Terry shepherds the two humanformed angels out through the door of his office, into the corridor beyond. One of the Djinn Thugs guards the far end of the corridor, while the other carries the box with the Kyrio Ball.
Sarah stays very close to Daimonique indeed.
Sephar sitting in the bowl, thinking the other Song of Tongues went off, remembers that Aron is likely wondering where the two Kyriotates went, so invests another point of Essence in doing another Song of Tongues to tell Aron "Hitherby and I are captured by the Media in Hell, we're heading towards the Marches with Daimon and Chephirah."
Daimon doesn't look terribly pleased.
<
<
The Djinn at the end of the corridor strikes a telegenic pose, and hisses, "This way, boss!"
<
Sarah looks moderately grim, herself. All the more so at telegenic poses.
Daimonique stuffs her hands in her pockets and stares at the floor as she walks along.
Hitherby scratches patiently at the globe.
Terry continues to usher the angels down a set of corridors, past editing suites, busy offices,
coffee rooms, and the All-Important Television Audience rooms. The two Djinn - and possibly
others - seem to be making sure the corridors are clear.
<
Daimonique occasionally tries to wander off into one of the rooms, just to see what happens.
Sephar hrms and pulls a feather as well and helps Hitherby with the scratching, just an inch or so
further along the wall of the ball.
Sarah does not stare at the floor, but only because she's terrified for Daimon.
Terry or a Djinn assists Daimon back onto the correct cause. Terry whispers, "Hush, baby! You're
not supposed to be here!"
Daimonique says "Isn't that an understatement."
Hitherby murmurs, very quietly, to Sephar, "If you have any spare Essence -- I have no specific
use, but I am low."
Daimonique starts to look up and stare, unwavering, at the back of Terry's head.
Terry says, "Yeah, well, baby." He preens, secure as any Balseraph in the knowledge that
someone else is looking at him in admiration and envy.
<
Sephar murmurs softly, "Only two measures."
Hitherby blinks with several eyes. "Ah. Then we are relatively balanced."
Terry finally leads the way into a storeroom-cum-garage. He gestures with pride at a gleaming
black chromed van, about the size of a minibus. "Behold! Your ride!"
Sarah puts an arm around Daimon's shoulders for a moment, and squeezes gently.
Hitherby says, "It looks sort of like a box."
Daimonique hrms. "How tacky."
Terry says, "It's okay, baby. You'll be inside."
Daimonique says "Pray God deliver me from tackiness, or strike me down before any of my
friends see me like this. Amen."
The Djinn carrying the Kyrio Box walks round to the back of the van, and opens the double doors
there; he climbs inside, still carrying the box, and takes a seat on one of the boxes piled inside.
Terry says, "Ishi'll be riding in the back with you, kids. Just in case of, you know, stuff."
Daimonique says "So Terry, tell me something, oh buddy, oh pal. What's it feel like to sacrifice
your friend? Does it make you feel good, deep down inside?"
Terry ripple-blinks. "Daimie, baby, I've got two answers for you on that one. One is that you're
going to a rest camp, kid. It's not a sacrifice."
Terry says, "It'll be good for you. Trust me."
Daimonique says "Yeah, like I'll trust you not to betray me and drag me down to Hell."
Terry shrugs. "That's the other answer, baby. It's what my Prince told me to do, kid. Which means
it's you or me."
Terry says, "You figure Abraham ever thought about it that way?"
Daimonique cackles.
Daimonique says "You're a fucking cad, man."
Sarah rests a hand on Daimonique's shoulder, gentle.
Terry says, "Into the van, baby."
Daimonique says "I think Abraham was doing his duty to God, because God told him to do so.
Abraham assumed that God would provide him with a different sacrifice, and he did. Nice guy,
that God."
Daimonique stares at the van for a minute, sighs, and climbs in.
Sarah enters the van just after Daimonique, without needing prodding.
In the back of the van are a number of crates, with "NYBBASCORP" stencilled on the sides, of
a size to hold cameras or similar gear, and of a height to be sat on.
Ishi eyes Daimon and Sarah for a moment, then goes back to brooding.
Terry shuts the van back doors with a slam. A single fluorescent slat lights the back of the van,
and a six-by-three inch small sliding window gives on the driver's compartment at the front.
