[SEMI-OPEN]

[acreage]

WHO: Amos Burton, James Holden, Wysteria, Ellis, and YOU
WHAT: Two spacemen fall out of a rift, later explore scenic Kirkwall
WHEN: Nnnnowish? Waves hands
WHERE: The Wounded Coast, then Kirkwall
NOTES: A closed arrival thread, plus open individual threads for meeting Amos and/or Jim after their quarantine period.

Comments

[heorte]

Meanwhile, Ellis has gained some ground with the demon. The first blow was followed up with enough force that the demon's jaw has torn completely off. What's left is outraged gurgles, spewing and drooling black as sinew and tongue dangles. It feels like the tipping point, like a few good blows will settle the score.

But of course, the wisps—

The crackle of lightening and resulting snap isn't debilitating. But it does leave a scorch across one shoulder, sear black at the center of his breastplate as the rest of the blasts zip uselessly over his head and past him. Ellis staggers a few steps back, cursing at the outraged roar of the demon splatters bile across the sand.

"Wysteria!" he shouts, hoping she's marshaling the rifters.

[innerharbor]

The archery lady is talking a lot, and that sounds like- Amos immediately moves behind the Cap. This is his problem. He can take as much room behind the shield as he wants; Amos isn't sure he'll need it. These fuckers have lightening, not guns.

You know, still painful, but not likely to cause liver failure or fatal blood loss or depressurization.

Jeez, they're in 1g, aren't they? Good thing Naomi isn't here.

A bit of a tell, but he looks to Holden, not the lady-- Wysteria, apparently, and if that doesn't come from the same place as Clarissa Melpomene Mao-- when he asks: "What now?"

[acreage]

That's sure a shield now shoved into his hands. There is absolutely no way he doesn't look like an ass carrying this, not least because of his inexpert hold on it.

But that's the least of their problems right now. Wysteria (and the, you know, lightning-throwing things) doesn't make it easy to pause a moment to think, even just the space of a breath — but he does, sets his jaw, then nods to Amos.

"I don't have any better ideas."

Back to the rip in the sky it is.

[heirring]

As it would do little good to spend time examining Ellis' current predicament, Wysteria doesn't bother dividing her attention in his direction. She merely gives the gentleman with the shield an encouraging shove that serves to propel them collectively toward the crackling rift. She talks all the while as they hustle into range, dodging and weaving various hair raising crackles of energy, more or less along the lines of:

"There really is very little technique to it. It's more a question of range, at which point your anchor will begin to react naturally to the presence of the Rift. The important thing is to maintain concentration and to not allow yourself to be thrown out of range by anything. If the connection is broken it will take much longer to close, although with the three of us I don't anticipate any trouble whatsoever—Now!"

She raises her left hand over the leading edge of the shield, and now that they are near to the hair raising pulse of the tear the sympathetic gash in her palm answers with a crack of sound and a howl of atmosphere or the surrounding shades as the otherworldly seam begins to be yanked forcibly shut.

[heorte]

In the midst of all the controlled chaos of Wysteria, Holden and Amos making their return, Ellis is corralling the chaos of an exceptionally angry demon and the wisps zooming in aggravating circles overhead at increasing speed.

The demon, at least, seems to be losing steam. A limb has joined the jaw in the sand. As the concussive burst of pressure that accompanies contact from rift to shard booms overhead, Ellis ducks another spurt of lightening to commence with driving the demon back into position beneath the rift.

[innerharbor]

Now is not the time to bother Holden with the very prescient fact that he hasn't got a clue what Wysteria Cassiopeia Tseng is fucking talking about. Whatever. Follow Holden's lead. He can certainly do that.

Amos takes the stance of a man ready for a fight, weight centered low, hands up in fists, and moves forward into the fray. His hands still feel the burn of alien blood, but that just moves him further, taking another jab, following Ellis' movements, trying to scare or punch these creatures into tight quarters, near the green smudge in existence.

[acreage]

At this point, Holden's just very used to following people around while they're spouting off weird, cryptic babble. Thanks, protoMiller. For his part, he does his best to protect them while they make their way to the Rift, which largely means trying to keep the shield between the three of them and any threats that get too close. He catches maybe one word in five that Wysteria's saying, but that's good enough, probably.

And he finds she's right — once they're close enough, he mimics her motion of raising his hand, feels the pull through

something he hadn't paid attention to earlier, being honest. There'd been a dull pain in his hand he'd attributed to a wound, something to check on when things quiet down. Instead of blood, there's a burst of light, and the Rift starts to seal a little faster.

[heirring]

The crack of the second anchor's interaction with the rift is a real, palpable thing. It sends a ripple through the fleeting shades and wisps circling the gash in the sky and has the mangled demon turning toward the three of them where they're huddled behind the span of Wysteria's circular shield.

"Arm up, if you please sir," is her sharpish demand of the larger of the two Rifters (the other one takes direction very well; how nice), though some of the sunny veneer has been stripped from it - the closing of a rift sends bizarre, pulsing sensation of not quite lain coursing through her fingers and up the length of her arm—

[heorte]

At a point, the demon starts dissolving. The wheezing snarls don't abate, but the pull of the rift catches at it and the solid mass begins coming apart.

This is apparently commonplace enough for Ellis to turn from it to Amos to catch at his wrist, encouraging it upwards before he notes the bare palm.

"Where—?"

Another half-beat of inspection would lead him to the glow on Amos' elbow, but he's probably already unknowingly pushing his luck.

[innerharbor]

Amos lifts his hand, even though it doesn't glow. He feels something, though, like the echo of a bone fracture, the memory of dull pain, in his elbow. Amos raises his arm a little higher, and the green glow reaches forward into an arc of light, anchoring (oh, he gets it now) him to the glowing green smear in the air.

Amos decides he fucking hates this, and is going to try to avoid ever doing it again. Holy shit, is this how Holden felt with the whole... everything? He doesn't wanna think about it.

Yet, the rift begins to weaken, growing slowly smaller.

[acreage]

Slowly but inexorably, the rift twists and shrinks until there's nothing left of it, not even a scar in the sky.

Which doesn't happen too soon in Holden's opinion. He drops his hand once it's done, but keeps the shield aloft as he casts a look around them for any other creatures — or, honestly, anything else that could go wrong about now.

[heirring]

But the beach, though stony and overcast, is quiet save for the hiss of the surf and the shriek of offended birds.

Behind the shield (and the gentleman in possession of it), Wysteria lowers her aching hand with a nod and a brisk, "There. Well done."

And then, lest anyone think themselves safe simply because they aren't likely to be raked by claws or electrocuted by arcane lightning, Wysteria redirects her attention from the stitched together sky to the immediate question of—

"Miss Poppell," she says, by way of introduction as she makes to retrieve the shield from Holden's possession. "And this is Mr. Ellis. I gather the pair of you are familiar to one another already."

[heorte]

Mister Ellis, for his part, has stepped a few paces from Amos to shake gore from the points of his mace. He's clearly content to let Wysteria take the momentary lead in introductions, even if he's keeping both these men in his sights. If his steps have taken him back in Wysteria's direction, well, just a happy coincidence.