An "Accident"

Aiden
Ahh the Holidays, how he adored them. (Not really) With Winter's arrival came the heralding of familiar times and celebrations. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Valentines. All Holidays that revolved around the idea of having loved ones, or a loved one to share them with. So the world around Aiden was going to be filled with, Lights, Laughter, and Holiday Cheer. For Aiden, this was usually a time where he spent more time at the office then amid anyone he considered close to him. (With the exception of Sofia and Eva's Brood he really had little in the way of family) However this of course would have meant he would need to be somewhere amid the town of New York to manage his business (Sofia had yet to request his return which both annoyed and elated him) Now, in any other circumstance Aiden would be cooped up in his on loan room, working on the restoration, creation, or destruction of one of his many projects. However fate had other plans for him. Plans that included the vibration of his cellular repeatedly as one letter text messages came at breakneck speed over the whatever waves cellular phones used now-a-days. But it didn't take a master decoder to decipher the meaning behind the text messages being sent to him. They basically said Hey suckhead, come get me. Which had Aiden stopping his project, and moving to gather his belongings and coat to head out into the cold Autumn evening. The thing that made this so maddening was that he wouldn't do this for his own Childer, Sofia had been a embrace of convenience, an Art Major who had committed herself to suicide after the completion of her masterpiece, which had been a somewhat Anne Rice like obsession with A Painting of Aiden done so long ago that he'd forgotten it existed. She was embraced, and then given purpose and thus his secret never exposed. But still he'd never have stopped what was basically the only thing that Aiden tended to pride himself upon to drive (Yes, he could drive) from  the warm (oh so warm) comfort of his chamber to some seedy dive to collect a body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he got it in his mind he was currently Rhett Butler whisking Scarlet away from her troubles, only to be rewarded with scorn (in the form of a ruined jacket, shirt, pants, or some other article of clothing) But Margot was his mortal now wasn't she? Instead of killing her, or forging a new memory of sorts. He let her have the knowledge of what he was. Maybe because she had protected him, maybe because he was going soft, or maybe because he had yet to beat her in a game of chess. ( She was cheating, he knew it, just hadn't figured out how.) The buzz of his phone alerted him to another text sent from somewhere, within the confines of the building before him. So many mortals, so close together, so drunk and easy and ripe for the picking. But his hunger was abated for the moment. Thus drawing an unneeded breath to steady himself. He exited his Liberty to make headway into the building, of course texting along the way << Margo, where are you? I'm here>>. A part of the undead attempting to rationalize the slight tingle of fear in the back of his mind. Maybe she'd fallen and hurt herself. Maybe she'd drank herself under the table and it fell on her. (Needless to say, the worst scenario involved her harmed by some mortal bastard, forcing Aiden into a less composed and more violent nature.) Brushing past a mortal, to a Bartender, he held up his phone to show a picture of Margot, that had been mysteriously set as his background. (No doubt by the woman herself) " I'm looking for this woman "

Margot
 ••• It wouldn’t be hard to find Margot. She wasn’t drugged, lying on one of the many busted couches that haunted the dark corners of the dive. Nor was she under a table, in her cups and thereby helpess. (Although she was most definitely in her cups. About fourteen of them, all full to the brim.) No, Margot was on stage, clutching a microphone with her back turned while she wavered drunkenly and spoke with the guitarist. Her eyes were blue and glassy with the night’s drinking, cheeks flushed and rosy. Just another drunk human, ripe for the picking. She paused, holding up her phone to read the incoming text, as signaled by a brief buzz, buzz, buzz. Squinting to read, and then text back, she sent nothing but a single letter, << t. >> Her name ended with a ‘t’, the text seemed to remind him. Friggin’ centuries old vampires. After tucking her phone into the back pocket of a high-waisted pair of Levi’s, she confirmed something with the guitarist, and drummer before her voice called out, via microphone, to the audience. “Shu’up y’guys. Shhh, sh, sh, sh, sh, shhhh…” she whispered into the microphone, so close that her voice was hazy and somehow more disjointed than her slurred speech. “I’ma sing y’a song.” she said, once a hush fell over the packed bar. Groups of friends watched with bated breath, anticipating the train-wreck that Margot was about to cause. But what happened next was a pleasant, unexpected twist: she sang like a warbling, smoky little bird. She held a lit cigarette in one withy hand, drawing off of it in pauses and breathing out the smoke in wisps as the words left her lips. “Out of the quiet, out of the sunrise…I hear the birdsong, give way to sirens…” she sang with a clear voice and gentle