Terry slithers into the driver's compartment, and lets the other Djinn take the wheel. The van
begins to splutter into motion.
Daimonique settles on the floor against a box, and pulls her knees to her chin.
Sephar winces at the splutter.
Sarah glances at Ishi; closes her eyes, tightly, and shakes her head a little, then settles down beside
Daimonique.
Sephar mutters mildly, "Poor thing."
Hitherby scratches. Scratches. "Some people would say that it's better to die than to betray a
friend," she says, thoughtfully, if the box permits sound to pass through it. "Sarah here, for
example, and I like to think that's what I'd decide."
There is a creaking, as of some big door, and a flicker of different light through the tiny window
to the driver's compartment, and then a WASH of sound hits.
Daimonique winces at the sound.
Sarah shudders, and moves instinctively - if pointlessly - to put herself between Daimon and
it.
Interviewers, test patterns, television programs, radio broadcasts, street fights, cult preachers, all
the familiar sounds of Perdition.
<
There is the odd bang against the side of the van, faintly perceptible through the metal, as
someone slams into the van or is thrown against it. The throttle of a motorcycle sounds nearby.
Sound, sound, dark sound.
Terry leans sinuously round to peer through the slat. "Everyone all right in there?" His voice is
audible through the glass.
Daimonique starts to recite, "How you are fallen from Heaven, Oh Day Star, son of Dawn. How
you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low. You said in your heart, "I will
ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit on the mount of
assembly on the heights of Zaphon; I will ascend to the tops of the clouds, I will make myself like
the Most High." But you are brought down to Sheol, to the depths of the Pit. Those who see you
will stare at you and ponder over you: "Is this the man who made the earth tremble, who shook
kingdoms, who made the world like a desert and overthrew its cities, who would not let his
prisoners go home?""
Hitherby hums a Kyriotate scale rather than interrupt Daimon with words.
Terry sighs, and turns back to the front again.
Sarah does not answer Terry; simply smiles at Daimon, warm.
Daimonique finishes the quote. "All the kings of the nations like in glory, each in his own tomb;
but you are cast out, away from your grave, like loathsome carrion, clothed with the dead, those
pierced by the sword, who go down to the stones of the Pit, like a corpse underfoot. You will not
be joined with them in burial, because you have destroyed your land, you have killed your
people."
Daimonique says "I can pick a different Prophet if you don't like Isaiah, Terry, but I thought he
sort of fit the occasion."
Terry says, "We're not in front of the cameras right now, Daimie, but that's a cool reading."
Daimonique says "Thank you. Very apropos."
Sephar simply, steadily scratches.
Ishi mutters, "Prefer Murder She Wrote."
Sarah says to Ishi, "Then there might be hope for you after all."
Ishi grunts, and goes back to brooding.
>From outside in the distance, there is a vast TWANG, and a dopplering scream.
Sephar half ducks simply at the sound, in its bubble.
Terry sighs. "They still haven't got the Puff thing sorted. Told them they should have gone to
Vaputech."
Daimonique says "There's always, you know, "Be pleased, O God, to deliver me. O Lord, make
haste to help me. Let those be put to shame and confusion who seek my life. Let those be turned
back and brought to dishonor who desire to hurt me. Let those who say "Aha aha" turn back
because of their shame.""
Daimonique asks Sarah, "Should I keep quoting the Bible or give it a rest?"
Somewhere in the distance is a sound between *thud* and *SPLAT*.
Sarah winces noticeably at the sound. "If you're enjoying yourself, dear, by all means
continue."
Terry says, "Anything you like, kids, but now is probably not the best time. We're nearly at the
Hades gate."
Sarah *shivers*.
Daimonique falls quiet, and puts her forehead on her crossed arms on her knees.
Hitherby says, thoughtfully, "I'd play a game of chicken, but you probably have some way to shut
off the sound from this thing."
Sarah takes off her glasses, lets her hair down, and crawls between Daimonique and the doors at
the back; then matches Daimonique's position.
The van slows its speed, coming to a near-halt. The helltongue mutters coming through the wall
suggest the noises of a queue.
