crowspace | For coldestsmile.

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For coldestsmile.

Koriko had, in truth, not been that bad.

Waking up from Koriko to find herself back in Mogeko Castle, that had been bad. Having to fight her way through Mogeko Castle a, what, third time? That had been aggravating. And throwing herself through the portal on the top floor, to find herself in a world of constant war between angels and demons-

Well, at least she already knew somebody there. Sherbet recognized her, and that meant she was sticking close to him for as long as he didn't get sick of her. So far he hadn't dumped her out in the cold (heh).

It's not that she couldn't defend herself... it's just that she wasn't going to be going up against a demon and winning anytime soon, as much as she trained. At least she wasn't sitting around doing nothing.

As harsh of a world as this was, it wasn't the castle, and that counted for something.

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... Oh wow that's a bad idea, he realizes. Terrible idea. He will probably die horribly. To be fair, he's less likely to die horribly sooner than some of the others given what he does buuut... Eh, well. He doesn't actually mind it much. He just doesn't want to break it to her that he'll probably be leaving again immediately.

So he'll pretend he didn't hear that. Being someone's fixation has always kind of been something he's wished about, anyway.

"You never did tell me how you ended up being so adept with one. Is that common with humans?" He honestly isn't sure, but he admires that she seems so skilled. There being an actual path here is nice, though; it means he can just so of give his wings a moment to stretch out and not have to go flying up again to get his bearings or anything. But he also knows the area decently enough that this path is recognizable...

But but crushing and it's not like she doesn't expect to die horribly sooner or later too!

"Not really, not in modern times. The short story is that I was kidnapped to Mogeko Castle and had to kill a bunch of Mogekos if I wanted to live, and after that I tried to keep my skills up."

... But he'd feel bad if you died horribly period, Yonaka. People dying horribly that he's supposed to be taking care of from any standpoint is him failing his job. Don't go and die horribly somewhere, please. He tucks his gloved hands into his coat's pockets, glancing at her briefly as he walks.

"So your world's peaceful, then, right? ... Random, weird abductions aside. Just humans?"

"Just humans, and, hm. There's wars between humans, but my country hasn't really been in any wars for as long as I've been alive. So I don't know if you'd call that peaceful or not."

Yonaka walks alongside him, fidgeting with her skirt.

If he notices her fidgeting, he opts not to comment on it. So they did fight. Huh.

"Well, ultimately, even peace times have their problems. But I suppose what humans lack in magic and innate ability they make up for with craft and guile, or something like that? That's what I'm always hearing, at least."

He suspects Yonaka proves this. Or maybe it's just a testament to her character, that she survived this long without any powers and just a knife. It's quiet, though, even for a wasteland. Something about this is bothering him. Since that last batch, they haven't seen any demons. Either they're congregating in the nearby outpost, or they've missed a patrol. He's really hoping it's the former.

"Mmmm, hey, can you burn easily...?"

"About as easily as anybody else, I guess..."

If Sherbet has ice powers, then demons probably have fire powers, which means-

"You think we're gonna run into some demons soon?"

It is awfully quiet, but Yonaka thought that was just because the fighting had scared away the normal sounds you'd hear - birds and such.

... Well that's worrisome. He'll pull her aside, then, and hide behind an outcropping of an old stone wall, probably someone's base or home or something. His voice is a little quieter, now.

"There were things in this wasteland. There still are. Not much. Remnants, mostly. But it's too quiet. If they haven't been too disturbed by my mess earlier, or are just getting alerted, that would mean either there's a patrol coming this way, or--"

... Or not far behind them, a messenger who'd finally noticed HEY, A BUNCH OF YOUR MEN DIED has come to the outpost, flying overhead. He points upwards. Fortunately, they're decently hidden, there, and seem to be overlooked, but...

It's funny. Bat wings and ridiculously curly horns... everything, about what you'd expect of, you know, stereotypical demon. Very warm colors. Yellows and oranges, in solid blacks, as far as clothing goes. Eventually, he finishes his sentence:

"--Or they noticed I made a bit of a mess earlier. ... Finally."

Yonaka nods her head, completely silent, not trusting herself even to whisper quietly enough. She soon has her knife out of its sheath and at her side.

She doesn't know how well she'll stand up, but she can at least try.

He considers the situation. If he keeps making messes like this, they're gonna start making waves way backwards, and realize that his God sent out one of the STRONGER angels after them.

This would be bad. A sudden recoupling of forces later, and the fighting will become more bitter... and recon will be nearly impossible. On the other hand, making them think a bunch of units were performing strikes somewhere farther away, to get them to move their units there, might be more useful for later on...

He has to debate it for a moment, realizing he can't just afford to go nuts either way. He has hostage material, and that aside, he's also got to keep Yonaka's safety in mind. He knows that knife is pitiful in comparison to most demons. So he makes the decision himself.

"Stay here. I can't risk you being compromised. I'll be back." He'll distract them--send them off in the wrong direction, then duck back this way when they're not paying attention. With enough going on, they'll pass by and not notice her scent or anything, and they can slip by undetected. That's the hope, anyway.

She doesn't want to let him go without helping him. But she knows she wouldn't be any help anyway - more a detriment. She has to listen to what he says, and stay here until he comes back - when he comes back, definitely.

"...Be safe."