features. Drawing off of the twiggy cigarette, she continued. “I hear the voices give way to silence,” she chirped, eyes seeking out Aiden as if she had precognition to that very moment, where he’d be standing, singing directly at him with a grin, “It looks like fire, but it’s jussst sunshine.” she drew out the line and held up her cigarette with a gentle waver to her frame, eyes closing as she continued to sing. With the microphone back on its stand, she’d take the second guitar offered to her from a shady looking stage hand. Holding it with sure hands, she plucked along with the first guitarist, light airy notes highlighting the dark melody she strummed. “After the sunrise…might come the silence…” she breathed into the microphone before the small solo, thin fingers expertly plucking the strings while the cigarette dangled between a pair of red-stained lips. At the end, she lifted her eyes from her focus at the guitar, “G’night folks. Time t’go.” she announced before vommitting front and center stage. She bowed gracelessly.•••

Aiden
The undead would click his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the very moment he heard the sound of Margot's voice, and then received that T of a text from her. He knew that it ended with a T, but there was a weird affection in annoying her by not using it. " That's her " the tender pointed over his shoulder to the stage, and Aiden fought every nuance of himself that wanted to say. some snarky form of ~I figured~ Instead he turned himself slowly and made way into the crowd pausing midway and glancing upward on stage. Not wanting to ruin her moment, nor be the overbearing fatherly type he was sometimes known to be. Margot was his mortal, and somewhere along the way he decided he was going to lift up to the sun so it could shine brightly on her. Her choice in lyrics, were cryptik, and entirely well thought out. As if she was trying to make a dig at him, or what he wasn't exactly sure. Not that it mattered at this point. Because if he'd allowed himself to be cold and unfeeling, then it would have defeated the purpose of this trip. Which was of course to collect Margot and bring her somewhere safe where she could sleep off her drunken haze. (and do it all over again, despite his protests.) Their eyes locked for a moment, and Aiden's were tell tale of his concern. When she bowed so haphazardly and began to 'blow chunks' over the stage he groaned, and brought his hand to his face gathering a cloth napkin from a nearby table, he was the first one to the stage, one arm wrapping around Margot's willowy waist. " You have to stop this " He whispered quietly ushering her off stage " Looks like our Songbird has had just a bit too much to drink. " he offered with a light chuckle. " Come on " He soothed eventually seating her off to the side, and spying a untouched glass of water he'd dunk the cloth into it and brought it upward to her lips. " You know you're going to be the death of me " He muttered as he made to clean any remnant of her incident away from her lips. " or yourself, I'm not really sure what will come first! " He added absently at the realization that she'd only be a metaphoric death of sorts. " Stay here, I'm going to get you something nonliverkilling to drink "

Margot
••• “Ugh…y’feel goooood.” she groaned as she felt his arm wrap securely about her waist. Without hesitating, she pressed her warm forehead to the cool respite at the side of his neck. She was on fire, from the combined heat of stage lights and alcohol but Aiden’s eternally cold flesh was a soothing balm. Her head was spinning, stomach roiling as several visions blurred her focus all at once. The deafening sound of nothing piled in her ears, filling them with non-existent cotton and drowning all other sound out. Before she knew it, she was seated with Aiden nursing something…was that vomit? …off of her face. “Sh,top.” she lifted a hand in protest, pushing the napkin away from her lips as he continued to clean a hot mess up. Her hair was curling at the edges of her damp temples, wild and unruly in a brown halo, back lit by stage light and a haze of smoke that floated thinly over the crowd. Her hand, still raised in protest waved him on to go find whatever beverage he thought suitable. “Shure, shure, shure…” she nodded, words spilling out of her with unrestricted flow, one pushed right up against the other. “M’jusss gon’ lay…right…” she curled up on the couch he’d set her into, even slipping off one of her shoes (two was far too difficult to focus on) in the process. The clairvoyant closed her eyes, seemingly not cognizant of where she was, or who she was with anymore. Dropping her guard once Aiden had arrived, and leaving all measures of defense to his keen senses, she just decided to have a teensy nap. Just a little one. Nobody would mind. Except the people across from her that she projectile vomited all over in her daze while Aiden sought that nonliverkilling beverage. When Aiden returned, she’d open one eye and look up at him from her cozy nook in the sickeningly stained couch. “H’lo.” she chimed with a lazy smile. “I’see y’got my text-ss.” Had she…completely forgotten the last fifteen minutes? Yup. “I jus’ needed a lil’ nap bef---oh, water.” she spied the glass in his hands and perked up, wiggling to sit up while patting the seat beside her. “We shoul’go b’for I start singin’.” she warned before sipping from the offered glass.  •••

