A shout rang out, but so many other shouts were ringing out – ‘kov’ was anybody, anyone. Never him, though. The popping, crashing of the broken bullet cases faded off to a dull crack sounding every few moments, softening to a quieter threat. More immediate dangers were looming up all around. Wood burning down to matchsticks, houses going up in smoke like tinder, stumbling people thick with burns. Gunpowder, kindling, flesh – fuel to the fire, fueling a brume of greasy smoke to choke out the main thoroughfare. He stumbled to his feet – his fucking feet – shattered toes and shards of glass peppered into his heels making his stance quaver like a gelatin, stumbling against the creaking post of the shop’s porch.

Docks, docks, docks, everything shrieked. Maybe there was some saving grace at the docks, moored ships taking in refugees. Sails going up in flames, too. Gunpowder gaskets exploding, blowing bodies to chunks of flesh. Whole lacquered wood hulls licking up with fire, galleys flooding with smoke.

The thought made him dizzy. Or maybe it was just all the smoke.

Bodies flowed from the main vessel of street into alleyways dark and deep, capillaries. Maybe he shouldn’t have been reducing everyone down to their component parts – ‘bodies’. He knew they thought, panicked, breathed like him; were clawing around for lost sisters, daughters, friends like him. Knew, but he crushed it down. The machete in his hands would make him want to sink his teeth into his gut and eat himself.

Later.

Someone was singing in that alley, voice coarse and warbling up into the high peaks of the falling houses. He staggered to the edge of the porch, trying to get to that alley, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

The dress shop roof folded in on itself like a scrap of burnt paper, exhaling a huge burst of smoke and cinder out the windows. The blast upended his feeble grasp of balance easy as a man could blow over a deck of cards, feet slipping from the ledge and tumbling back into the throng. Didn’t want to fall, didn’t want to fall beneath their feet, clutching hands snatching fistfuls of any fabric they could.

The shirt that saved his skin was attached to that mechanist from only two days before – an eternity, now – and his hands clutched at those shoulders like a mast in a storm and – Havek was jostled back by the crush of some man toting armfuls of goldleafy clocks, near scorched to pieces.

“Mister Hosturn, sir! Madam!” he shouted. Familiar faces, and not entirely unwelcome because they were faces that knew Murmur’s face. Havek clawed past the man’s arms, jostling a clock out of his grasp and down into the mire. The shrill cuckoo bird inside sprang up and cried out. Havek pried himself through the crush and clutched mechanist’s arm once more in bloody hands, determined not to lose him.

“Have you seen her?” he shouted over the roaring gloom. So wrecked with smoke and panic, he didn’t even know he could be so loud.

(( OH HAI. DON'T MIND IF I DO, THANKYOU. ))

With the tide of flesh and blood rushing for the shores of the Harbor, swimming upstream against it all was more than just a little difficult—it was clocking dangerous. Old Rose's citizens weren't known for their politeness or selflessness, and with a fire consuming it all, there was little room left for any glimmer of kindness in the panic.

Still, if anyone was more than willing to fight against the tide regardless of the personal cost, it was Tristaan.

He'd been out walking. Again. Not just walking, really, but thinking. Or trying to. Or something. The walking started once he realized he didn't know what to say. Since the shooting, nothing had been the same, no matter how hard the passive worked to make it seem so. The Hingle's opening had only brought long, stressful nights and restless, sleepless days. Everything felt upside down. No, under water. A drowning feeling. The weight of responsibilities was like a ship's anchor; it was all a heaviness he had spent years purposefully keeping himself from feeling. Because it was scary.

The burden was most certainly worthwhile, but he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around really sharing. The walking wasn't helping, but at least it wasn't running. It was something else.

He'd walked for hours before hints of the fire began to sink in. It seemed to only take a few heartbeats before it all melted into chaos.

Now he'd fought for almost twice as long to get back in the smoking, terrified madness. Not entirely unscathed from the ordeal but not possessing the mind to stop and assess his wounds, the passive was still quite a few streets away from the Hingle, though he was painfully aware that his absence meant that the safety of its inhabitants—of Sarinah in particular—were utterly out of his control.