Daimonique's lips move in silence. "Even though I walk through the valley of darkness, I will fear
no evil..."
Terry reaches behind him, and slides a cover over the slat, closing the back of the van off.
The van jolts forward again. Phrases drift back through the walls, sounds of Terry arguing in
Helltongue with the guards, and clearly brandishing many colours of paper pass.
<
After perhaps five minutes, the van jolts forward again, and the feel of its movement changes, as
though there were a different surface underfoot. A muted hum of noise resumes.
Sarah, as the van moves, slips her hand over onto Daimon's.
Suddenly a spreading wave of silence seems to cut through the noise of the crowd, with people's
voices hastily being hushed. Pure, absolute silence.
Daimonique takes Sarah's hand and holds it tightly.
Ishi darts a single glance at Sarah and Daimon, then huddles down in his seat, eyes narrowed to
slits.
Sephar looks up, listening carefully.
Hitherby stops scratching, just in case Asmodeus is doing a spot-check.
The cool silence of fear bathes the van, which has stopped. Nobody outside even tries to
shuffle.
Daimonique's lips move in silent prayer.
Slowly the silence ebbs away, and the sound of talk resumes, though harsher than in Perdition,
more on edge. The van jolts into motion again.
Ishi takes a long breath.
Hitherby resumes scratching.
Sarah does much the same as Ishi, her hand tightening on Daimon's, then relaxing.
Daimonique looks up, and moves to take Sarah into her arms.
Sarah puts both arms around Daimonique, holding. Protectively. However laughable one Cherub's
protection may be in Hades.
Sephar scratches away again as well.
Daimonique whispers, "Be thankful that you have four walls about your head, and you're not
seeing Hades."
Sarah whispers back, "Believe me, I am."
Hitherby murmurs, "Yea, though I walk in the valley of ... um ... darkness?"
As the van drives briskly on, from time to time there are the sounds of a struggle outside, or
despairing screams coupled with a quietly reciting voice.
Daimonique says "Psalm 23, Hitherby."
Sarah shudders at each and every one of the screams, though she keeps it restrained.
Daimonique says "Yea, though I walk through the valley of darkness, I will fear no evil, for you
are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me.""
Daimonique keeps holding Sarah, and strokes her hair. "You'll get out of this. It's okay. You'll
eventually go home."
Sarah says, calmly, "We."
Daimonique just holds Sarah tighter, and doesn't give that a reply.
Hitherby reflects thoughtfully. "Terry's a nimrod," she mutters, "but that's not very comforting.
Nor is his staff. But that's probably not what God meant."
Sephar chuckles quietly.
Daimonique says "I think we're just supposed to believe that faith in God will comfort us and
make us strong. But I'm not one to talk about faith."
Sephar just scratches away, though some bits of it seem to tighten with the screams, many eyes
slowly narrowing.
Sarah holds Daimonique tighter in turn, and does not ask a reply. Just doesn't let go.
Hitherby says, cheerfully but still quiet, "It does, of course."
Daimonique says "Hell is a blight."
Hitherby admits, "Yes. We'll fix that eventually."
Daimonique says "Interestingly, until two weeks ago, it was also my home."
Sarah leans and kisses Daimon quietly on the cheek.
Hitherby says, "Sometimes, we fix things piecemeal."
The window at the front is uncovered, and Terry peers through again.
Terry says, "Nearly there, kids. Just got to get through into the Marches, so be nice and quiet,
okay?"
Daimonique says "Sure, Terry. Let me just turn down my amp here a few decibels, and I'll stop
playing these groovy power chords."
Hitherby says, "I will try and prevent any accidental wing-thundering."
Daimonique says "And we won't break out in singing Messiah yet."
Sarah murmurs, "But Sephar likes the power chords."
Terry chuckles. "I like it, I like it. Perhaps we can do you two as a double act! I'll think about
it."
Sephar twangs very softly to itself, a chord in G.
Daimonique says "You're SO fired as my agent, Terry."
Hitherby says, "Terry, that's impractical on *so* many levels."
Hitherby then hushes.
Terry grins balseraphically, and slides the slider shut again.
Daimonique says "A Lilim, a Cherub and a Kyriotate walk into a bar...."
Sephar murmurs, "Ow."