Aiden
The Quest for water, was one that was not without its perils. There were many a monster that he was forced to deal with from point a, to point b. Many of them upset with Margot for the ruining of clothing, hours of work to their hair, and whatever else someone complained about when vomited on. Not that he cared, he'd been on the receiving end as well. Basically, he just didn't care. They were eye sores, and they kept him from his ultimate goal which was to find his way to Margot, But after a few skillful dodges, and some sorry about thats offered. He did eventually return to her, with prize in hand. Which she took from him and moved from being neigh unintelligible, to being somewhat cute, but not able to escape his annoyance at the situation. Though it did deflate the moment she pat the couch and his form sank into it. " Yeah, that'd be terrible wouldn't it " He chuckled some thinking about what had just happened bringing him to turn toward the Drunken Mortal. " But I'd be less concerned with that then if you vomited on someone. That'd really ruin the night " He sighed some and leaned back turning his eyes toward the stage as they cleaned up the mess from Margot's unique pokemon ability to spew vomit further than anyone he'd seen before. However for the moment she seemed stable, and he agreed they needed to leave. Not bothering to take the glass from her. He then leaned gracefully and snatched her discarded shoe, and made the attempt to place it back onto her foot. " Come on let's get you home and cleaned up. " Which funnily enough he intended to take her directly to the Skye and as per usual have her pass out in his bed, or couch while he watched over her. " Speaking of which, how the fuck did you get here " He muttered as he helped her stand, and allowed her to lean against him as he they moved to the entry of the Bar, he'd have to find her something to wear too wouldn't he? He could hear Eva in the back of his mind. ~ Aiden, I'm not going to let you have anymore pets until you learn to keep this one clothed!~ Least he wasn't trying to fuck this one, or was he? Honestly there was so much about Margot that confused him. He adored her in so many ways, and had allowed her not only into his sanctuary, but to be around him while he slept. " Where's your car?" He asked finally, hoping she'd driven her own vehicle here. (It was expensive to clean vomit out of leather)

Margot
••• Margot leaned on Aiden with unrelenting dependency. The previous night’s sleep had been riddled with horrific visions of the deaths of several townspeople, by way of car accident. Upon waking, she’d started the day with the dregs of a bottle of Bulleit Rye to get the numbing train started. It only escalated from there, ending with Aiden trying to wrestle her shoe back on. “Ey, ey. Careful. Those are Lobut-- Loub--ou--tin.” she managed, twisting her ankle to assist him with the sleek, red-bottomed leather heel. Not that she had been particularly careful with them, as told by the jagged scrapes on either side of the toe. It was a damn miracle that she could walk in them, despite being supported by Aiden, whom she affectionately nuzzled. “I knew y’d come.” she murmured under the chaotic buzz of the dive, bodies pressing in around them as they found her belongings. Shoes, coat (with key and wallet still inside its pockets.) “T’would!” she added with animated insistence. “M’a terrible singer. Stagefrigh--t” she hiccuped as she explained. She shook her head when he inquired about her car. “I -hic- din’t drive. -hic-” she let him slip her coat over her shoulders without any resistance, shivering in the doorway as the cold breeze blew in around them. Her features grew pale, despite the bright rosy apples of her cheeks, a trademark feature of her drunken state. “There’s gon’ be an -hic- accident.” she gestured to the east, speaking in what seemed like glyphs, and making very little sense, growing solemn “I shou’dn’t -hic- drive.” she could have scowled him for suggesting she drive (she was very confused about the sentiment) if she weren’t suddenly stricken with the images she’d been trying to drink to forget. Her demeanor shifted, sinking a bit as her shoulder slumped and her brow knitted over glassy verdant hues. “I don -hic- wan’to go home.” she admitted, somewhat quietly, as if she were telling him something discreetly. The clairvoyant could see what happened next, all in a flicker: Aiden would take her back to Skye, where he’d provide her with clothing (but not her own), making a single stop along the way for a cup of coffee to sober her up. From there, things would get hazier, as in the near future, she’d be sobering up, but she’d be sleeping in his bed. That much she knew, given the amount of flat space provided to lay on while her body twirled in an endless, drunken spiral into sleep. “Hang…-hic- on.” she blurted as the vision ended, leaning to a side away from Aiden to vomit what was left of the contents of her stomach onto the pavement beside them. Groaning with the effort, she vacillated in the space between Aiden and a trash can, leaning heavily over the trash can for a moment before drawing a napkin, and a small bottle of travel-sized Listerine from her pocket. After human moment, she breathed in a gulp of fresh, cold air and disposed of both the Listerine and napkin before she staggered over to Aiden. Wrapping both arms around one of his, she leaned against him, head radiating off of her in waves from underneath her coat. “ ‘Kay. Tha should be abou’it.” she said, in regards to her vomiting. (It was.) •••