That was a highly unfavorable result of his own selfishness and as Tristaan fought his way against the overwhelming tide, his personal disappointment hardened into a particular flavor of iron resolve that quite possibly could have made birds fall from the sky and flowers wilt. The rushing throng of Old Rose inhabitants became a pressing blur, forcing the wirey passive to resort to more violence than he would normally prefer without the necessary provocation.

It was just as he was dislodging the hilt of his dagger from the ribs of someone practically faceless who'd been in his way that he caught the glimmer of an easier route out of the corner of his burning, itching eyes.

The alley was a shortcut he knew well enough.

It would do.

Clawing and wheezing his way out of the stream of Harbor citizens pouring out of another brightly lit, crumbling building, Tristaan was prepared to all-but-fall into the still-cool darkness of the alley, anticipating the momentary relief from being touched by flesh or licked by flames. There was no time to pause as he cleared the edges of the crowd, only to reach a bloodied hand up to grind grime away from his vision with a palm and mutter a few unfavorable strings of words that only a sweatshop boy could remember.

It was as he pressed those last yards forward, fingers still trailing from his face, that more bodies loomed from the smoke with an immediacy that conquered the passive's momentum. The alley was too close and his goal too dear for him to stop himself in time,

"Alioe—"

There was a flash of bright fire on gold before the crash—a warning unheeded—Tristaan blindly careening into the man with his clocks in his arms, the passive's brandished dagger barely missing vital organs as he failed at his attempt to twist it out of the way upon impact. The force of his rush to reach the alley and the weight of his hopes to find a single lovely witch in the chaos of the crowd only succeeded in sending both of them crashing into Havek just as his words of greeting left his lips.

Molly had gotten back a few minutes ago, when the sky was still night-dark and the air as still as a heavy humid weight in the air. The very stillness should have sent warning bells off in her head, but she'd been just a bit too guttered to care. She'd been out getting information from some 'old friend' and had wound up in a causal bar room brawl instead. She'd been in a fine mood as she'd staggered back to her cot, humming a pirate shanty under her breath before crashing onto her cot.

The sounds of chaos being unleashed had not hit immediately, as it was not too far off from her usual dreams- cannon fire and screaming, old ghosts and memories come to haunt her subconscious for a while. She'd grown quite used to ignoring them lately, and having a bit of a nip to take the edge off never hurt- until Aye's frantic touch and then Bem's rough grasp set off the reflex of 'fight or flee' and woke up with a snap.

Eyes flying open Molly's sword was halfway out of it's scabbard before Akilli's booming voice cut through the air like a knife, and sobriety smacked the pirate like a slap in the face as she came fully awake in an instant.

A litany of curses filled the air as Molly unsheathed the rest of her sword and scooped the Aye up into a one armed grasp, “Clockin Hells! Why'dentint ya get me sooner. Everybody OUT! I wan' E'erone accounted for an' paired off!”

Bellowing as she hustled them all out the door, the captain took charge of the situation in this panicked hour far easier than had been seen before. With an air of steal control and fierce calm, Molly's eyes took in everything at once.

No fire in the main area of the warehouse yet. Wherever it was it hadn't hit yet here, but that didn't mean it wouldn't. The air was hotter than it should be, and the screams sounded to be coming from outside; Clock's what was happening out there?! The sight of the Aeroship laying upon the ground filled her with a sudden sense of dread, should the fire hit that- No sense in trying to save it just yet, first the crew, where th' clocks-

“JUNI! BEY! GET YER CLOCKIN ERSES OUT HERE!” She bellowed fit to wake the dead, before directing her gaze about the area, “Where' th' Clock's's Grisha? He leave or is tha' clockin idjit still workin on th' ship?”

That would be bad. If Grish was down there he probably most like didn't hear all this ruckus- and that was also probably the worst place for the man to be at the moment- what with a fire...

Now if they could get the clockin thing up in the air, away from all this danger, tha'd be another thing, but she didn't know if the rusted junk-bucket was airworthy yet.

Soft dreams of home, visions from Dawn's back of home under the soft glow of the Wrathwine, made sleep a great luxury. Especally with that mechanic working him ragged like some dog.

Bey felt his dream self dismount from Dawn, flipping a leg over her withers and landing in the grasses on bare feet. Off in the clearing, his mother stood behind the rock boundary that marked their garden, waving to him and smiling. Warm smoke smelling of bread and cooking meat met his nose and he closed his eyes as his mouth watered.

