All was quiet over the sleepy town of Old Rose. Those who weren't fall over drunk in the taverns, or being kicked out by the barkeeps, were sleeping in their beds with guns under pillows and swords at the ready. A mangy bander barked in the streets, and from a high window someone threw a bottle. It smashed loudly in the night time silence, but it didn't cease the barking.

Through the muddy streets, a faint breeze blew. It smelt of salt, rotten fish and booze. In dark alleyway's pirates found their fancy with whores, some of them willing some of them, not. A scream rose from the depths of the dark houses, before it was suddenly silenced. A baby cried hungrily before it was silenced by a welcome breast. No one who heard it thought anything of it. This was the Rose. She was what she was.

High above the quiet town, hidden by the blackness of night, a great aeroship hovered in almost complete silence. From the galley, in the front windows, a bright flare of light showed an old scarred face, before it faded again. Inside, The Captain puffed on his pipe.

"Filthy dogs, sleepin' in there beds. Naught do they know what lurks beneath." Puffing again, the raspy voice chuckled darkly.

"Or above. Eliysse, herald our arrival. Let the Rose know, she has an old friend in town." Behind the man, the red and gold haired galdori bowed slightly.

"Yes, Captain." Turning on her heel, the woman made her way through the ship to the turrets. Walking along, she placed her hand on the shoulders of the crew sitting at the open hatches. Each of them had a bag full of volatile liquid, and a candle. Reaching the doorway of the galley, Eliysse threw it open with a light push spell. The wind tugged at her hair and ruffled her skirts. Looking down at the city, she rose her hand, summoning a burning ball of fire into the palm. The air around them chilled quickly and lit by the fire, the woman smiled.

"Release hell, boys."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

All was quiet in the harbour bakery. Godfrey Dudgwin didn't need to get up yet, the baker still had an hour or so before he was required to start baking. Yet, he couldn't sleep. Taking his pipe to the rooftop, the human puffed silently, looking out over his home. The Rose. It was a bitch, but it was better than Vienda for the likes of him. A thief once, he found that breadmaking earned him more cash...but not in the fancy golly city. Only where they could appreciate it more. Pirates and sailors alike enjoyed good travelling bread.

Something caught his eye, and the baker looked up with a frown. He pulled the pipe away from his mouth, staring in puzzlement at the small orange balls falling from the sky. As he watched, one ball bigger than the rest got larger, and larger...and larger. Too late Godfrey realised where it was going to fall, and it was on fire. Swearing profusely, he attempted to escape, but it was too late. With an ear bursting explosion, the fireball hit the bakery and engulfed it, sending bits of burning wood and Godfrey everywhere. Shortly after, the bottles of lit liquid smashed into the buildings all around, catching fire in the wooden city. The Rose, was burning.

Murmur sat on the window sill of her room, one leg dangling over the edge of the building the other drawn up as she leaned against the wall looking out over the harbor. She shivered slightly as she drew a bottle of rum up to her lips, eyes fixed out onto the deep wide ocean. Over the sound of the tide pulling in and out, the creak of boards from Havek’s room down the way was barely audible. Pushing her nose against her scar she studied the lines of the horizon with a strange feeling of trepidation. In between lock boxes and mugrobi men who claimed knowing you in other lives and messing with things that they oughtn’t be messing with Murmur couldn’t help but feel like the air was pregnant with something bigger than all of this, bigger than Murmur and Havek and this little town, little toy town really- all grubby and long forgotten in some play room, the miniature figures all lying lost and forgotten.

All this looking and wondering stopped pretty much when the sun went ahead and fell out of the sky.

“Fffff….shit,” was all Murmur could think of to say as that great ball of fire went hurtling into a building but a few streets away. The air didn’t feel suddenly quite so cold anymore and the air turned a pale shade of yellow. Already smoke had started to rise in tendrils. Got to move, got to go. She thought, panicky as she turned and jumped of the ledge and back into her room. Fucking world is on fire. No time to mess around with laces and buttons and get dressed or put shoes on, she pulled her coat over her shoulders and her slip, the bullet holes messily darned with unmatching fabric and rolled her dress in a ball, tucking it under her arm.

Running along the hall, little padding noises on the boards, taking mind not to step on the broken ones and tumble right through the ceiling she didn’t stop to do anything like knock , just burst into Havek’s room, little panicky look on her face. “Old Rose on fire, Trouble.... Fuckin' on fire! We 'ave te get out…bloody get te th' docks…get everybody te go te the docks!” she panted hurriedly.

She put her foot on his chest and started to shake roughly, “UP! UP!”
Trust Old Rosie to have the sun fall down on it and burn the old girl to the ground, at least the sun in vienda kept to a schedule, went up and down and stayed up in the sky.

If this house caught on fire then it wouldn’t stay up for two minutes, gods it was a wonder it was still standing. And Murmur didn’t know much, but she knew that fucking water wasn’t flammable so it seemed like they’d be having their kippers on the pier a little earlier today.

Ue awoke to the sound of dying.

His bones felt like they were on fire as he leapt from his hammock, and in almost no time at all he was upstairs to Daisy's attic, grabbing her skinny body from the bed and hoisting her over his shoulder. She cried and complained as he flew down the ladder and out the door into the night.

It was his instincts that had saved him during the war, and his instincts served him well today; the smithy was burning.

"NO!" he shouted, setting Daisy down in the street. The little girl toppled about until she found her balance, crying from the noise, from being awakened so rudely; rubbing tears from her brown eyes, she clung to her father's waist.

"What'th going oonnn?" she sobbed, clutching his ragged shirt.

He looked down at her, then out into the street. It was confusion and chaos as far as he could see. Everyone was running, wandering, falling down. The smithy was burning. The tavern was burning. The houses and flats were burning...

"We have to go," he said to her, urgently. "Daisy, look at me. LOOK AT ME! We got to get away from here. To the docks. Gotcher?" He took her little hand in his and tugged, but she stood staring at their house, moments ago so strong, ancient, permanent, turning to ash before their eyes.

"My dollth in there," she whispered.

"We'll get ye a new doll..."

He would take a boat inland, he would get away. There was nothing left of his workshop or his home. There was no money in his pocket; the only currency he had was in the form of hypothetical pennies he probably wouldn't get back from the fletcher. But he would protect his daughter no matter what occurred. If that meant signing onto a crew, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Struggling to pull her along, he muscled his way through the throng of onlookers, cursing and kicking; Daisy joined in wholeheartedly with both efforts, her lisp making several of the more colorful colloquialisms sound positively endearing.

Seth had slept soundly most of the night, barring the discomfort of the damp, hard bed which was less comfortable than any floor he'd ever slept on, the bits from bed bugs and lice, and the minor stomach ache he had from bad food served at the small but affordable inn. He'd been cold due to a lack of blankets, but then was awoken by a sudden surge of uncomfortable heat and the smell of smoke. As he slipped into consciousness he became aware of the sound of a crackling fire and many people outside screaming. Rita was meowing frantically- panicked- at the window, looking down into the streets, puffed-up tail lashing.