Gemma
 .: Night chill tightened across her skin, riling goosebumps to rise in defense. Her breath rose in evanescent plumes, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Where she walked, she noticed the distinct lack of bird calls, of any kind – they were familiar to her elsewhere in the world where she’d lived, though frost did not come to steal their songs so soon in those places either. The elements were more difficult to read here, because she was not familiar with the way this place wore its seasons, nor even familiar with the angle that constellations lay above – some entirely unfamiliar to begin with. How did the fauna interact with it all? She hardly knew what to anticipate of the people either – what cultural nuances lay outside of her experience? Kuro had been asleep, jetlag finally catching up to him despite his level appearances prior. With time and quiet on her hands, the coral-haired mage had slipped out of their inn, and had wandered up a street in Portree that evening.  It was late, and by her reasoning (faulty), she thought that she would easily find her way back despite shortcomings on her part. If she just walked straight, she just had to turn around and walk straight again and she’d end up in the right place. Right? It might have worked out that way, had she not changed which direction ‘straight’ was a few times. Well. Portree wasn’t that big, so eventually if she kept turning, she’d end up finding something familiar, or even the inn, she was confident (or told herself she was, when the pit of her stomach weighed otherwise). Well, she had a warm jacket on – a pale yellow winter peacoat with a soft, white scarf (tufts of coral hair caught in its wrappings and splayed out at the back). White boots rose up over black leggings, and she and mittens with smiling kitten faces stitched over the back of each hand. She’d left her hat back at the inn, but she was comfortable enough. Just… maybe this turn! Yes. Surely --…oh. Nope. Well, another turn awaited ahead, so there remained hope, right!? Despite the weight in her stomach – a grim, ambiguous concern – Gemma remained buoyant and cheered herself onward internally. She’d just passed a few uh, less than upstanding looking buildings, a dive bar – she didn’t get the name, because it wasn’t her goal (and she was horrible about even the basics in keeping directions in order).  In her head, she established a game to see if she could find her way back to the inn before Kuro awoke from his jetlagged sleep, which also kept her stride full of vim and determination. Amber eyes slid to her left where she’d caught movement – though what, she’d not identified yet. Plumes of smoke? A sudden spark of light – whose source was obscured by a hedge, and nearby trees. It was erratic, dying out and sparking up again at mistimed intervals. “…what in the—” she murmured curiously to herself. Light and smoke rose against the curves of her rounded eyes, and the young mage was entranced – the cat whose curiosity would soon mislead her (again). She was all the more distinctly aware of Kuro’s absence – mage as she was, all of her casting could only be channeled through him, her weapon focus. It was the nature of the philosophy they trained in. No one could be a master of all things, so most had to give one thing up to gain another.Not all mages of course gave up such a significant thing as their ability to cast on their own, but not all were pacted to a warshaper either, nor could without significant sacrifice. Similarly, Gemma couldn’t achieve the feats of other casters amid their specialized sacrifices. So in that moment, Gemma was little more than a standard human, floating on a tremendous pool of mana, and no means to draw upon it. Nonetheless, her boots angled away from the path she walked, and crunched into virgin snow, glittering with chill and enticement beneath an autumn moon waning toward winter. She had tested strongly into Esben for a reason – she was not the skittish deer, smart of its survival with flight; nor the sly fox who might find a less direct way to investigate its curiosities. The petite, pink thing stood firmly beneath ursa major – with Alioth as her favorite. It was the backbone of the bear, and the Juncture between haft and plough – or dipper, depending on the story. Some could fall into multiple houses by their traits perhaps, but Gemma was solidly and soundly Esben. She watched and tried to comprehend the nature of the situation, but her bootfalls slowly crunched further along through fresh snow, undaunted. Something crashed and rattled, and another burst of flame and smoke erupted against the night’s darkness, and she paused mid-stride, simply to take in what might have happened. Though, she didn’t have line of sight yet. “Do you need help?” She chirped amid her evanescent breath. Hissing sounds, fire, smoke. The hissing was new, or at least perceivable now by her closer proximity. She rounded the hedge that blocked much of her view then, and …. Gemma screamed while flames and smoke burst brighter, casting her shadow much further down into the street silhouetted in red brightness.:.