Very warm smoke. Even warmer. The whole forest seemed to be uncomfortably stuffy. His mother was calling something to him, but the sound wasn't right. Too young, too urgent for her gentle smile. Bey frowned and opened his eyes.

The forest was ablaze. Burning in a firestorm of massive magnitude. The trees were flaming, whirling pillars, the grass beneath his feet was a bed of fire, eating his legs. Dawn wasn't there, his mother wasn't there. Bey looked up at his home and found the thatch collapsed and burning.

Everything was burning.

A combination of Juniper's shaking and his nightmare snapped him awake and he jolted up in his hammock with a startled cry, flipping the narrow thing and sending him to the floor. He coughed and looked up.

"Juniper? Wha--?" Bey stopped when he realized that his house and Dawn were the only parts of the dream that were actually a dream. The lad's nostrils flared and he showed the whites of his eyes.

"Fire," he whispered.

"Thank you, gods, Bey, we've gotta get out!" He hugged his roommate, gave him a quick grateful peck on the cheek and hauled him upright. He threw Bey's shirt around his shoulders, tugged his boots and socks on, and put a few of the things lying on the floor under Bey's hammock into his pants pockets. Grabbing his hand he took Bey with him in a frantic flight downstairs, the air getting uncomfortably warm. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and it became harder and harder to breathe as they descended. Smoke was leaking in in sinister tendrils through the windows, threatening to suffocate any and all, and looking out one of those windows was like a glimpse into the end of the world, fire raining down on the earth to wipe out all traces of life. Juni had a feeling this couldn't just be a freak weather accident, but they had to get down and at least confer with the crew before heading out and seeing what was what. They couldn't stay inside forever. Juni knew that no matter what, though, he was staying with Bey. He wasn't gonna leave his only friend in this place to die in the living hell this city'd become in a matter of minutes.

Even running as fast as he could it still took Juni some time to get out of the warehouse, Bey in tow. The door out of the warehouse was luckily cool and unblocked, and Juni pushed it open with, if not ease, no real difficulty. They were outside and out of the smoke, but Juni kept them close to the warehouse to wait for the others. They needed to decide on a gameplan first before they went out on their own. The rules of the world had changed all in a few minutes, and Juni wasn't sure how to handle everything. He knew, though, that it was going to take the whole harbor working together to stop this fire. And maybe a little Hamis rain wouldn't be inopportune.

There weren't many times like this, in his life. When he would openly wish he'd been born a golly- wished out loud he had developed a field. Would let his head fall back and cry out to whatever gods would listen- Why was I cursed with this? Scream in rage at the mona, Why did you abandon me?! Why did you make me a worthless scrap? Most of the time it was only a secret desire. A guilty desire. Tucked away under years of layers of resentment packed on like mud and filth on a years-old boar who'd never seen a bath in its life. To want what he could never have- to desire a field, and a strong one to boot.

Hell, right now he would go with any at all. Had he a field he would be in Brunnhold at this very moment. And had fate still landed him in the Rose, in this godsdamn fire, he would at least have a means of saving himself. He'd be able to spell the damn flames away and get himself out. But he wasn't. He couldn't. In vain he threw himself against the door, which would not budge, too much debris all around, sealing him inside. No window big enough for him to escape from- only the tiny little thing which looked into the room from above, letting in the flickering orange glow of the heat of the flames falling from the sky, lighting the entire city, roaring deafeningly. His knuckles bled, his ribs and shoulder bruised- he was certain they'd cracked at some point. How many times had he thrown himself against the door? Why did it have to be a secure place, for once in his life, in which he'd found himself?

He was too exhausted, too hot from the flames, throat too cracked and sore from the inhalation of smoke, his voice too hoarse, to continue calling out for help, though he still tried, the words cracking and breaking around the edges, shattering apart into little pieces- whispers no one could here. And who would care? He was just one little scrap. Just one person in the Rose, and they were all looking out for themselves, first- the half decent ones only looking out for their families. He doubted if any had ever heard him, with all the crackling of fire, and the shrill harshness of their terrified screams.