"Whassaa?" Seth blinked open his eyes, rubbing sleep from them lazily. "'s goin' on?" He looked around the room which was getting hotter by the second, down at the crack under the door, from which smoke was seeping. "What the..." He rushed over to the door, jerking it open- crying out in shock and pain as the heat from the handle burned his palms- and gasped to see that the rest of the inn was on fire, the stairs down to the exit already engulfed in the inferno, along with nearly everything else. Panicked, he ran back into the room, looking over at Rita, who was still meowing frantically at the window. "The hell's going in, Rita?!" He darted to the window, looking down into the streets. Many other buildings in Old Rose were also alight with fire, people running and screaming and shouting, most making their way to the docks, some heroically, foolishly, vainly attempting to put out the flames to no avail. "GODS ABOVE, THE WHOLE DAMN PLACE IS ON FIRE!"

It was a good two story drop to the streets below- something only a good acrobat could make without sustaining any damage. And any other exit was blocked. Looking around frantically, Seth noticed clothing lines spanning below. There was no time to debate whether they would hold his weight or not. He scooped up Rita securely under his left arm and made a jump for the lines, hoping to catch one and slow his fall to the ground below. Hoping he would at least be able to make it without any broken bones so he and Rita could manage a run for the docks.

“For the love of –“

All this shrillness and shouting woke him before the smoke did. Fluttery bird hands swatted at her leg, her foot, whatever they could reach. Smoke, ashes, fire, heat – all these words of flames and docks seemed like something from a dream but the slam of her heel against his chest stung all to real.

“Bajea! Calm yourself!” he gasped. Havek scrambled away from Murmur, stirring up a cocoon of sheets and quilts. Plumes of smoke were snaking through the damp wood of the abandoned house, the thick reek of burning wood and hair cloying the air. He staggered up from the sheets, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. She was excitable, this strange little fish girl.

“The house is...on fire?” He repeated slowly, calmly. “Or somewhere near here is on –“

A thunderous crash shattered the calls and roar of what could only be rabble in the street somewhere not too far off. A fresh wave of panicked wailing from outside crashed against the eaves of the house. Like the footfalls of giants were stomping around the Harbor, crushing and igniting every filthy lecher within Old Rosie’s black belly.

His heart was hammering against his ribs, squealing and squirming like a rat crushed under a bootheel.

“Don’t...don’t panic.” It was a stupid thing to say. But someone had to keep their wits about them. Havek felt like a bit like a he was moving through water, everything slow and measured. He reached out and squeezed Murmur by the wrist. “If have anything to cover you mouth with, I suggest you do so. No screaming or running.”

Havek crouched down into his nest of blankets and tugged on his greatcoat, not bothering digging about for a shirt. He took up his satchel, took up his boots, took up the girl’s wrist. Important things. He skittered through the dark halls of the house, threading Murmur along behind him by every shattered floorboard and clawing nail.

“Please, miss, try not to over-react. I know it must be –“ He shouldered open the door, intent on keeping her close, and stepped out onto the splayed teeth boards of their por—

“Oh, Hulali preserve!” he hissed, hands fluttering up to clench over his heart. A mob roiling in the streets like a pack of dogs, fire raining from the heavens.

Havek had always longed for the day when the wicked would be met with divine retribution. He’d also been hoping he wouldn’t be around when it happened. Fire to cleanse and gut out the collective of sins of Old Rose. Fire to cleanse and gut his, too.

He wrenched a hand away from his mouth, and clutched at Murmur’s hand so hard it might have threatened to bruise. A litany of Mugrobi hissed up from deep in his chest, lyrical and strange as it was rushed and penitent.

His sole eye shot about the sky, transfixed, tracing the blazing paths of the fireballs. Hava, usually so stonefaced with impenetrable calm, may well have been petrified to stone.

Perhaps Vita was eating itself.

“Movin’. Movin’ would be good righ’ about now,” Murmur snapped, wrapping her hand around Havek’s grip on her wrist and interlocking their fingers. Watching the sea of people, she wasn’t sure where to thread in, pulling Havek into the crowd, twisting and ducking though people who elbowed and swore, pinched and poked.

Thick throng full of wailing and crying, people holding on to whatever they could- a woman clutching two chairs under her arms, a man with a cooking pot full of liquor. With all this alchohol in the air Old Rosie wouldn’t just burn, it would be flambéed. And the fire was spreading fast, catching up to people, a young girl stopped on the street screaming from bad burns while they tried to move her. But she wouldn’t, still clutching a bundle of cloth to her chest. Baby sized and shaped but not twitching or crying or nothing.

Pushed forward, Murmur felt herself pressed against the backs of people in front, pushed from behind by another throng as the thick crowd of people tried desperately as they could to fight through narrow streets, some idiot having tried to pile his belongings into a cart before thinking better of it had left it in the middle of the road and Murmur and a sea of people had to clamber over it, she gripped Havek’s hand tighter, the thick smoke engulfing it all further, the sound of the fires igniting further with explosions as fire and gin and glass all made contact slowly catching up. She looked up at him, wincing as feet scraped her legs and trod on her toes but trying to smile,

“Can’t seem te catch a break can we Trouble?”She quietly, pathetic attempt at humour.

This was obvious as a large man, built like a brick outhouse, had decided that all this shuffling and pushing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. His wife, kids were somewhere in front- gone on ahead while he grabbed the small bundle of money they had. He needed to get to them, at whatever cost, pushing through the crowd like a bomb through brick, elbowing people in the face battering them. Propelled like a juggernaut he tore through the middle of Hava and Murmur, his elbow catching the girl and slamming her in the face.

Knocked back, Murmur fought to keep her footing, but it was impossible against the crowd who had picked up speed- panicked but the passing juggernaut of a man, Havek had been yanked away and she fell to the ground hitting her head on a stone, blood trickling down her forehead.

If she couldn't get up, that was the end of her, trampled to death by a crowd, no doubt it was happening all over the harbour. She tried to push herself up, but felt knees knocking into her back, a foot treading heavily on her hand until a rough set of fingers grabbed her round the arm and pulled her up. “Moony bitch!” a voice called harsh in her ear. “Move!”

But where was Havek, she cursed her height unable to see anything but the person in front, hearing the sounds of fire crackling and shouting deafening to her ears. He would be fine, she tried to tell herself, but he wouldn’t be. He could take care of himself but he would be so worried. And he'd saved her life already, it helped to have that kind of person around. She tried to scream his name but it was lost on the roar of the fire. A whole month of fucking rain and it chose to be dry tonight. Again she tried, Havek, Havek. But it was pointless.

Keep walking, Moony bitch, she thought miserably, couldn’t stop to think or send out a search party. She just had to hope they found each other, after that past life crap he’d spouted on the day they’d met maybe they had done it before, maybe they could do it again. Nothing to do but walk.