He'll give her a little wave--and then shoot up in the air ahead of them. No problem, nothing he hasn't done before. There is a lot of bright lights, screaming, and banging noises as he darts off in the opposite direction, being followed by a rather large crew of people screaming all kinds of things, from obscenities to asking the others to wait up, to yelling about freedom or something or another.

About four or so minutes go by after this. He has not come back yet.

He just failed to account for the fact one of them might stay behind. Here's hoping Yonaka is really prepared to use that knife, because it seems all the demon sees is something to eat. At least it's not Cranber. He can't risk running back to check on her until he's sure the coast is clear.

She's worried about him, but-

Once Yonaka knows she's spotted, all thoughts of Sherbet are pushed to the back of her mind. Survival is the most important thing right now. She won't end up dead just yet.

...

If Sherbet ever does come back, he'll find a very bloody Yonaka and a decapitated demon. (She's not sure where the vital organs are on them. She had to be sure.)

Oh, he's coming back. Just a minute or two later than he'd've LIKED, mostly because they kept looking for him in actually smart places. Imagine that. ... He'll have to be more careful. His wings are a little singed, as is most of him, but when he comes back to her in a mess, he's. More than a little worried. He's gonna heal her just to be sure it's not HER blood she's covered in, because man, he really dropped the ball on that one.

"You okay...? I miscalculated. ... I didn't think one of them would find you."

His fault. ... Although, he has to say, there has never been anything sexy about her to him until he's seen her covered in demon blood like that.

It's some of both of their blood, and she sighs in relief when she's healed and the pain goes away.

"I'm fine. More importantly, are you okay? You had to deal with more of them than me."

... He whimpers. But it's not because he's in pain. He holds up the long piece of cloth around his neck.

"One of them singed my scarf!" And also his wings, and maybe his face a bit, but mostly that was the point of wearing the layers: so he wouldn't end up fried. He REALLY liked this scarf. ... Oh well...

"A-anyway, we should... get moving..." His poor scarf. RIP scarf. "Maybe also get you cleaned up, at some point."

She has to try not to snicker at his distress, and mostly succeeds. Even if his scarf is kind of a silly thing to focus on, he's been good to her, so she shouldn't laugh at him.

"That'd be nice, but don't make it a priority or anything. Not the first time I've been covered in blood."

It's a really stupid thing to be focused on, but he cares more about that then he probably ever will his own body. If he gets horrendously injured, usually, he can heal it. Usually. Except for that one time.

"We should hurry before they return, anyway."

It's bust now, so he'll offer that poor scarf to her so she can at least wipe her face off, before they hoof it. He'll have, like, a funeral pyre for it later or something... a funeral boat? Something. Her having demon blood on her might be useful, though. It'll help cover her own scent. He knows how to mask his own, what way the wind's blowing, all of that. So he can figure out a path from here... past that little outpost.

She wipes her face off and carries the scarf along as she follows him further down the path. Picking up her pace isn't hard - she's better at sprinting than marathons, but she's still a pretty fast walker in general.

"How far is it to your territory?"

... He glances back at her and breaks a smile.

"8.75 miles. Exactly. From that little wall behind us." Now that they're going at a nice, brisk pace, and he's keeping watch on stuff, he tacks on: "In the air, that's about an hour if you're careful. I could carry you, for a little while, at least? If you wanted."

He is trying to be nice.

"I can walk, you don't have to go through the effort. I must be heav... uh... I don't want to trouble you."

No girl wants to call themselves heavy even in this context.

He shrugs! He doesn't think she's particularly heavy, but he did get his wings a liiiittle singed back there...

"All right, then. Here's what we're going to do: run until we find somewhere safe to stop, and then you're going to rest."

Simple enough. He trusts she can do that much. He really hopes she wore reasonable shoes.

She definitely wore reasonable shoes, or she'd probably be dead already.

Yonaka nods. Running is something she's good at. On your mark, get set...

And she's off like the hounds of hell are behind her, which, to be fair, they probably are.

... Finally, some kind of point they can stop at. It's an awful lot of running, and ducking around things, and him subverting attention, but they're getting close!! Definitely. A very small forest--the first sign of something the fighting hasn't completely obliterated, yet. Most of it's heavily scorched, though. What was once probably beautiful now fairly maimed, but easy enough to get some cover in, to make it harder to be snuck up on.

... When he's sure they can stop for a breather, he'll. Conjure her a cup of ice and melt some water in it for her. This is a little tiring to him, but it must be exhausting for a human...

"... These woods... used to be... filled with apples."

Obviously, they're not anymore. Most of the greenery is dead.

She takes several sips of water before she's able to answer. That was a long run even for her...

"How long has the fighting been going on?"

... He doesn't expect her to answer instantly, anyway. At least they can rest here. He has to think about her question to him, in turn. He's not even really sure.

"... Maybe... before I was even created? I... don't... really know. How long. I remember some of what it used to look like--I remember... when I was created, pretty clearly. And I remember... these woods, before it escalated, but..."

It's probably the most personal thing he's ever said--because he really, honestly has to think about it. Does he ever remember a world of peace...? ... No. He... doesn't... so he doesn't know. How long.

"A hundred years, maybe? ... No, it seems both longer and shorter than that..." Annnnd he's lost in thought, trying to figure out an exact. No matter how much he calculates, the only person he thinks who knows that answer...

"... The head angel would know. Maybe My Lord." He finally admits. He has... no clue.

For coldestsmile.

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