The smoke became too much, the fire licking up around him- it wouldn't be long before it would consume him.

And what had he ever done in his life that had been worth anything? He'd never been able to help other passives to escape their plight, as he'd hoped to. Hadn't even been able to go with Hal, or seen him since he'd left with that witch. He'd never been able to prove the galdori wrong about his brethren. Never been able to join the legendary Resistance, if he were to assume they ever really did exist. He'd never been able to see a day when there was any real justice in the world- anything that wasn't handed only to the galdori. Any liberty for anyone of 'lesser' blood than the galdori. And now.... now he never would.

His knees buckled, and finally he fell to his knees, shaking, sobbing. Why had his life come to this? His pale red eyes darted around the room, around at the glowing fire, up and out the shattered window to the smoke-filled sky. It was as if the world had decided to end. And for him it had. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he lifted his gun to his temple- it was a wonder the thing hadn't gone off by itself long ago, with all the heat. Screwing his eyes shut tight, quitting the hammering of his heart, he cocked the hammer, pulled the trigger.

But does a gun make a sound, when no one is there to hear it?

Adelle was dreaming of the beach. She loved the beach because of it's soft sand, and the fact that she could always swim there.
The only problem with this dream was that it always seemed wrong.

It wasn't something obviously wrong, but something that she always knew was wrong, but couldn't tell what.

Finaly. Finaly she knew what was wrong. There was too much noise to be the beach. It wasn't peaceful enough. The noise suddenly started to get louder, clearer.

The young witch slowly opened her eyes to see Chace standing on his hind quarters, bot laying on his front, howling in her face for all he was worth.

Chace had been sick for the past few days. Adelle knew this and was worried for him, because for some odd reason he had stopped eating as much, and now his ribs were beggining to show.

"Chace, c'n ya just let me sleep fer ten more-" Suddenly a huge ball of fire crashed into the building beside her. With a panic, Adelle jumped to her feet. She stood gazing at the fire for a good five seconds, before turning back to Chace, to see a bit of flame on his back fur.

Quickly she grabbed him closer to her and patted the fire out. She turned to grab her pack, and was distracted once again by the flames.

Adelle whistled to Chace, calling him to follow her to safety.

Of course. The one time she decides to leave the tree and stay a night in Old Rose, the one time she's out too late and decides to sleep in a small alleyway between two buildings, everythingbursts to flames from the clouds.

The young girl managed her way out of the alleyway, only to see that there was no clear path to the docks. The streets were flooded by people. There wasn't even room for a small little wick to squeeze her way through.

All Adelle could do was stare in amazement. How could this happen? Why could this happen?

Only the Gods knew now.

Gem's heels clattered across the cobbles and boardwalks. She was running, although she didn't know where. Everyone was running. To the docks, the waterfront, back into the city for people, animals, or things, hauling water one way or another. Every now and then the general roar of flame was punctuated with blasts, massive plumes of smoke rising into the sky as flame met concentrations of fuel in the form of gunpowder or alcohol in barrels. Windows shattered as heat and air pressure battled one another. She was looking for someone--anyone, who could help her wrap her head around what was going on.

She had been on her way back to the Hingle after a party, tired and worn and ready to shed her heels and corset and sleep. But she had heard something down the street. A dull roar and smatterings of yells that sounded off-kilter from the usual sounds of the city. It didn't take long before the entire city was filled with cries.

Gem stumbled as a heel slipped between boardwalk planks, snapping her sideways. The shoe was irreparable, and she felt a twinge in her ankle, but she jumped up and hurried as quickly as her lopsided gait could carry her. There has to be something I can do, something...

She spotted black-and-red hair through the crowd. Sarinah! She struggled through the mass of confusion, heading toward the single point of familiarity in the chaos. She pushed herself sideways, ducking and weaving toward the witch. She drew nearer, and saw her leading others.

With a final shove, Gem popped out into a small clearing, enough space to dart nearer. She was grateful for her extra height as she leaned over a mass of people and called to her, "Sarinah! Sarinah! Over here!"

Sarinah watched in frozen horror as Murmur knifed the man, aware of the fact there wasn't much more she could have done. Or anything the dancer would have done different. Turning away from the mess, she looked at the woman that joined them. Haunted, gaunt...and her expression familiar. This woman was like the ones at Cooks....skills outside of sewing and cooking. Nodding to herself, as if to accept the newcomer to their little escape group, she looked back at the crowd as she heard her name.