Kuro
'[ Jet lag had finally caught up with Kuro and when it hit him -- it him hard. How long he slept; not even he knew. But when he heard the door to their room open and then shut with a subtle click ... he groaned heavily into his pillow. The Twerp wasn't here. Her auric signature may have lingered about, yet her visible presence was GONE. Like a bullet being shot from its barrel - the erstwhile gang member stumbled up and out of his bed, searching his phone and a pair of clothes amid the various those travel bags belonging to him and Gemma. AND, FUCK! When he did find something … ten minutes had already passed! Damn Pinkie had mixed in some of her clothes with his luggage to accommodate more space for her shoes – urrrgh. No point in becoming sullen over it now. With a shift, Kuro slipped on his jacket and hastily tied up his boots afterward; heading out into the cold night air as he simultaneously shot the fashionista a text, <’Where the fuck are you?? Did you at least bring the small map I drew out for you?’> Obviously he didn’t expect for Gemma to bring it because she sometimes liked to wander out on her own and then have him go out to search for her … the brat. She had an awful sense of direction and them being in a new space was going to be hard. Considering neither of them  were very familiar with Portree yet. Nonetheless, an exasperated warshaper combed the streets in search of his partner; hands in his pockets, head dipped forward. Crystalized breaths of irritation leaving him now and then as he continued to saunter along – piercing blues taking in the jolly holiday lights around him. Pinkie may have lightened him just a smidgen on Yuletide cheer but the fact that she was wandering these streets ALONE made it hard to enjoy the surrounding décor amid frolicking flurries. And while told that this a peaceful town … Kuro trusted none of it until he felt safe about it. Goddamnit, Gemma. Her curiosity was going to get her killed one of these days; a horrible rumination for anyone to conjure for one they held dear -- -- and speakin’o’one the pierced individual held dear. He suddenly felt an internal click - like a cellphone being connected with its charger. That ball of pink was nearby, but where was she? He reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out his cellphone, eyes furrowing. She still hadn’t answered him. Kuro suddenly felt sick to his stomach. What if something had happened to her? It wasn’t like she was capable of spellcasting without him – again, Kuro stopped midstride. That internal energy was calling him forth and hastening himself forward, he hurriedly stepped over the freshly fallen snow to head to …… SCREEEEEAAAAM!! That scream. That … voice. He knew that voice. The male felt his heart drop to the pool of his stomach; knees almost buckling but he willed himself forward nonetheless falling face forward into the snow not just once but twice. Palms becoming scraped from the sudden impact to the icy, cold ground. And upon leveling himself – he saw trails of long, coral hair in the distance. It was Gemma, alright. However, what she was screaming at … not even he could make sense of and being in close proximity of her – the warshaper pressed his hand forward and in a series of luminescent sparks, he’d morphed his arm into a hammer, ready to pummel this being, thing, whatever they were to a bloody pulp for scaring his partner. … … yet, they were a person. A person hunched over – where flames and something ugh, er. He couldn’t make sense of the situation and with a quick hand, grabbed at his girlfriend’s narrow shoulder, drawing her protectively against his against as he wielded his hammer arm forth. Not exactly a good first impression on any of their ends. Though, upon hearing the concern that Gemma had for this person – Kuro’s arm slowly began to dissipate back to normal … still holding up his guard, of course [simultaneously pressing nearer to the Twerp.] “ – errr, you alright?” The question was posed at his partner, but then at this unknown stranger. He exhaled tremulously, brushing back those wind strewn bluish black locks of his as he tried to let the adrenaline steady within him. ']

Margot
