's also obviously not really in a great state to be handling a firearm.

[itchafes]

He steps back so quickly he almost stumbles, putting his hands up just slightly in front of himself in a motion of submission and defense.

"Woah woah woah! FBI consultant! Same team! Please don't shoot me."

[savesherself]

Prentiss doesn't move for a second, still eyeing him like she's trying to decide if he's responsible for all of this - someone had to be working with Shrader, driving the truck that hit them, after all - but... he's not armed. And he does look and sound legitimately alarmed by the gun.

She lowers it slowly, though she's not putting it away just yet. "What... Where..." She's having trouble figuring out which questions are most important right now. Finally, she settles on an irritable, "Who are you?"

She doesn't remember any consultants at the scene, but... well, she could have missed him. Or be suffering amnesia...

[miseternity]

Wandering again. It was all he could do while he laid groundwork, anyway, and there wasn't much to go off of so far in terms of figuring out what their captors were thinking. Luckily, the one thing he could count on was that information would come filtering in eventually when they made their intentions more clear.

And it was during his wandering that he tended to meet the most interesting of people. Like the foul-mouthed brunette he'd just come across. Finding a nice comfortable tree to lean against, he raised an expectant brow, trying to hedge his amusement but finding it impossible. They always had the same reaction, it seemed -- at least she hadn't broadcast it over that damned journal.

"Well," he offered helpfully, a smirk slowly working over his expression. "As far as I know, the popular opinion is somewhere between aliens, savages and fairyfolk. Take your time picking your poison, Princess, you'll have plenty of it."

[savesherself]

Prentiss is usually a lot better at situational awareness than this. Maybe if her head would stop pounding long enough for her to form a coherent thought...

She spins to face the man, staggering a little with the movement, and trains her gun on him. In his general direction, anyway - concussions do not lend themselves to perfect targeting skills. She didn't quite catch all of what she said through the ringing in her ears, but what she did hear is enough to give her pause.

"I... What?" she snaps, without lowering the gun.

[miseternity]

Situational awareness only does so much good when your company is a vampire, Prentiss. Damon just offers her a slow, wide smile that looks surprisingly comfortable, given their environment. He pushes away from the tree and tucks his hands in his pockets, beginning to circle her.

"Gun down, good choice. Wouldn't want you wasting your ammo on little old me when there are all kinds of fun things to shoot at around that are actually posing a threat." He didn't seem too inclined to repeat himself about the possibilities, though, despite that being what she'd actually asked for.

Instead, he was just continuing the conversation as if her response had somehow indicated her understanding instead of the complete opposite.

[savesherself]

She turns as he circles her, keeping her eyes - and gun - fixed on him, though the movement is making her head spin more than it already was. Son of a bitch.

And after a moment of thought, she comes to the conclusion that he's actually not making sense, and it's not just her not being able to find the sense because of the head injury. Which means she can probably safely ignore most of what he just said.

"Stand still, and explain. I'm a federal agent, and I will shoot."