Again the van slows, and the sounds of a queue can be heard outside.
Daimonique kisses Sarah lightly, and falls silent again.
Sarah says, softer as the van slows, "Sephar, Hitherby, Daimonique, I'd like to state at this time
that I utterly adore all three of you." She returns a light kiss, and quiets.
Sephar grins, relaxing a few tensioned bits and scratches softly some more with Hitherby.
Zebina has disconnected.
The van grinds forward again. Terry's voice drifts back, in Helltongue, mixing threats and
assurances of good intent in about equal measure. One other phrase drifts back, from a guard, in
Helltongue. "Customs check."
Daimonique says quietly, "Here we go, kiddies."
Sarah glances to Daimon, eyes widening.
Hitherby looks hopefully at the area she has been scratching at, to see if it's even been
weakened.
There is a grinding outside as someone fiddles with the handle of the back of the van. Then the
two doors swing open. A large-shouldered Calabite peers inside, ragged wings drooping at his
back.
The Calabite barks in Helltongue, "You! Names and purposes!"
Sephar eyes the area as well, quietly.
Daimonique lets go of Sarah, and blinks in confusion.
Sarah looks over. She doesn't even have to feign wide-eyed fear.
Behind the Calabite, past the rest of the queue, can be seen the dark towers of Hades, the blocks
and fortifications.
<
Daimonique says in Italian, "I don't understand, sir."
Ishi raises his head. He grunts, "Ishi, Djinn of the Media. Those two are meat for the filming. Girl
doesn't know Helltongue yet. Other Woman's a screenwriter."
Hitherby . o O ( Oh boy. )
The Calabite grunts, and leans further into the van, peering at the Calabite, then the two
"humans". His breath stinks of vanilla.
<
The Calabite points at the box that holds the Kyrio Ball. "What's that?"
Ishi shrugs. "Shedim container. It's one of those films."
<
The Calabite grunts. Eventually he leans back out again. There is a loud clang as he slams the van
doors shut, and a click as the handle locks.
Sarah relaxes infinitesimally, pressing one hand against her mouth. And waits for the doors to
reopen.
Through the van walls comes a mutter of, "Okay, let'em out," and the van jolts into motion
again.
Daimonique relaxes a bit, and leans her head back against the box she is leaning on.
Sephar uses the tip of the feather to push at the area it's been scratching on.
The surface under the van changes again, as the hum of background noise quietens. It might be
sand that they're driving on now.
The bubble surface doesn't show any particular sign of weakening.
Sephar keeps at it, then.
Daimonique fishes around in her pockets for a smoke and a lighter. She can't remember if she
stowed them in this vessel or not.
Ishi grunts, resting his chin on his knees.
Sarah does calm, quiet breathing exercises. She says - aside to the Djinn - "Thank you."
Even the air smells better now. Sweeter. Fresher.
Daimonique sighs. After every trip through two gates of Hades past the Game when you're a
wanted criminal - it's Miller Time, baby.
The Djinn grunts. "Just doing my job, kid. And you know what they'd have done if they found me
angel-smuggling..."
Daimonique asks the Djinn, "Hey, this van doesn't come complete with beer and cigarettes, does
it?"
The air definitely smells sweeter now. The Djinn grunts, eyes half closing.
<
<
<
Sarah tries not to think about what be making the air smell sweet. "Thank you, anyhow."
<
<
<
<
The Djinn grunts, barely audibly. He looks on the verge of sleep.
<
<
Daimonique looks around as people start to fall asleep. "What the hell..."
The air smells sweeter and sweeter.
Daimonique tries to shake Sarah awake. "Sarah? SARAH?"
Sarah leans her head against Daimon's shoulder, quiet.
Daimonique tries to get over to the closed panel separating herself and Terry, and starts banging
on it. Hard. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Terry calls, through the panel, "It's a need-to-know place, Daimie. Just sit back and relax! I'll get
you some smokes!"
Daimonique keeps pounding. "What are you doing to me! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
<
Sephar says "Hitherby, let's hit the ball?"
<
<
<
Daimonique tries to keep up, coughing, gasping, wheezing, and crawls over to Sarah before she
passes out on the floor of the van.