"Gem! Thank Alioe! Move ye tsuter kensers!" The dancer screamed at the crowd, gesturing for Gem to climb through..over...under...anything. She glanced back at the building. The dress shop on one side had already folded in on itself, and the witch couldn't see the dark chopper any more. The tall fiery inferno on the other side had begun to gain momentum and tipped towards the crowd. People screamed and tried to scatter, clamouring over each other. Swallowing hard, Sarinah ran towards the other woman, elbowing her way though people and reaching for her.

"Move, move!" She screamed, grabbing the womans hand from over the heads of others. Pulling, she dragged Gem through, being carried towards the building. Putting her shoulder into each shove, she managed to get them out the other side. With a deafening crack, the building finally lost its only support. It crashed into the crowd, crushing people and trapping them under the burning timber. The force of the explosion forced both women over as they ran. Scrambling to get up, covered in dirt and smeared with ash, Sarinah turned to Gem. Her brown eyes were wild with fear.

"Tristaan! Have you seen Tristaan?!" It was the only other person from the Hingle she'd seen, and the only one she could ask. Alioe, she prayed, he had just kept walking. Even if it hurt, even if he was gone...at least he wasn't in this living hell.

The Captain stood at the bow of his ship, watching the destruction his crew rained down on the wretched whore of a township. He puffed on his pipe in the darkness, before bringing a trumpet shaped mouthpiece to his lips. One word croaked from his scarred throat.

"Enough."

The sound reached through the entirety of the aeroship, drawling in the ears of the crew. Eliysse stopped with her hand half raised, releasing her field with a slow sort of sigh. Sweat was beaded on her brow and the mona screamed violently in her ears. It was not noble use, it was clocking violently wrong. But she ignored them, and the searing pain in her teeth. There was nobility in her voice and respect in her words...even if the uses were so terribly wrong. Panting, she lowered her hand and smoothed down her hair. Around her, the men stopped throwing their bottles, looking down at the blazing city. Even if they had stopped, the fires didn't. It was its own living entity now. A sudden breeze gusted at the harbour, and over the water lighting crackled and thick clouds blended into the black night.

"Bring us down a bit. I want the dogs to see their death as they burn alive." Turning away from the doorway, Eliysse obeyed her Captain, moving back to the controls of the aeroship and giving them her full attention. Silently, the huge black mass descended on the city, cutting through the clouds and the smoke. It hovered, lit by the orange glow of the fires. Behind the glass, The Captain laughed a slow devious laugh. Signalling with his hand, the old pirate motioned for Eliysse to take them up again, high up in the clouds. Thunder rolled across the sky as the Black Drake dissapered into the night, leaving the city to its fiery fate.

The explosion from the dress shop shook Murmur to her core, an icy chill gave way to her own burning fire somewhere inside. The smoke hadn’t even cleared before she was running back through the fallen Gem and Sarinah, she shoved the wick woman roughly on her way past, just another face in the crowd, another fake field that wasn't the same, just another person between her and…no, no. She let out a cry and began to claw at the fallen building, to fight her way back to the street that she had left. If he was on the other side... if that building had fallen and…And glass and splinters cut at her palm as she tried with weak, desperate fearful hands to shift herself a way to get back.

As she tore at the debris, a piece of white hot iron fresh from the fire, shifted in the blast found its way into her right palm, she couldn’t hardly feel it though, even if her flesh sizzled and cracked, the soft skin on her palm torn away as she grabbed her arm and wrenched it from the scrap of iron. The lines in her palm, her lifeline and her finger prints had vanished into a mass of flesh, her bones curled and stuck in the grasping position. Already it started to blister, sick shade of white where her skin was shriveling, peeling and dying and worse still was the open, shining red of her exposed flesh, glistening in the orange glow of fire.

That hand was able to gut and debone a fish in seven seconds flat. Was- not so able to now, but she’d deal with that later.