Sarinah slept restlessly, tossing and turning in the bed she shared with the passive. He had become distant again, and tonight, she found him gone. Rolling over and sitting up, the dancer looked around in confusion. The lack of Tristaan saddened her, but his belongings were still here. At least that meant, he should come back. Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, Sarinah looked out the window and sighed. It was early, or late, or something. Standing, she moved to the glass and looked out, crossing her arms over her naked frame. It looked so peaceful out there. In the dark. Turning away, she ran a hand through her black and red locks and began to walk back to the bed.

A sudden explosion in the bakery just down the street rattled the Hingle, knocking the witch to her feet and imploding the window. Covering her head with her arms, the brunette swore in shock and moved to get away from the window. There was screaming, and orange lights flickered on the wood of the bedroom. Smoke began to fill her nose, and with panic she realised there was fire! Moving to stand, avoiding the shattered glass, Sarinah grabbed the nearest piece of clothing she could find. It was Tristaans thick coat. Tying it tightly around her waist, she ran out the door, calling out to the rest of the house.

"Fire! Get out! Fire! To the water!" Stopping on the landing, she looked down at the main lobby in terror. A fire already burned there, eating its way through all their hard work. The Hingle was burning. Tears filled her eyes, before the choking black smoke forced her back. Coughing and spluttering, she ran back to her room. Another explosion rocked the Harbour, and Sarinah screamed. Smoke was pouring through the cracks in the floorboards and on the ceiling smoke came through also. The whole place was burning from the top and the bottom. Looking around desperately, she finally realised there was only one escape. The shattered window.

Walking delicately over glass shards, the wick broke away the remaining pieces so she could climb out. It was not the safest looking route, but it was the only one. Sticking her head out, she looked down at the ground. It was a very long way down...and she couldn't climb up. Running back to the bed, she pulled all the blankets off and threw them out the window. Sticking one leg out, she carefully placed her foot on the ledge below, holding onto the frame. With shaking hands, she manoeuvred herself out, till she was crouched on the tiny ledge outside her window. Looking back inside, she could already see the flames licking the outside of her doorway. Lowering herself carefully, the witch slipped her legs over the side, turning so she could hold onto the ledge and dangle from the window. Below her, the pipes for Tristaan's bathroom shone dully in the smoky firelight. Sending a prayer to whomever was listening, the brunette let go. She fell only a foot before she hit the first pipe, gasping and scrambling to hold onto it even as she slipped off. Sliding down the side, she screamed as she fell, landing painfully on her back. The blankets had done nothing really to break her fall and for a moment the witch saw stars.

Blinking rapidly, groaning, she rolled over and got to her feet. Something hurt, a rib maybe? Limping backwards, she looked up at her window as flames and black smoke billowed out of it. Shaking her head, the dancer realised she had to get away, down to the water. Turning from The Hingle, she hobbled away from the burning buildings. There were so many of them. And so many people...screaming and coughing. Some were still trapped in their houses, she could hear their agonised cries as they burned alive. Pushing her way through the people, she made her way to the dock dressed in only the passives oversized coat. As she walked she did up the buttons and pulled the tie tighter. The sky was raining fire, and all the witch could do was shake her head, in a daze. What could cause this.

Moving at a stumbling walk, she saw the smithy consumed in flames. Gods, she hoped they had gotten out. Pushed around by people running past her, Sarinah continued on at her strange slow pace. It was just like some hideous nightmare come true. To her left, another massive ball of fire fell from the sky, blowing a shop to pieces. It threw Sarinah to the ground, hands over her ears. Scrambling to get away from the burning wreckage, the dancer finally found her senses and ran for the water. Ahead of her, the way was blocked by some fools cart, abandoned in the road. People clamoured over and around it, and each other. It was a horrible nightmare.

Seth had made the landing, if a bit awkwardly, with Rita clinging to him for dear life, hissing, claws marking up his skin. She wasn't pleased, but she was unharmed. That was good. Now to make it through the panicked crowd equally unharmed- easier said than done. Of course, panicked crowds could be a deadly force, shouldering past in manners rough enough to break bones, crushing people who'd tripped in a mass stampede of clumsy feet and human nature. Losing focus of what was really important. Not looking back as they killed one another in their drive to escape. To flee the madness that they only made worse. The screams were unbearable sounds, digging into Seth's heart like nails, each one pounding in by the hammer that was fear and pain of loss.

All of these people were losing their homes, their shops- their only sources of income and a semi-comfortable existence. Some lost children, some lost wives or husbands, brothers or sisters, mothers or fathers. And all were blind to the other's losses. None of that mattered. All that was important was to reach the water. To survive long enough to mourn the losses when the fires died down and all that was left was ash, a heavy scent of death, and tears.

He reached a particularly congested street, now, narrow and full of folk trying desperately to get by some road blockage he couldn't see clearly. Why did no one move it out of the way? Why did they push and shove each other instead? It made no sense and helped absolutely nothing. But as he neared the chaos of the thick mass of sweaty, angry, flailing bodies, the panic that gripped him didn't help him to think any clearer than they did, and the thoughts of moving the primary obstacle were pushed aside- it seemed the feat would be impossible with all these people in the way, after all. There would be no way to calm them down long enough to deal with it. They would just keep pushing. Keep climbing.

And where had all this come from anyway? Surely one fire could not have caused it all? He held Rita close to him, as if she were his lifeline as people shoved roughly by, some cursing at him for getting in the way. And then-- was that Murmur? He was certain he saw her up ahead, being pushed around by the current of the bodies. "MURMUR!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, a new sort of fire burning in him to fight his way toward her. He'd feared the worst when he'd seen her house vacant. He would not lose her now that he'd found her again- if that had truly been her. "MURMUR!" He shouted again. And again. And again. Shouldering past, trying his best to protect Rita's fragile feline body from the onslaught of the crowd while simultaneously trying to keep Murmur in his sights.

“It’s not – it’s just – th-this is...”

For all his poetry, for all his books, for all the places he’d been, Hava had no words for what ‘this’ was. Beasts, he knew. They were sub-human things, crowing and clawing at each other. Spitting, biting – panicked thoughts, healer thoughts warred in him. People sticky with burns and riveted with glass, something deep ingrained in him ached to reach out to them. But so much more of him was numb with shock, clutching Murmur’s hand like a manacle, letting himself be dragged through the crush of bodies. He’d saved her once, just as she was saving him now.

Yet when that manacle broke, so did his detatchment. Bigger things switched out for microscopic things. The end of the world in a ball of fire exchanged for the clutch of a small hand. Switched to his ancient boots flying out of his hand to be crushed under a thousand other boots.

“Murmur!”

Voice hoarse, cracking, not used to being raised a decibel. “Poa’na!” He swore he saw the tuft of her hair being jostled around by elbows and shoulders, and then – and then she went under, down where his eye couldn’t reach her, quick as if snatched by a riptide. A strangled shout of Mugrobi tore from his throat and he threw himself against the crushing mob, trying to squeeze through the meat of bodies. Shoving his arms through the tight crush of bodies, even clawing up a stranger’s back until bucked off crashing into another angry body. It was like throwing himself against wave – smashing him backwards just as it was sucking him in, sucking him under.