Hitherby bobs to Sephar.
Hitherby murmurs, "Count of three, where we scratched."
Sephar holds up three fingers, then two then one, and on none, hits the area they scratched.
Hitherby strikes.
<
<
Sarah lies in the van beside Daimon, unconscious.
<
The ball deforms, stretching against the walls of the box, but does not quite break.
>From outside the box comes the sound of the van doors being opened, and someone muttering
in Helltongue. The Marches are otherwise quiet.
Sephar murmurs, "Again? Close."
The box, ball inside it, is picked up. Terry's voice says, "Okay in there, kids?"
Hitherby nods to Sephar. "Again, three."
Sephar singsongs, "Sure, Uncle Terry."
Sephar does the three finger synch again and strikes.
Hitherby waits for Sephar to count, and goes for it. The feather protrudes point first between the
first and second fingers of her fist.
<
<
The ball fails to burst.
Terry says, "Cool, cool. Okay, we're just going for a drive now, and someone will sit in the back
with you to make sure you don't do anything stupid like trying to pop your environmentally
friendly globe. How's that?"
Hitherby says, thoughtfully, "It would be a terrible tragedy if your Djinn had to break open this
ball and stop us!"
Sephar says "Terrible."
Terry says, "You got it, kids. But at least we'd get it on film!"
The box is put down again, and someone settles down next to it, as the van door clicks shut, and
the van grinds into motion again.
<
<
<
Outside, Hitherby and Sephar eventually hear the van grind to a halt. They hear challenges in
Helltongue given and returned.
Terry says, "See you later, kids! You're here!"
<
<
Someone else takes the box. There is the sound of footsteps as Terry's happy assurances fade into
the distance.
The light grows fainter, as though the box were being carried into an area of darkness.
<
<
<
<
<
Behind come heavier footsteps, as though burdened with some weight - say, that of two sleeping
bodies.
Sarah hangs limply as she's carried.
Sephar has been steadily scratching at the surface of the ball for most of the trip, anyway, trying
to wear at it at all, if there's anything to wear with celestial Stuff, explains to Hitherby the chances
of breaking it together.
Daimonique just sleeps.
<
<
The Kyrio Ball is carried for a while. The direction might be upwards, though it is difficult to be
sure. Flecks of stronger light begin to gleam through the cracks in the box. In the distance, comes
an echo that might be a far-off hymn.
The echoes stop suggesting caves, and begin to suggest some sort of building.
Hitherby says, quietly, "We can just keep hitting it until we strain something."
Sephar says "Yes."
<
Hitherby says "Or until they open it to stop us."
Hitherby murmurs, "I mean, sure, we'll probably strain us first, but hey."
Sephar synchs with Hitherby and hits it as many times as she hits it.
Sephar chuckles, "It's a chance."
Finally, light! The box is opened. An - _Elohite_? - reaches in, and picks out the Ball, putting it
on the floor beside the sleeping Sarah, who is the only other person in the ivory-walled,
windowless room.
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
The ball deforms again, but fails to break.
However, Hitherby perceives with all her Kyriotate eyes that the being holding the Ball is a
Habbalite, not an Elohite, never an Elohite. The scars go too deep, the eyes are too cruel, the
hands too ready to punish.
<
The Elohite - or Habbalite? - sets the ball down innocently, and retreats to by the door, which is
near-closed. It holds a technological device of some sort in its right hand.
<
<
Sephar hrms, peering back at the retreating Elohite, "That Elohite isn't quite right, is it?"
Hitherby says, "Habbalite."
Sephar says "Oh."
Sephar says "Hrm. Illusions? No wonder it didn't help us get out."
The Habbalite presses a button - and the Ball *bursts* in a sudden flare of green light. In the same
moment, the Habbalite is dodging back and slamming the door.
<
Sephar blinks and flies free.
<
<
Hitherby doesn't bother lunging for the door, given her non-Corporeal agility-equivalent.
Sephar flies to Sarah.
Hitherby flutters over to Sarah as well.
Sephar snugs Sarah quietly and looks around.
Sarah shifts in her sleep, at the snuggling, and her eyelashes flicker.
Hitherby sings, carefully, in angelic, "Perhaps they wish to convince us we are in Heaven's hands?