The scream that erupted from her mouth was not from pain, not the physical kind anyhow, but from fear and hopelessness, frustration at the utter futility of her pathetic digging into the pile of rubble. She sank to her knees and heard the screams from the street she had just come from. Something in her head whispered that he’d been out there, that she knew he’d been out there and she’d still ran down this alley. Trying to find her. Stupid girl who couldn’t even keep a hold of his hand, couldn’t even stand up when she had to. Stupid girl for letting him believe she had to be rescued, for pretending that she was even worth rescuing.

She looked up to the sky, all ready to curse some far off non-existant circle of gods when the darkness descended.

Nowhere to run, was what that now twitching mass of blood and flesh slumped in the alley had said to her. And where could you run to when the sky itself had turned on you? Murmur looked up at the dark hole above, chewing up and swallowing what was left of the stars as something loomed closer on the harbor. He said…they’d come…but who were they? This strange encroaching darkness, destroying the far off fires in the sky and piling the funeral pyre ever higher here in Old Rosie. And what if it was not just Old Rosie? They ran to the docks, could catch ships, could run, run out of that harbor and to what? Maybe the whole of Vita was crumpling into ash, maybe the stars were just a million burning Old Rose harbors.

Time to wake up and smell the burning flesh. Cooking kippers.

And then it was gone, the great gulf closed and flew into the night. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and stood up. Lots of little rats running, lots of bodies to burn in this giant crematorium, and the only thing that mattered was clawing at life. Standing up, Murmur walked towards that body again, and dove messily into the pockets of his raggedy britches with her good hand, her wrong hand,- not much coin, a leather hip flask…cheers for that Mad Job, she thought, stuffing the coins and the flask into her pocket. She felt validated when her fingers scrabbled upon his switchblade and a battered, worse for wear flintlock pistol which she slipped into her coat too. She made as quick work as she could of his boots pulling them off and slipping them onto her own feet. Dead man’s shoes. Not like he was going to be needing any of this anymore anyhow. The looters would be pulling gold teeth from corpses by now. She kicked him for good measure and rose with his blood smeared on her thin slip. The pain in her hand was starting to rip and burn, so she fumbled with the hip flask between her teeth and took a sip.

Everything about Murmur’s expression, curled lip, defiant chin, screamed ‘Fuck this, I’m going to live.’

And so was Seth too godsdammit. Even that bloody cat, sorry Rita, was going to live. “We need to go,” she begged, clutching at Seth’s hand. Pulling, yanking, the grasping of her fingers saying- sod the whore, we need to run, tonight the good men burn alongside the tofts and tumbles.

Seyo had a rude awakening, as did the rest of Old Rose. Sleeping on the side of the streets, she was awoken by the sounds of fear, pain, and screaming.

The witch could barely breathe. She always did sleep like a rock, no matter the situation. That was an unfortunate thing in this particular situation, because now she was surrounded by fire, thick smoke, and trapped in an alleyway.

"Of all the clockin'..."

Tsulu let out a shaky squeal, catching Seyo's attention.
Her face crumpled as she turned to see Tsulu's foot caught on something, the bird himself, covered in flames.

"NO!" She cried, hot tears coming in a river down her face. "NO! No, no no no!" The witch scrambled to her feet, trying to pull her feathered friend's foot free. Her thoughts frozen around nothing but what she would do, even feel, if her friend didn't make it tonight.

Seyo grabbed her shirt from her back and threw it over Tsulu, pressing it to the bird's feathers. All that she could do was hope that the flames died off, hope that she could untangle him, hope that he would be okay.

All of a sudden Sarinah had vanished into the street, and Seth, confused, was about to give chase when the building finally collapsed, and Murmur suddenly darted away with a cry and... gods there was just so much going on he wasn't quite sure he could keep up with it, but he knew he had to keep up with Murmur. So when she ran away he ran after her, hot on her heels, shouting a quick apology to Sarinah and the other woman on Murmur's behalf as they were shoved, and arrived at Murmur's side as she dug frantically through the rubble. Oh, gods, had her friend been in there? Had Havek been crushed by the building, or trapped under the debris? Without even thinking about what he was doing, Seth was on his knees beside Murmur, wordlessly digging through the hot wood as if his life depended on it- as if it were him trapped under the piles of charred black mass. He didn't even look up or notice the ship flying overhead, just felt a chill rise up his spine.