A bootheel crushed down on his bare foot, pain slicing into the bone like a knife. A hundred images of torn ligaments and shattered tarsals flashed through his head, coloring the burning jolt arcing up his leg. But it wasn’t important, not for now. He ground his heel to the cobblestones again with a thought, ignoring the limp, aching way his toe littlest toes curled under his foot limp as noodles.

How far back was she? The tide of the crowd rushing towards the docks – perhaps Old Rose was drowning itself – was carrying him stumbling onwards, no matter how hard he dug his heels in. The soft squelch of something like an oil slick, like a slice of goat split onto the kitchen floor squished under his toes – cool, wet, and pliable. His was buried in the gut of some downed body, some tow-headed boy-thing he’d have guessed if his face had been all there.

Bile shot up into his throat, but steel resolve shot down his tendons.

His hand stole into the depths of his satchel and clutched at the machete pommel, wrenching it out with a bit of gauze and glass dust, too. He rolled the blade in his palm – and smashed the blunt edge into the nearest plush pocket of kidneys, hacking against the xylophone ladders of ribs. Carving his way back against the rush of the mob, the incessant shout of her name wringing his throat sore.

All had been quiet, or at least as quiet as The Rose could be, that night when Aye went to sleep. She had lost her hingle, Chuckles, earlier that night, and so had gotten to sleep later than usual. Eventually she had found the tricky rat and set her back in her little cage- Aye had made that herself out of sticks, and then went straight to bed. But it was too late; the girl would be very tired the next morning. She had collapsed into her hammock in her room, and had drifted off to sleep quickly.

Now, at this time, the girl was having a strange dream; filled with loud noises and hot wind against her face. She scrunched her eyes up in an attempt to stay asleep; an attempt to block out the faint screaming that was working its way to her brain. It struck her as odd, even with how tired she was, that people were screaming so differently from normal, struck her odd that these noises were much louder than they normally were. Finally she gave up; she was too tired to fight to stay asleep.

She opened her eyes and stumbled over to her rooms only window, and fell against the wood frame to stare at the city. A yawn forced its way from her jaw and she rubbed her eyes, and blinked. Very slowly she recognized the yellow orange lights on the roofs around her; saw the balls of light screaming from the sky. She stood frozen for a moment as she realized what they were. This was fire. Fire was all over the rose, fire was falling from the sky. Fire was quickly burning its way to her newest home!

She woke up for real then, no longer half asleep, and screamed as she broke into a panicked run. She needed to get out, get out and drag all of her new friends with her. She scooped up her clothes, slipped into her new coat, stuffed her clothes into her bag, grabbed Chuckles’ cage and threw it on top of everything else, and slipped the bag over her shoulder. All the while she had been running, and as she ran she somehow managed to force her new boots on without tripping too many times, and burst out of her room before the fire could reach the warehouse.

Still screaming; "Fire, Fire! Get up, yeh clockin' mung kov's! We gotta dust!" , she dove into the door of the closest room with a person in it. She didn’t care who it was or if they were already awake (knocking wasnt exactly important right at this moment, now was it?), she just threw open the door and rushed in. Finding her way to the body as more explosions sounded, she grabbed an arm or leg and shook hard.

"FIRE," she screamed, "Gettupgettup, GET UP! There’s fire all over th'place, wake uuup!"

She was too young to die in a fire, right? Right?!

Esta was halfway through a job when the smell of smoke wound its way through all the draughts in her apartment and the screaming began. Such things usually tell a tale of terror. She got up, ignoring the surprised grunt of the drunken pirate as she rolled him off her, and went to the window. Well, it certainly wasn't every day you saw fire raining from the skies, and Esta was determined that this would not be her last. Hell, she'd had a shoddy life so far. She hadn't even fallen in love yet, not properly.

She rushed to scramble into her most practical dress, fetch her lousy stash of money and call Pip to her shoulder, in a buzz of terrified efficiency. Apparently she was good in a crisis. The pirate was still living in some sort of booze-induced blur, standing in her bedroom looking put out.

"Eh, yeh lousy wench, I ent through with yer yet... Git back 'ere..."

He lunged woozily at her, so she grabbed him and threw him out of her house.

"Havakda! Laoso natt, the clockin' Rose is burnin'!"

She fled out past him, Pip clinging painfully to her shoulder. The whice flapped every now and then when her running downstairs disturbed his balance but he was, as ever, totally silent. Leaving the pirate staggering around naked in the stairwell - who cared about him, anyway? - Esta almost fell into the streets, where the crowds were already gathering together in a panicking, seething swarm. They rushed along like a river, unstoppable, deadly. Esta joined in, knowing that going in any other direction would be suicide, and also suspecting that everyone would be heading to the water which would provide safety.

Fear was thick in the air, as thick as the smoke. She could taste them both as they choked into her lungs, feel them burning her skin, the hot flames and the icy terror. There was every reason to panic. The place was built to burn. Still, from overhead, the firebombs fell. It was almost beautiful. It was beautiful. The Rose, in all its shamble of crooked wooden buildings, was dark, split with tongues and claws and jaws of flame while glowing, molten gold rained from the smoldering black heavens. There was too much pouring black smoke already to see where the burning yellow droplets fell from, whether it was an aeroship or the gods themselves. Esta gazed up in a form of wonderment and relied on the jostling, mindless crowd for direction. Pip pushed into her hair, obviously terrified but still silent. She pulled him off her shoulder and tucked him under her coat, where the darkness and relative safety would calm him. Birds like the dark.

When Esta tore her gaze from the dramatic, terrifying but gorgeous scene in the skies, it was to run her eyes across the other terrified faces in the crowd. Humans, wicks, galdori, disgraced people, honourable people, thieves and murderers, Bad Brothers, honest workers, beggars, men, women, children, lonely people, happy people, lucky people - all of them here in the streets, running from their homes as they were engulfed. All with one word in their minds - escape. All with one destination in mind. Nothing was better at unifying people than a common enemy.

And she couldn't help thinking - he must be somewhere out there, perhaps amongst all these myriad panicking people, that someone, that special someone who could love her and hold her and be her whole wide world...

At the sound of her name, Murmur’s head snapped up, trying so hard to see over the crowd but just, just missing, seeing nothing but flashes of faces, a hand here a nose there, light skin for the most part, flashes of dark catching her eye but slipping away. There were lots of Mugs in Old Rosie though. Again she heard her name. “Havek!” she bellowed from deep within her diaphragm. “HAVEK?”

Caught up in the crowd, she tried to slice sideways towards the pole of a cast iron lantern still stuck fast in the ground. Still shouting, trying to be heard over the din she kept the pole in her sights wincing as something crunched under foot. Sad limp bloody boy, like the puppet from a show on the pier with the hand inside pulled out and his face limped in. She choked back a wail of shock as something from his insides, kicked and torn open stuck to her leg but kept going. Not much she could do for him now. But to see his body disrespected like that…there wasn’t time, there wasn’t time. Her finger tips made contact with the post and she hauled herself on to it, above the quickly shifting crowd.