This is foolish."
Sarah's eyes open. "Mmm? what?"
Sephar says "A Habbalite shut us up here, but looked like an odd version of an Elohim."
Hitherby sings, "I would not let on that you know, if they are not already listening. If they are,
then of course it matters not. I was rash."
Sarah sits up, putting one hand to her head. "We're... not in the van," she says muzzily.
Sephar says "No."
Sephar goes to the door to check on it quietly.
Hitherby bobs. "We are in --" She assesses the air. Does it seem to be the Marches?
<
Hitherby admits, "Well, I'm not certain. I believe the Marches, in an internment camp of
Nightmares."
Hitherby says "Possibly the Media."
Sarah draws a deep breath, sitting up. "Daimon, did you see --" She looks about, and her eyes
widen till the whites show. "Daimon!!"
Sephar flies back and settles at Sarah's back.
Sephar says "No Daimon."
Sephar says "They took her somewhere else."
Sephar says "We need to get out of here, and find her."
Hitherby says, "Be of steady heart. Things will be fine."
Sarah reaches behind her to brush a fingertip at the verge of Sephar's cloud. Deep breaths. "Yes.
Yes. Panic serves no purpose."
Sephar rubs gently back against the fingertip.
Sarah says "So: we're in the Marches. Likely under observation. Not immediately restrained, but
most likely locked in."
Sephar says "Yes."
Hitherby bobs.
Sephar hrms quietly. "I have two more essence, so we can send a message, but I'd rather have a
little more information than 'in some big caves' to give them."
Sarah says "Let's save messages till they're useful, yes."
Sephar frowns quietly at the chain.
Sarah pushes her hair back, raking fingers through it. "We have you, myself, and Hitherby. Not
enough Essence, on the whole. Our hands and claws and minds. No artifacts or assistance that
can truly be expected. And right on our side."
Hitherby studies the chain wryly. "I never studied how to get *other* people out of traps."
Sephar nods at Sarah.
Sephar says "I have sent messages to Pat and Aron, but I don't think they have anyone that can
track us."
Sephar says "So, yes, no expected help."
Sephar says "Though they may now be watching us through our Hearts, which might be useful
in the longer run."
Sarah says "Very much so."
Hitherby says, "I have no Songs in the Marches or Hell."
<
Sephar moves quietly over to Sarah's chain, then and does its level best to break it from the
ball.
<
<
Sarah murmurs, "So this," she prods at the chain, "and that," she nods at the door, "are the first
orders of business."
Hitherby murmurs to Sarah, "Hold your ankle thus," positioning it, before lending her efforts to
help Sephar.
Sarah keeps it so, as best she can.
Sephar will just keep twisting the chain just a bit more, pulling it and stressing it just a bit more
each time, even if it doesn't entirely break with one try...
<
Hitherby lends her hand.
<
Hitherby doesn't help very much.
<
The chain seems to give a bit - and for a moment an *agonising* shaft of pain shoots through
Sarah, racking her whole body.
Sarah arches, with a sudden scream.
Hitherby reflects. The Marches.
Sephar eyes Sarah.
Hitherby blinks.
Sarah collapses to the floor, panting for breath.
Sephar stops and waits, curling up about Sarah.
Hitherby carefully removes her hand from the chain.
Hitherby backs one pace away with a wingflutter.
Sarah says, weakly, "I'm not sure... what that is..."
Hitherby . o O ( Marches. )
<
<
<
<
Sephar shivers just a bit, "I have little idea. Oh. Hrm."
Hitherby crosses her mental fingers and attempts to use what Aron taught her, attempting to Will
the circle around Sarah's anklet to grow. Or, possibly, to make a hole in the wall.
<
<
<
<
Sephar eyes the buckling chain and Sarah quietly and at Hitherby who is, possibly, making a
Kyriotate expression of intense concentration.
The immediate area fails to be affected by Hitherby's exercise of Will.
<
Hitherby frowns thoughtfully.
<
Sarah pushes herself up off the ground, breathing hard.
Hitherby endeavors, thoughtfully, to wish away everything in the room's shape from about an inch
below the floor to two inches below.
Sephar supports Sarah carefully as she gets up.