••• Margot’s words had no sooner left her lips than the glimpse of cotton-candy pink hair danced across the street over a bouyant yellow coat. “Oh,-hic- fuck.” the clairvoyant murmured, realizing all too late that she was -meant- to see what transpired next. In the vivid, nauseating flesh. She was cemented to Aiden’s side, fingers clutching his arm as the color drained from her features, and with it, any residual playfulness that lingered. With bated breath, she waited for the shock of black-blue that was Kuro (though she knew neither of their names). She had hoped to be anywhere but here by now. Just as it had in her dreams, peaceful flurries floated down against the small town’s backdrop in the near-silent November air. Everything was crisp and the silence was deafening, the clairvoyant feeling hyper-sensitive to every sound, smell and sight as she watched in a seer’s slow-motion. Even with precognition on her side, Margot, jumped skittishly when the abrupt, blunt sound of impact echoed through the corridors of the streets. Her breath sharp as she inhaled between gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut as a pained expression animated her features in time with Gemma’s horrific scream. Margot hid her face in Aiden’s shoulder, choking back a wrenching sob. It was rare that Margot crossed paths with devastation that she couldn’t prevent, and when she did, the full weight of it abused her senses. She could hear the cry, feel their pain, and empathized with the despair and fear. In these moments, the ones she drank to escape, every last detail was fleshed out in catastrophic detail. Living them once in dreams was enough to drive her mad. She often found ways to avoid them altogether or escape them through the drought of liquor. But not tonight. Nausea gripped her stomach, crushing it with the sure hand of fate. She heaved, but nothing came as she hid her face against Aiden’s shoulder. Her blood felt cold, ears ringing as shock spread from the numb point at the top of her skull and coiled down the length of her wiry frame, racking it with a forceful quiver. The seer’s knees buckled, legs feeling like jelly beneath her as long, thin digits grasped at the vampire beside her to hold herself up. Kuro ran past, a blur of blue and black and…a fucking hammer arm. “What in the…” she heard Aiden breathe, attention torn between the wilting seer and the kid with an ornate hammer fused to his arm. “It’s goin’ -hic- t’be…awful.” Margot cautioned, supported by Aiden as flurries caught in the wild mess of her hair. He moved toward the scene, drawn like a moth to the flame. “N,no, no.” she protested, weakly pulling in the opposing direction as Aiden continued (without any issue, despite her fervent resistance.) “Margot, I just saw a kid with a god damn hammer for an arm. We’re going.” Aiden insisted, in a trance. Scooping her up without a problem, as if she were nothing more than a small child, the undead man followed Kuro, pausing a distance away at Margot’s insistence. She averted her gaze, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow over his shoulder as he watched, barely rounding the hedge.•••

Gemma
.: Gemma’s cellphone lit up with a message from Kuro. Though, its glow brightened within their inn room, not on Gemma’s person. While antsy, she’d forgotten to slip it into her pocket when she’d wandered out. It eventually dimmed, even while flames glinted brighter at Gemma’s actual location. What had made her scream? She’d seen the face of a small, juvenile fire salamander… and in its peril, it was utterly (heartbreakingly) adorable! It’d echoed her scream by flaring up, though the pink-pastel mage hadn’t been singed – she wasn’t in range of the flames yet. The poor thing had somehow, accidentally gotten itself entangled in spare fencing and a toppled over garbage can, and had been struggling to free itself it seemed. It certainly was a setup for a lot of crashing noises and distress. The creature’s accident was met with another: Gemma stumbling upon it while she wandered lost in Portree. The hints of accidents Margot had sensed amid her troubling visions were all there – but not all entirely as she had interpreted each variable’s accumulative sum to mean (as sometimes was the case with watery glimpses of times to come). If she were a skittish girl, she might have shied away at the creature. Though, not blinded by fear, she saw instead its distress. This did not make the fire salamander *safe,* she knew. Like any other wild thing, it would probably be even more defensive in its entangled distress. Their eyes met, though she was not a fox to glean one way or another if the creature held comprehension for her intentions or not. She was instead a bear, and would brave the circumstance---suddenly Kuro’s auric signature was close, and his body followed, shielding across her without care for himself at what might have existed beyond the hedge. “Kuro!” She chimed relief (for ‘finding’ him, not for any sort of damsel scenario).