Looking back at the way she had come, the reflection of fire danced in her eyes. Gods, it was really ending. The rising conflagration roared and gyrated like twisted dancers at one of the harbor peep shows, illuminating the night’s sky like so many fireworks, clouds of ash raining down- the remains of houses and business, of craftwork and family pets and even people nothing more than dust now, shrouding the harbor in a thick black funeral gauze.

Drawing her eyes away from the terrible, beautiful sight of Old Rosie in flame, she turned back to the crowd. “HAVEK,” she tried again, wrapping an arm around the lightpost. In the distance gun shots sounded and people screamed. Her mind went to all the gun smithy’s in old rose, to gun powder stored in barrels. They had to get off the streets and away from the buildings. Even the rats were fleeing the harbor, their instincts taking them to the docks too and the people. The people were rats too, pathetic desperate rats stuck in a maze, bodies falling over the bodies and in her head the pavements already ran red with blood. The ash in the air caught in her throat and made her eyes water but through all the heat she saw a familiar face.

Not the one she wanted, but welcome and familiar all the same. “Seth? SETH!!”

Jumping from the lamppost, Murmur pushed against the crowd, fighting her way to her friend.

Wordlessly, she flung her arms around his neck and held him tight to her, happy and petrified to see her friend at the edge of a burning world. And Rita too. No, no, no- they shouldn’t be here. Why now? Glass smashed and Murmur wasn’t sure if it was the sound of looters or the sound of the glass spreading further. Trouble, Chaos, Havek.

“I LOST ‘IM SETH!” she shouted fretfully over the roars, clutching at her friends arm tight, determined not to lose this one, “I LOST MY…HAVEK.”
There was no way to tell if he had gone ahead or backwards into that towering wall of bright orange flames. If anyone was dumb enough to go back for some girl…no, she sent up a silent prayer to the gods she didn’t even believe in, Havek’s gods, keep him safe.

It was unexpected, in the midst of all the chaos, how the world seemed suddenly to stand still, if only for a fleeting few moments, when suddenly there was a familiar woman clinging to his scrawny form, holding him close and he held her back- Murmur. He was so happy to see her, but wished it were in better times- better places- than this.

"Havek?" He shouted the question above the screams, above the roar of the flames, above the glass shattering from heat and pressure and people, above the tide of bodies and to the smoke-filled skies. It was a name he did not recognize, but clearly someone Murmur cared about. "Don't worry, we'll find him!" Also shouted, his voice cracked and dry from the smoke he'd inhaled. It was a promise, one he wasn't sure he could keep, but a promise nonetheless. She needed reassurance. "We'll find him, but we have to keep moving!" He held her close to him, perhaps a little too tight but he didn't want to be separated from her, knocked out of her grasp by anyone or anything that might happen to run by. "Come on!" Rita clung to him as his attentions turned to keeping Murmur close, to keeping them all from being jostled as much as possible as they made their way through the thick of the crowd, her little body curled into his shoulder, her claws hooked securely into his shirt and vest, her ears laid back flat, her fur matted and slick with residual smoke. She hadn't the energy to complain anymore. Just to hold tight and keep breathing, her eyes closed against the stinging smoke.

Juni had just gotten in about an hour ago after going out for a drink, and had crept in near-silently to avoid waking any of the crew up, especially his poor overworked roommate. Guy needed a night out on the town every once in a while, but coming back in was a bitch. Luckily the kid was sound asleep and probably wouldn't wake up until forced tomorrow morning.

He had just gotten to sleep after much thinking when he was awoken by a sudden tugging on his arm that threatened to pull him clean out of his hammock. He opened his eyes, everything in a blur. "Whah? Hmm?" He looked down at his assailant: Aye.

Blearily he spoke, more from the effect of less than an hour of sleep rather than the alcohol he'd had, but blearily nonetheless. "Aye, sweetie, it's the middleothe night, whaddoya--" And then he was fully awake, because he'd just looked out the window and saw fire, great flowering fireballs raining down from somewhere in the sky onto the sleeping harbor.

"Holy---holy fuck, sweetheart, go wake everyone else up NOW. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I'll handle Bey, you get the others, and then we get outside so this trashheap doesn't collapse in a burning heap around us. Go!" He near pushed her out the door, scared and worried but not worried about being proper. He threw his shirt and boots on, grabbed random valuables and threw them in his pockets, and practically jumped over to Bey's side of the room, beginning to shake one of the sleeping boy's arms.

"Bey!" He shook harder. "Wake up! Wake the fuck up, we've gotta get out, we don't have time! Godsdamnit, Bey, please, wake the fucking hell up. I don't care how tired you are, we have to go---I can't fucking carry you, Bey, please, I can't leave you here--please." He fell to his knees then, still gripping Bey's hand.
In a few more seconds this would get more dramatic, so it would be best if Bey woke up soon to spare himself any impassioned kissing of any kind.

Grish slept the sleep of a deadman, the sleep of soldiers, the sleep of a mechanic after a days work. His sleep yielded no dreams, yielded nothing but blackness, a cool, dark, heavy blackness that wrapped him up, suspended him for the time his eyes closed in a place where no time traveled. He would wake up from this sleep and have felt nothing, remembered nothing, of dreams or the night he passed.

As to what did wake him up, well that was different. That was instinct. More specifically, it was a smell. A light smell, one wouldn't have found it unless they were looking. Nearly twenty years on ships meant Grish was always checking the air for smoke.

His eyes snapped open and he leapt out of the bed he shared with Soph. Normally he got out as gently as possible, unlacing his arms from around her stomach, lightly bringing his face out where it rested inside of her brown hair, thick and smelling of soap. Now he got out, threw a blanket around her, and called out "Soph! We got a fire! Keep that blanket over yer head and stick with me!"

Soph had complained about that blanket ever since he brought it with him back from the navy. He had brought two of them, an identical grey thick wool. They were itchy and they smelled odd during summer, she had complained. He told her they were keeping them. He never said anything about the new chairs she bought, about her insistence of stripping off the blue and grey wallpaper she'd chosen herself after two months. It was her house, Gods knew she lived in it more than he ever had. Still, those blankets, he said, would never leave their bed. And here was why. They itched because the wool was navy twill, the thickest he'd ever found. And they stank because he had watched those two wool squares get dipped in a foul smelling vat with eight hundred like it. As a green sailor, he'd helped impregnate those blankets with some golly chemical with a name as long as his arm. Long story short, sailors were issued two flame retardant blankets in case of ship board fires. One for washing, one for the rack. And even as he was now, a man who couldn't mention the name of the Anaxi Navy with out shaking in anger, he had kept those sheets, because you never know right?

The old chief he was in the navy was coming back. Reaching under the bed, he brought out a crow bar. Giving the piece of twisted black tool steel to his wife, he brought out an axe for himself. Quickly moving to the door, he brought a hand out and passed it over the door. "Like a zig zag, seaman Hosturn." He could hear the rheumatic voice of the old chief who taught him, a bloated, bearded human who kept a twist of chew tucked into his pocket at all times.