And then Murmur was pulling at him. Telling him they needed to leave. He blinked, looking at the rubble, some part of him understanding how useless it was but not wanting to give up. "But what about your friend? Is he..." Rita scrambled from Seth's shoulder onto Murmur's, then looked down at Seth and gave him a rather loud, pointed meow. She wanted to be out of the fires. She wanted to be some place safe, where she could lick clean her fur and breathe clean, fresh air, and drink cool water. Seth sighed, getting to his feet. "No. He wasn't there." He tried his damnedest to sound reassuring. It wasn't very successful. "We will get out of here and we will find him and he will be safe." There was still fire burning all around them. It didn't seem quite so immediate anymore, as Seth took in everything around him, the few other people, good people chipping away from the selfish and greedy, to fall back and help fallen friends, to search for lost friends, to mourn because they felt they no longer had any reason to live after losing everything. And he realized he didn't want to be like them. He had Murmur, he had Rita, and even Esta if she chose to follow them, and then there was the witch, Sarinah, with her friend. They could go to safety together, in their own little band of selfish folk who had nothing to lose but each other and their own sorry lives. The idea made him feel guilty. To pull away from the helpless. The hopeless. Without a second glance.

He grabbed Murmur's wrist, leading her toward Sarinah and Gem, "Let's go. Let's get them and get out of here."

Grish felt hands on him, gripping his shirt, heard words, a voice that sounded familiar, a greasy smell. Had he thought even for a second, he would have known who it was but the old mechanic was running totally on reflex, and his arm shout out involuntarily and caught his accoster on the right side of the face with his axe handle.

Gripping Sophire he made to step over the man but then he saw that it was- "Oy, it's you!" That was all he said, this was no time for words. No apology was given, he just hauled the taller man up, dusted him off a bit and headed made to head back into the push of people.

He stopped again and looked as they streamed along, as the fire on one side of him burned hotter. He took his rag off and wiped his brow. "This's pointless! We'll get crushed afore we could make it to safety!"

Looking to where the one eyed Mugrobi man stood, he realized the answer lied in front of him. "The alleys! Mug, come with me and Soph, we're goin' to the warehouse and we can cut through the alley ways to get there away from the clockin' mob!" Motioning with his axe handle, not asking for any confirmation or denial from the newest addition to the contingency, he made for the alley, only to be blocked by two men sailing into Havek whom he had only pulled up half a minute ago!

Grish twitched and a growl formed in the back of his throat. He quickly tossed the axe to his wife and with a strangled roar hauled Hava in one hand and the wiry little man who crashed into him with another. The one who had scattered clocks everywhere looked half dead as it were. "Just clockin follow me if ya want!" He yelled at them. They weren't his crew, they weren't his family. If they wanted to keep running into each other like a pack of circus clowns, they could, but he was getting HIS wife and finding HIS daughter, and hopefully along the way he could save HIS skin.

She saw me! Sarinah saw me! Gem scrabbled through the crowd, the crush of people battering her back and forth, knocking Sarinah in and out of eyesight. For a moment, she thought she had lost her, but she felt the witch's hand catch hers, and she fought towards her pull.

Something collapsed, flushing a gust of smoke, ash, and hot air through the crowd, and Gem released a cry of fright-- it was too terrifyingly, horrifyingly close. She wiped an arm across her eyes, streaming makeup, sweat, and ash-- and maybe tears-- across her face.

Sarinah was asking her something. She pulled in her focus to the question,



Gem knew she hadn't, but in this situation, she couldn't just say no-- that was the kind of thing that could crush a will to live, and Gem hadn't been blind to the couple's relationship issues.

"I haven't been looking--you're the first one I saw," she said over the chaos.

She heard the telltale creaking of burning timbers, like some seafaring vessel groaning as it twisted in a storm. She gripped Sarinah, "I think we need to get out of here!"

They were all strangers, even Seth, sort of, but Esta had adopted them and was going to stick to them. She had nothing else but the faint hope they provided. And Pip, who was relatively calm and safe under her coat still (she checked on him, in the space of the alleyway). The tumble didn't know where she would go, where any of them would go, but if they went somewhere she went with them. She knew that much.

