First Reserve (Hobbs)

[Dante Stark]

Dante watched as she'd set ablaze to the corpses of the night. He smirked knowing they'd done the world some good. He'd caught the vodka she threw at him and took a massive swig tossing it back to her. Dante rummaged through the trunk of his car and grabbed a hold of a small box with some bandages in the box and ripped one open and began to wrap it around his body before taking his shirt off. He looked through the boot of the car for his duffle bag filled with clothing, he pulled out a t-shirt and a flannel shirt and put them over his body turning back towards Hobbs.

"I just hear gossip i tend to disagree with what most people say about each other, just all that matters is that you're a decent hunter and I'd defiantly take you out on one of these again " Dante smirked and closed the boot of his car after collecting the empty cans from Hobbs. He looked towards her and nodded his head in gratitude steel reeling from nearly dying previously. She was quick and he should have acted better.

"Finley's Tavern.. and drinks are on me i guess." Dante smirked as he opened his car door and nodded once again towards Hobbs before getting into his car and driving away back towards the city, the sight of charred corpses would not be burned into his mind but he'd knew they'd done good work today regardless of the standing of the Commanders new laws Danticus was proud of Hobbs and Himself but they'd had a close call and that wouldn't be happening again he needed to improvise his traps so it wouldn't be a problem in the future and that was his promise to himself.

[Hazel 'Hobbs' Yeung]

Hobbs stared, dumbfounded, as he took a gigantic mouthful of vodka and threw the hip flask back to her. That hadn't been what she'd meant by 'clean yourself up'. She'd meant it so that he could use the vodka to disinfect the cut across his chest, 'cause fuck knows what kind of nastiness there was on werewolf's claws. She caught the hipflask he threw back to her in one hand, noting that it was considerably lighter than it had been a few seconds ago.

"What the fuck dude? I didn't mean drink it," she said. As Stark stripped off his shirt, Hobbs unscrewed the hip flask cap and put an eye to the neck, peering into the bottle to gauge how big of a swig he'd had and how much was left. "I meant stick some on that cut and clean it. Christ, you drink like a sponge, man." She continued to mutter to herself as she replaced the cap and stuck the bottle back into her jacket.

He said he'd heard gossip. So gossip was told. She'd been told of the various theories there were running around about her, and would be pleasantly surprised if there were any more outlandish ones around.
"You're damn right drinks are on you. You owe me vodka, for one thing. And saving your life warrants a few pints by my reckoning."

Stark strode over to his car, and Hobbs returned her gaze to the motorcycle she'd hotwired in the garage. She wasn't much of a vehicle enthusiast, but even she could appreciate the bike's understated beauty. She swung one leg over the seat and reconnected the wires that kicked the bike into life. Stark drove away, and Hobbs stared one last time at the piles of burning flesh that lit up the area. Whatever Logan thought of her, whatever horrors she'd seen at war, she was still sorry it had to come to this. She wasn't desensitised completely to the concept of death. Logan wouldn't be too pleased by this, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She turned the bike around and went after Stark. The acceleration of the motorcycle was phenomenal, whoever it belonged to, and she roared alongside Stark's car as they tore away from the funeral pyres. Eventually she peeled away from the car and went full throttle back into the city.