The door was cool. With a kick, he broke the door off of his hinges and looked down the steps to the shop space proper. There were no fires yet, thank the gods, though he knew that if the fire came anywhere near his forge, the thing would go up like an artillery shell.

He allowed himself a long string of curses. "I clockin just coked that thing!" He yelled. Inside him, he focused his anger, let it bloom, let it snake into his veins. He needed its strength now, but he needed it focused.

With that, he grabbed Soph's hand and ran with her into the streets, down the streets, not stopping to look one way or the other, just trying to keep him and his wife moving with the crowd. He could feel it though. he could smell it. The heat was like a furnace, pressing him down. The air around him was wet from sweat and tears and the very moisture coming from the wailing mass of people's choking breaths. He kept his one hand clasped as tightly as he could to his wife's hand, his axe kept in the other. The air... it hurt. It was getting so hot he could feel his lungs smouldering. His back was starting to roast. Something was on fire behind him, he knew it. Something big. As if the very city itself had burst into flame.

"Soph!" he said in a voice hoarse from ash and heat and exertion of running with the stampede. "We... *HACK*! We need to get Molly and the crew! We.. gotta get to the warehouse." He wasn't sure if the fire agitated wind had taken his words away before they reached Sophire, but he couldn't stop for confirmation. He couldn't stop and he couldn't let go. If he did either... no stop! Focus! He kept his eyes forward, trying to keep in step with the people in front of him.

He had started to tell her to go away, and if he had done that she would have flipped him right out of his hammock, luckily he had woken up and realized the danger much faster than she herself had.



She forced herself to keep her wits about her, becoming a sobbing puddle in the corner wasn’t going to help her escape no matter how much she might like to think it would. He pushed her out of the room and she took off, little legs taking her as far as they could so she would be much faster than normal. The girl sped down the hallway feeling like she was being chased by the fire, and it was gaining on her. She wasn’t thinking of anything except the need to get out, get her crew and get as far away from the fires as possible; she did not want to get caught in a fire and burn herself all over again; her body was just starting to heal.

Memories from that night started forcing their way to the front of her mind as she slammed open the door to Akiili's room and about fell onto the woman, she held herself up and shook the woman hard, crying about fires and burns and dark rooms with jars and strange girls who cried and got hurt worse than Aye did....

"I don' wanna go back, wake up Akiili, don' get burned again!"

Tears ran down her face, all around her she saw fire and jars with awful burning liquid and floating body parts--

"GET UP!"

One must do good to receive good in return, so said Hulali’s will. Good deeds flowed into other good deeds, cyclic as an ocean current. Goodness in the Harbor must have run dry. If good begets good, what does he evil beget?, he wondered, hauling the machete from some tanner man’s ribs, watching him heave back against his wife like a deflating balloon. Just enough for Havek to slip between the gap, moving ever backwards.

“Epa’ma,” he muttered, cringing back and averting his eyes from his own violence.

In the cyclorama of sound, he may have heard her. Havek! Havek! cried over and over –lost, muffled among the distant explosions deeper in the Harbor at his back, the scared goat cries of the crowd crushing around him, the shattering of windows by looters, by heat. He staggered towards the voice anyway, though the wet slaw of sounds roaring out wrapped it around his head. Murmur was crying out for him everywhere, nowhere.

It was a sound from a dream, if anything at all. Or just an assessment of the end of the world. Ghost Sounds from an earlier time. He would give many things – though not any thing, he knew – if only they could be back at Shook’s again, her broken and bleeding but at least broken and bleeding within his grasp.

Havoc, Anaxas Herself cried, havoc.

And everything else cried out, Docks! Get to the docks! But all he could see was a boardwalk caving under thousand of feet, little bodies tumbling into crashing waves, the Harbor painted so red it soaked the blue-green incaridine. The sharks would eat well, he guessed. Their evil begot evil and Hulali would gnash his teeth on them.

On him. On her.

Prayers sprang from his lips, genuine from the bleak bottom of his very spirit. He heard other lips crying out oh Alioe, others too imploring Hulali. But The Circle wasn’t listening. They didn’t like being interrupted while speaking. He swallowed his prayers, tucked them away.

He saw her, must have, perched on the lamp post. Or any other tiny red-headed girl. No matter who she was, he dove through the rushing waves of bodies running for the dock, slipping against the current. A jostling elbow crashed across his jaw, making his vision flicker black for a raw moment, sent him stumbling into the chest of someone plush with fat –

“WALK RIGHT, YE FUCKIN’ SAND-KICKER!”

And thick with muscle, seizing him by a fistful of dreadlocks and hurtling him across the thoroughfare. Havek grappled for purchase on the lamp post, clinging tight. If she’d been here at all, she was gone now. But the flicker of her voice, or even the hallucination of, could mean good things. She scrambled up from the ground somehow, clawed and bit like a little rat. Well, good. The sharp knives and clutching hands of Anaxas had made her vicious – and in times like these, it was a beautiful blessing. A squall of other people, searching for lost ones too, swallowed up the lamp-post, jostling him off onto the front steps of some flame thick dress shop.

So close behind him, a small explosion cracked the air and a shopfront window shattered. A bullet hissed past his ear like a bee and splashed about the contents of a fishwife’s shoulder. People screeching, clawing, fleeing as more bullet cases burst in the heat and shot out into the mob, a dress boutique gone firing squad. Havek threw himself to the scorched porch floor of the shop, beneath the deadly stretch of shattered window, broken glasses peppering his palms, calves, feet. The denizens of Old Rose were no strangers to stray bullets. Almost if on automatic, knees buckled and bodies hit the mud all within the scope of the boutique – some out of quick reaction, some out of reacting a moment too slow.

There was a tiny portion of Akiili’s mind that always seemed to be subtly awake, even when she was otherwise dead to the world in sleep. Perhaps it was from her years spent sleeping with the proverbial one eye open (taken literally now, as it were) on board merchant and pirate ship alike. Whatever the case, that little sentry in her brain now clicked in warning, and the fog of sleep began to dissipate as she grumpily realized that something had flopped on top of her and was forcefully shaking her.

…who’s shaking me?...WHO IS SHAKING ME?! The thought blossomed in her mind with all the irritation of a nettle-induced rash. No one likes to be shaken awake, and Akiili was a firm believer in cuffing anyone who pulled that kind of malarkey with her.



Akiili recognized the high-pitched voice amidst the sobs surrounding it and was able to stay her hand from reaching out to smack the person. “Aye?” Slowly, the Mug sat up from her bed and blinked her eyes. It was dark in the room still, so she couldn’t yet see clearly, but she could feel the child’s body shaking against her own through the several layers of blankets. “Aye, dear, what’s wrong?” She started to wrap her arms around the little girl, thinking to comfort her; Aye must’ve had a nightmare or been spooked by something in the night.

But then another thought clicked in Akiili’s mind – what was that distant murmur? Like the sound of screaming? There were crashes, too, and other loud, frantic sounds. Something was wrong, and it was far beyond a simple nightmare. And what did Aye mean about not wanting to be burned?