The original girl, the red-haired one, was tugging Seth away with a fierce expression. Esta didn't know her enough to say what kind of fierce expression it was - desperate, angry, determined not to break down in grief. But she'd seen the woman digging at the rubble of the collapsed building, desperately digging and searching for something, someone, seen her burn herself and give up. It was something like that. As for Seth, he looked guilty.

How many now? Four women and Seth. And Rita and Pip. Not a merry band. Just a band. It worked for Esta. She followed along the alleyway, trying to equate this burning, hazardous labyrinth with the veins of the Rose she knew. Even the majestic, terrifying sight of fire raining from the sky had stopped. There was just smoke, fire, and screaming. Where was safety? Where were they? What if the docks burned? They were surrounded by the spray of water and the crust of salt but they were still made of wood. Esta couldn't swim.

If she closed her eyes and pictured herself in safety she knew where she would be - in the Drought. She loved the Drought and its idyllic secret beauty. Her ideal image of safety also put her in the arms of someone who loved her and she loved back. But she didn't know who that was yet. Besides, they would never get to the Drought in time. The tumble didn't even know where in the city she was. The distance she'd travelled in the seething crowd was immeasurable, the buildings and landmarks around her unrecognisable. Her sole anchor and guide was this group of strangers.

Another collapsing building sought to separate her from them. Trotting along behind them, anxiously peering around like a frightened rabbit, side-stepping a burning body which had evidently leapt from one of the buildings now belching flame, she'd been just a second or two behind - and that was all it took. The timbers collapsed in her path, almost on her, almost on them, too. She screamed, and leapt aside. Away from Seth and the others...

She shrieked a random collection of the worst words she could think of. There had to be a way past the wreckage. There had to... She was not going to be left alone again. Never again. There had to be a way past...

Finally, Adelle had managed to remember where she was. The heat was starting to get to her, she needed water. She opened her bag to pull out her water container, drinking some and giving some to Chace. She looked around herself for something, anything. A rope! She grabbed the rope, tying it around Chace's neck.

"Sorry boy, but I don' wanna lose you in this." She said. It was hard for her to pull him along, Chace never did like fire. And this must have been the biggest fire he'd ever seen.

The two of them managed to shove themselves into the crowd of people and animals, running for their lives. There were so many people. It would seem like there were ten times the amount of people than on any given day in Old Rose.

There were all types of people fleeing from their homes tonight. mugs, galdori, wick, pets, bugs, rats, hingles. Mothers, fathers, children.

She had to keep running. They couldn't stop, on penalty of their lives. Not only were the people running saving their lives, but the people who stopped destroyed theirs.

"Ouch!" Adelle shrieked as she fell hard to the ground, breaking a few fingers as they got stomped on trying to protect her face from the hard ground. She heard a whimper from Chace, as she was holding him back now.

She knew that there was a chance he wouldn't make it. She knew. But she also knew that his chances of escaping were better if she let him go. In tears, the wick pulled him closer and untied the rope from his neck.

Chace wouldn't leave, as she scrambled, trying to get back to her feet. "NO!" She yelled, as she hit him hard on his rear quarters. Yelping and whimpering, the bander ran off.

((Woot! I is back ))

"Almighty Ones, why have you forsaken you Fami? Are we nothing but spitch now?"

The heat, the air, the destruction. Chaos had consumed the city and at this point Zzan was running for his life. No one to turn to, no life to be spared. It seemed as if all things living in the city would come to an end. The blazing inferno from the heavens would not cease until the harbor no longer existed. Holding onto Skrux as tight as he could to his chest, he dashed through the streets umong the mad frenzy of people. The hingle was shaking in absolute fear in his small hand. Zzan knew he wasn't much different than he was. At the slightest moment he could be dead, weither from the horde of stampeding people or the mighty fire from above. The crowds were intense. He could barely make his way through them as squeezed his way through. The screams of burning bodies and children filled his mind he couldn't get them out of his head. Closing his eyes, he just wished it were all over.

And it almost was. A large fireball had crashed into the building to his right, knocking Zzan completely on his feet. The shock had paralyzed him with fear as the house erupted into flame. Skrux had flown from his hands and slid across the ground, and in the way of fleeing people. Zzan didn't even think twice when he flew his body forward and covered the little hingle and the croud of people trampled upon him.