“I’m alright – but… that isn’t…--” she trailed, pointing around him toward the entangled, small fire salamander – roughly the size of a purse dog (maybe only she would think of it in those comparative terms given her traditional social circles). “Help me…!” She bleated to Kuro, and held no doubt he would. His arm was already in partial transformation, so she clasped at it awaiting him to shift fully. “I can’t touch it, but we can use the end of the haft to pull away at the fencing and stuff—” she relayed, and it’d be enough for them to synergize and follow through with a plan. So in the dark, silhouetted by fire and smoke, the petite, coral-haired mage wielded the over-sized great hammer, with ethereal, blue mists fleetingly wafting in the wake of the transformation – thin as breath and as short-lived. “We’ll help you…” she cooed, hoping that if her words weren’t comprehensible, the tone might somehow carry something meaningful (though even that, she couldn’t guess at as having meaning either). The hammer seemed light as air in her hands, and thanks to their pact and training – it nearly was despite the tremendous size of the weapon relative to the girl. She shifted it along lines of familiar muscle and mana memory, and turned the end of the haft toward the junk piled about the ensnared fire salamander. She nudged away the garbage can, which crashed and rolled away until snow consumed its momentum. Next, she tested and tugged at fencing. The creature initially reacted defensively, flaring up in bright threat; though it realized it was becoming freed. So as the fencing was shifted about with the end of the hammer, the creature wriggled and – there! It wriggled and dashed, leaving a trail of snowmelt and steam. There wasn’t some magical moment where Gemma and fire salamander met eyes again and shared unspoken words. All that followed was the dimming firelight, and then Gemma standing in the dimness bearing a giant hammer well beyond what she should have been capable of naturally. She turned, aware now of others nearby. Amber eyes found the unfamiliar faces of Aiden and Margot, and she stared contemplatively a moment, before pinching her shoulders upward somewhat with a bashful, but cheeky grin their way. What could she say? Other than what she did, of course! “Good evening! Are you alright? – i-is she alright?” Her eyes shifted specifically toward Aiden as her tone turned serious, regarding Margot, who looked pale and miserable. She gave a small, affectionate squeeze to the hammer in hand - nonverbally thanking Kuro for showing up. She might have had more trouble with that fire salamander without him! :.

Kuro
 [ Finally arriving onto the scene; the warshaper was quick to dissolve his arm back to normal upon seeing that … the thing … spewing flames was – some queer lookin’ salamander thing. “ – ughhh, err. Th’ fuck is that thing?” There was evident dislike in Kuro’s face as he endeavored to secure his partner’s safety. In no way was Gemma a damsel-in-distress but the gang member was HIGHLY protective of the pastel pink mage and seeing *any* sort of harm come to her was harrowing for him to witness. They had an equal balance within their partnership; giving and taking, taking and giving. Opposites as they were, bear & fox as indicated by the school of magic they were to attend soon – the pair of them had a unique synergy that worked solely for them. So, when the Gemma called out his name in chiming relief, the warshaper felt his cheeks tinge with mortification [but also in his own relief, too ... because she was safe and sound.] It didn’t take much these days for him to admire his girlfriend’s … utter … fucking … cute-- – urgh. FOCUS! How could he focus right now?? She was currently doting over some kinda flaming salamander thing. A wild familiar or perhaps escaped, he estimated. And as he observed the situation – the warshaper suddenly felt his companion’s clasp upon his partially transformed forearm; attentive to her latest relay of information and how she planned to be rid of the constricting layers coiled up and around the fiery salamander. “ – gotcha, Twerp.” Syncing into the harmony of his wielder’s hand, Kuro