“Keep calm, child, I’m here, no one's going to get burned,” the woman stated as she threw the blankets off and slid to the floor barefoot; she didn't even have her eyepatch on yet. Then she bent and gripped the girl’s shoulders in her big hands – not fiercely, so to scare Aye, but strong enough to let the girl know she wouldn’t let anything happen to them both. “Now tell me what’s going on! Is there a fire? What's the matter?”

Standing slightly back from the crowd, the dancer could view the situation in its goriest fullest. People climbed on people, over people. A boy went down in the crush, and didn't get back up again. Holding her arms around her, she saw a woman calling out for a man over and over, before she was found by one. They looked like companions. Faintly, over the roaring of the fires, she heard the woman say,



There in the crowd, Sarinah could see a man cutting his way though his fellow refugees. Cutting through the people. The sight nearly made her sick, panic was overflowing. Everything was lit by the orange fires, and in synchronisation the people flinched as another explosion rocked the town. Gasping, the dancers wide brown eyes looked up at the houses either side of the crowd. The flames licked at them and parts of them fell away in great burning pieces. Glancing back at the crowd, she realised the people. The woman, her friend, the angry chopper...they were in the middle of two collapsing inferno's. Something in her clicked, and yelling loudly, she began to run for them.

"Rosh! Rosh! Run, quickly move!" Sarinah grabbed at the woman and her friend, with a cat pressed to his person. Vaguely, she recalled once meeting a boy at Cooks...so many months ago...with a cat as a companion. Feeling a bond to the two, to the whole crowd, she called out as she pulled on the couple. A gunshot whizzed past her ear and she screamed, ducking. Somewhere, bullets were being overheated and exploding from their cases. It was like the town was attacking itself.

"The houses, ye chen!? They are coming down. Everyone needs to get back, this way!" The way forward was impossible, bodies blocked their way, but back where she had come from, it was almost void of people. And there was a side street that would lead to another road down to the harbour. Wrenching on the couple, Sarinah yelled at the crowd as she ran. She could see the chopper had thrown himself onto a shop porch, trying to protect himself from the pinging bullets.

"Kov! Get out of there! Here! Run!" Beside the crowd, one of the billowing houses began to make a loud cracking noise, as it slowly began to topple inwards. It was like watching in slow motion.

Sophire had been sleeping peacefully, safe from the woes of the living world when suddenly she was pulled from her dreams and into chaos. The bedroom she shared with her husband was no longer dark for the light of the fire had snuck through the thin curtains. Somewhere outside was shouting and screaming, weeping and wailing, dogs howling and barking. There was a deafening roar as the fire consumed Old Rose Harbour like a gluttonous beast. Before Soph could even begin to comprehend the destruction of the city she called home, a woollen blanket was thrown over her head. She stumbled from the bed, pulling the blanket over her like a hood. The wool itched at her bare skin but she didn’t complain. This wasn’t a time for complaining.

She took the crowbar, the coolness and weight of the metal giving her some sort of reassurance. Soph had always found something reassuring about having a heavy something like a crowbar to swing about. No fire was going to stop her and her husband from getting to safety. “We have to get away”.

There was no time to grab anything; Grisha was already storming his way out of the house with her right behind. As he began to curse about the forge, something just as flammable came to Soph’s mind. “The stills!” she cried as she was dragged into the streets. The heat outside was overwhelming. It bet at them, pushing them back. But her husband continued pushing forward and she struggled to keep up as her chest was constricted by the heat. People pushed against her, all fighting their way to get to safety, away from the fireball that was the city. She could hear directions being screamed out “To the docks! The docks!”. Soph fended people off with the crowbar, using it as a shield from being pushed away from Grisha. She clung desperately to his hand with all her strength, the other holding the blanket around her and over her mouth.

Over the stampede and fire agitated wind, she heard her husband shouting. She could make out Molly’s name. Her daughter’s and her husband’s safety in this disaster was foremost in her mind. Not knowing where her daughter was or whether she was alive or injured or God forbid dead was indescribable. She could deal with what she was seeing around her, but not the unknown. Not when it concerned her family. “Molly! Where is she?” Soph sscreamed through the blanket and against the noise of the stampede. But Grisha was pulling her along regardless; whether it was towards the docks or Molly she had no idea. “We need to find her Grish!”

A woman grasped at Seth and Murmur, screaming at them to move, waving her arms and Murmur saw why. “Oh…oh,” Murmur gazed up at that mounting fire and placed the sleeve of her hand over her mouth, to protect her breathing but also so she could bite down on the material, bite away her fear. Quickly mind. Bullets sounding made her wince as the memory of the pain shot through her system.

Behind was the fire, but ahead…trails of blood. Why was it pooling in dripping from the streets? Pirates and Bad Brothers cutting their way through people, Murmur imagined running forward and being sliced through from behind ahead. Smooth, clean paths in flesh, you’d fall and no one would care, just another thing to clamber over in drones. And Havek was out there. It was still Old Rosie, people weren’t worth spit when you were trying to eke out a meager living and worth far less when you were running for your life. Maybe they deserved to burn, this stain on the face of the world. She thought of ‘infections’ dowsed in sterilizing alcohol and burned away.

But she nodded at Sarinah, clutching Seth's hand “Come, Kitten.” We’ll find each other, Murmur told herself firmly, I’ll be on the pier and he’ll wander up to me all shy like and say “P’ea, girl! I think I know you, somewhere…”. She didn’t want to think about that pile of people, bloodied hands and faces. Running back, back towards the fire seemed madness, she thought, heat tickling down her neck.

The alley was all but obscured with falling debris and Murmur had to let go of Seth's hand to scramble at piles of scorched wood and discarded items pushing them aside to fit through the smallest of gaps into the mouth of one of the alleys. The smoke. So much evil smoke. But the alleys were empty but for a few smart folk with the same idea.

She ran forwards through that alley and then she felt something, a hand on her right and the faintest field of a wick. For a moment her heart jumped, Havek?

It wasn’t Havek.

Two yellow eyes wide and mad, leering at her belonged to a rough wick man clad in raggedy boots, raggedy coat, raggedy britches and wild hair, orange as the fire itself. He’d been through it already, Murmur saw, from the red welts on his face, from his singed gruff red beard and from the hand that grabbed at her was scaly and bumped with raw chargrilled skin.

“Slow down, Nanabo. Tonight the tofts an' the tumbles burn,” he laughed shrilly pulling on her arm. A bottle of wine splashed as he whirled it about wildly.

”Stay and watch the fireworks with Mad Job, we can even make a few of our own. Smell it, girl, smell it, sweet burning flesh,” hissing he looked up to the skies and howled like a wolf while Murmur struggled her best against his grip. “They done it,” he said still looking at the seat of the gods, “Mad Job said they would, always said. Can’t run. Nowhere te run to. Can’t run now. The fun is just beginnin’.”

“Get off,” Murmur said fiercely, “Get off.” she fumbled in her pocket for her knife.