Sephar says "Sorry, I didn't know it would do that."
<
<
<
<
Hitherby says, thoughtfully, "Sarah, if you could wish your ankle and foot away for a
moment?"
Sarah says "Neither did I. I wish I knew whether it only caused pain, or did actual damage."
Sarah pauses, and looks at Hitherby. "Beg pardon?"
Sephar nods at that statement.
Sephar says "If it's only pain, we might get through it."
Hitherby shrugs. "If we're in the Marches, then possibly you can do that. I can't, which I can't
figure."
Sephar says "Hrm."
Hitherby says "But I'm not really big on, well, the ethereal world."
Sephar frowns at itself and wills itself to look like Daimonique.
<
<
Sephar does, indeed, morph into a fairly close likeness of Daimonique. With Suit.
Sephar says "Woah."
<
<
<
<
<
<
<
Sarah blinks at Sepharnique, and smiles, warmly; then closes her eyes and tries to follow
Hitherby's suggestion. Trusting in Sturdy Minds.
Sepharnique laughs quietly, "Well, it might confuse 'em a bit."
Hitherby floats over to the door, looking thoughtful.
<
<
Sarah's foot fades, vanishing. The shackle still seems locked on her leg, however. In fact, the
shackle seems to have shifted slightly up her leg.
Sarah attempts to tug it free.
Sepharnique reaches to help Sarah tug, but hesitates to see what happens first.
<
<
The shackle fails to come free, and a *blinding* streak of pain courses through Sarah.
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Sarah arches again, a shriek tearing from her throat.
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Sepharnique catches Sarah before she falls and eases her to the floor.
Sepharnique holds her as Sarah gets her breath back.
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Sepharnique mutters soft machine code sequences to herself.
Sarah gasps for breath, weeping softly, and curls against Sephar.
<
Sepharnique holds Sarah close and quietly.
There is a knock on the door.
Sepharnique quiets and eyes the door.
Hitherby flops to the ground near the door, where it won't slam into her when opening.
Hitherby braces herself, carefully forming the image of the deadliest cobra in her head to assume,
but not *pushing* it on herself yet.
Sepharnique doesn't glance towards Hitherby, simply holds Sarah and watches the door
closely.
A cultured voice on the other side says, "We are going to open the door. Please stand back."
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Hitherby edges backwards, making the cobra bigger in her mind.
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Chephirah leans her head against Sepharnique, crouching and whimpering very softly.
Sepharnique is cradling Chephirah's head and forebody in her lap, then, stroking along fur and
behind the ears.
The door swings open. Behind it stand two Malakim, both with dark steel swords drawn, and a
fiery circling Ofanite - behind them coils a great Seraph, scales gleaming in the shades of a
thousand rainbows.
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Hitherby shifts, and goes for the Malakite with her fangs; this is her plan, in any case.
<
The Malakite brings his sword up to defend himself. Behind him, the Seraph spreads his wings,
and Sings something.
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Chephirah's eyes widen, and she whispers, "... Hitherby?"
<
The Malakite manages to parry the worst of Hitherby's first attack with his sword, taking only
minor grazes. Behind, a Song of Charm ripples from the Seraph, slamming into Hitherby.
<
Sepharnique whispers, "They are false." and sings a Song of Charm herself, the last point of
Essence into it.
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Sepharnique aims it at all four of the demons.
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All four of the angels recoil a step, and the Seraph sings a single deep tone of anger.
Sepharnique then dives forward to hit the Seraph.
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Chephirah rises to her feet, unsteady and uncertain.
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Sepharnique hits whatever she hits first, then.
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The second Malakite steps into Sepharnique's path, sword bare.
<
Hitherby follows them out into the hall and attempts to explode into a cohesive swarm of
Australian funnelwebs.
The second Malakite is knocked back a step by the force of the attack, and could conceivably be
dodged past.
Chephirah pushes herself up, eyes widening, and drags herself forward to defend Sepharnique, as
or if she can.
In the hallway, the Ofanite spins past Hitherby and Sephar, making for Chephirah inside the
room.
Hitherby just bites outwards again, then, while her player thinks what to do.
The Seraph spreads his wings and Sings again.
<