Mad Job kept on laughing and leering, “Gis a kiss, little girl- it's the end of the world. Gis a poke, gis a blow, you won’t smell it burnin when your hair starts te go. Gis a shag, miss I ent gonna lie...I'LL SLIP YE A GOODUN COZ WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE.” laughing, he pulled Murmur close and started to sing, that old slave song she heard the sailors singing into their drinks.

"When the sun comes up on Old Rose
Don't you heave a sigh
See that harbor looming near
Like a black spot in your eye,

Oh, your days are numbered
And oh, they move so slow
Till the day has come, Old
Rosie lets y—"

But he didn’t finish his song, eyes went wide as Murmur’s fish knife pierced the hollow of his throat. When she pulled it out again, his blood spurted forward it had not killed him yet, but that would have been kinder. Mad Job’s blood ran black as he coughed and wheezed falling to his knees, managing to choke out a final, rasping,“We’re all gonna die.” Blood ran through his teeth and his grip on the wine bottle loosened, the glass smashing on the paving like a thousand tiny crystals.

Murmur wiped the blade of her little knife on her coat with trembling fingers. No time, to the docks. Go to the docks.

Oh, your days are numbered
And oh, they move so slow
Till the day has come, Old
Rosie lets you go

There was a sort of calm, crisis calm, settled over Esta's mind. She was trapped in the throng of people. There was no running anymore, no fleeing, no way to put out the fire when surrounded by the horde, no use screaming or weeping or wailing. And what would she cry for, anyway? The home she was going to leave? The people who were already dead? The life she hated?

It was best to simply go with the flow, and see what happened.

Two things caught her attention and drew her mind from its bubble of calm. The first was a man hacking his way through the crowd with a knife, the way people scaling cliffs dig blades into the rockface in the absence of handholds, who she thought really should be avoided. Much as she knew she couldn't do much at the moment, she didn't want to die.

The second was a familiar face. Was that - the man from the tavern she'd met the other day? What was his name - Seth. He was clinging to some redhaired girl, and another woman was fighting her way towards them. Esta pushed slightly against the bodies around her, trying to steer herself over to the clump they were forming. She shoved with her shoulder, the rest of her body cradled around Pip in her coat, her eyes seeking that face again.

"Hey! Seth! Hey!" They vanished into an alleyway, where the swarm was far less dense, and Esta fought to follow. He was still a stranger to her, basically, but he was familiar... even friendly... She almost fell into the shadowy recess just in time to see the redhaired girl stab some crazy wick in the throat. "Seth!" she yelled, avoiding the spurting blood. She ran to him.

"I know you're just some stranger I met in a pub but if the world's endin' I gotta stick with someone I at least know, right? Hey, Rita."

She blinked a few times at the woman; the question almost making her want to laugh, but laughing would be harder to do than she would have thought in this fire. Her hands gripped Akiili's sleeves and she again tried to explain, of course there was fire, and oh yes, we are getting burned even if you are here! But she was going to try and find a nicer way to put it.

"Fire, there is fire! It’s goin' teh burn us, it’s all over th'place!" She had managed to hold her voice somewhat steady as she said this, but she was pulling Akiili's sleeves to the door in a frantic way. "Run! Get out, chip!"


She pulled free of the woman and ran out the door, still screaming about fires and pleading with Akiili to get out. The girl kept right on running until she got to the next room, the room of her captain. She flung the door open and stalked over to the woman’s bed, ignoring how hot it was getting in the warehouse, and was that smoke? The tears started up again but she ignored the jars, tried not to see them everywhere, and focused only on waking Molly up.

"Captain? M-Molly! Wake up, time teh dust, Fire!" She grabbed a limb and shook it, yelling as loudly as she could... Which happened to be pretty loud. "Get up, there's a fire!"

He remembered this woman from somewhere. Where had he-- Oh! It had been a while, yes. It was at cooks. She'd had her arms all over him, said something he couldn't remember at this point and he'd called her a whore because he'd taken offense and Minke had been there and he didn't want her getting the wrong idea and- oh, gods he hoped she didn't remember that comment. He felt rather guilty about it, now, especially when she was helping them so readily. "Er- right. Yes." He awkwardly followed the witch- who, now he thought about it, was quite pretty- and Murmur- who looked the same as ever but perhaps worse for ware with the fires- toward the nearest alley that was- for the most part- clear of people, jumping as another explosion shattered the air, as bullets sprayed the area, hitting the people who didn't hit the ground fast enough, one shooting dangerously close to him, Seth yelping, unpleasantly surprised, as it ripped a hole in his sleeve and a burned a thick but shallow slice in his arm underneath, but passing through with little enough damage. He clutched at his arm, tears springing to his eyes, but kept moving, shielding Rita with his arms, best he could, from anything else that might fly by, threatening their lives.



"I know we've gotta get moving outta here, but.... But what about your friend?" He looked back frantically at the crowd of people, no face standing out- all moving as one great mass. A sea of faces, none familiar. Of course he'd never met this Havek person. He wouldn't stand out. But Murmur would recognize her friend and it didnt' seem right to just leave someone she cared about to fend for himself in the throng of maddened folk. He heard a ruckus, felt another field, strange, weak, but there. He turned and saw the source, clawing at Murmur, pulling at her, and anger flared up in him and just as he stepped forward to attempt to help her she helped herself. Huh.



Esta! Oh, gods, quite a few more familiar faces in the fire than he'd really been expecting. "Definitely." He forced a smile despite the death and destruction going on all around them, nodding at the woman. "C'mon, with us," He nodded toward Murmur and Sarinah, "We're gettin' outta here on a safer route..." Ish. Safer so long as they didn't run into any more crazy folk. "Sorta. Better than gettin' ourselves trampled by the other folk, out there." He nodded toward the congested road where people were still climbing over one another, ripping each other apart.

What? Fire? Where?! How?!

Akiili’s head spun as she allowed Aye to drag her sporadically towards the door – she was still somewhat groggy from pulling herself out of a dead sleep, but the word “fire” was enough to snap her fully awake. Aye was jabbering wildly about fire, about getting burned, about it being all over the place…and there – the faint smell of smoke and cinders, the growing, uncomfortable warmness all around…

Gods, we’re under attack!

Then the girl squirmed away from Akiili and fled from the room, wailing on about getting out and away. “Aye, wait!” the woman hollered, and started after Aye. Then she paused mid-step, turned, and ran back to the bed; Mabinty was curled up near the pillow, still asleep despite the ruckus. Akiili grabbed the leira by the tail and swung her up around her shoulders – not surprisingly, Mabinty didn’t bat an eyelash.

“AYE! COME BACK!” Akiili’s feet pounded the floor noisily as she followed the girl into the next room. Aye was bent over Molly now, tugging at her in a desperate attempt to wake the captain up. “Aye, for clock’s sake, calm down!” Akiili shouted in as level a tone as she could force out, pulling the girl back from the still-comatose captain. Her nerves felt as though they were flying apart, but she knew someone had to keep a level head. “Screaming won’t make the fire go away!” She reached over and with one arm dragged Molly into a sitting position to try and wake her up. “MOLLY. WAKE UP. There’s a fire! We need to get everyone out of here!”