((Keep listening to the song from the above post. I recommend right click -> loop.))

Daryll was taking deep breaths. Everything ached from exertion. His brain was not functioning fully. He moved in parts. First, his arms propped against the back of the bench most of them had been clinging to. Second, he braced his body. The third step was the hardest: liftoff.

One foot at a time, he walked to the truck's doors. Arm out, hand to handle, grab and turn. He worked his way outside similarly. He turned around, to where the others were slowly exiting their own states of shock.
"Step one. We get beds. Step two, we get food. Probably not the munchie shit in the back. Step three, we sleep until next dawn. We can all look forward then. And talk. Prolly gunna be lotsa talkin." Darylls words were beginning to slur from how tired he was. Still, everyone else seemed to be at least as much stunned as dazed, so he took it on himself to walk over towards the motel. He was halfway there before he trudged back and asked Gideon for cash. There were few words, just a muttered thanks and an quiet understanding that any debt stuff could be figured out in the morning. First was sleep.

There were a lot of rooms for normal standards, but with... Eight people? Not enough. He reserved five and called it good. He could bunk with any of the guys, and the girls both knew him well enough... Only maybe the princess wouldn't want to. The drama wasn't quite his issue anyways. Keys in tow, he shambled back to the truck. Seemed the others had filled the gas, and the relatively good food was being passed around. Daryll didn't bother hiding his disdain when he saw a glass bottle somewhere in the mix. He wasn't about to waste energy changing his expression.

Riding in the truck had probably been the most horrific moment in Lee's life. There was literally nothing he could do but sit and hope that they didn't get blown up by cannon fire, and every second seemed to stretch out to an eternity as he expected the next shot to finally hit them and kill them all. With how outnumbered and underpowered they were, it all seemed incredibly likely that they were going to die. And yet, they were alive. They made it. They survived.

It took Lee a few seconds to recognize the fact that he was still alive and that the truck had stopped. Everyone was disembarking, and so after some physical and mental effort, he managed to stumble his way out of of the truck and into the lot with everyone else. Daryll said something about getting rooms for everyone before leaving for a bit, and there was movement by the others to get some food, but Lee hardly paid attention. All he could do at the moment was to try to process what the actual fuck just happened.

The sound of someone chuckling could be heard, and he quickly realized that it was him. It didn't sound like he'd gone crazy, but more of a stressful laugh that one would let out just to release pent up feelings of anxiety or stress. Which was exactly what he was doing, seeing as he managed to build up a massive amount of both anxiety and stress in such a short amount of time.

"Ho-ly shit," Lee finally spoke, bringing his arm up to his eyes to wipe away a stray tear that had managed to creep out, "We're alive. We just fought a robot apocalypse and survived. They...don't really prepare you for that kind of thing back at the Citadel." He shoved his hands into his pockets as his laughter died down and his posture began to finally relax. Though whether he weas actually starting to relax or just trying to convince himself into relaxing was up for debate.

"Holy shit..."

Food began to get passed around, which made him realize that he was starving, though he made sure to give his own contribution and took his bottle of vodka out from his jacket, where he'd been storing it for safe-keeping. He had turned the glass bottle into what was basically jelly so it wouldn't get smashed, which was fortunate since he definitely would've broken it during the escape. With a quick counter-spell, the bottle was back to being good as new and was glass once more. He took a heavy swig out of it and passed it to whoever was next to him, though he caught the look of disdain Daryll was giving it once he returned. Another quick chuckle escaped his lips, but he said nothing of it.

"Alright." Lee spoke up again, his tone serious, "I think it's time somebody asked this question, and since no one else will I guess it's up to me." He pointed at the Princess, a focused look in his eyes.

"So are you single, or...?"

Well, that was one way to try to lighten the mood.

"What's the plan?" Gideon shrugged at that question. Once he stepped out of the truck, giving the scorched door a firm push to close fully, he checked his jacket to make sure the pistol was concealed and in place. It wouldn't do to walk around obviously armed, even in Rassvet, even if they looked wrung out and dirty from a run through the forest in the dark and an actual fight.

They had signal on phones and there were options, but some suspicious instinct told him that it might be a good idea to wait on that, "Daryll's got it." His tone was off-handed; he didn't really feel comfortable speaking openly around here, even if the kiosk attendant was apparently too busy reading a comic on his phone or something. They needed to get out of sight.

When Daryll hit him up for money, he handed over cash; and maybe it was evident that while Gideon didn't have much to say at the time, he was intent on staying off the grid.

Gideon was, at the very least, security-minded and communications-trained; looking down at his phone, he saw signal, but he resisted the impulse to start dialing. It had occurred to them even back during the chase that they had no idea how these enemies might track. He wasn't dialing home just yet. It seemed to him like they needed to think about the next move while they had a little time. He also didn't want to talk too openly around the princess. She was a stranger in their midst.

He glanced around the place. It was pretty rural and pretty isolated. The trucks had potential; if they were tracking their army truck, it was possible, though had risks, if they decided to boost a rig. It wouldn't be hard, but it'd also be illegal and they were still bound under civilian law while theoretically off duty. While Daryll handled the logistics, Gideon paced the area, scoping it out casually, noting the roads, streets and ways in and out. He glanced up at the sky, but only noted the occasional air traffic. It was wartime, so there wasn't a whole lot of air traffic, except the scream of a fighter jet patrol; this deep in Rassvet, there were only a couple of them. He wanted to make sure they knew where to run next, because they were definitely running now.

They were deep in Rassvet, but they just pulled the Vangar Princess out of a wreck and they were definitely being hunted. They were in some deep shit.

Exhaustion.

The longer Zimmy had been in the truck, the more exhausted she felt. Maybe the rest of them were gods among men, but she was just a girl who may or may not have come very close to being burned by the Mist. She had overexerted herself, and as they drove along, she had to constantly fight down an urge to pull on more of the magical world surrounding her. Some base part of her was urging her on, wanting more and more power at the cost of everything else.

As she fought back against the energy, it slowly slipped away. It was after that that she realized how dead tired she really was. Sore, probably hungover...she was in no mood to be productive.

When they stopped for gas and Darryl got them actual beds to sleep in, she just about whined with relief. "Fuckin' hell," she mumbled, stumbling from the car with no grace whatsoever. "You," she said, whipping a finger over toward the princess they had just rescued. "You can take a room with me if you want. Least then you won't have to deal with any horny bastards." She glared at the Lee. Lookin' at you, bright eyes. Plenty of girls in your league."

"Or I guess anyone can sleep with me if they want." She looked down at the ground, swore, and the back up. "Bunk with me. I meant bunk with me. Whatever." She grumbled again and left them, heading for the nearest room available. Once inside, she barely had the energy to unlace her shoes before she fell to the mattress. She fully intended to be dead to the world in minutes.

So when the bracelet on her wrist warmed against her skin, she took a few moments to process what was going on. "You fucking kidding me?" The bracelet began to hum, and Zimmy wanted nothing more than to throw it in the trash. Instead, she groaned and sat up. "What do you want?"

"Morander. Report in." It was the same voice as the guy who had met her after graduation. The one who had given her that stupid bracelet.

"My party plan is ruined. I'm a bit hungover, nearly died a few times today from bad judgement calls. Your turn, shadowman. What's up?"

"Any news on the Palatine? Princess Colette?" Zimmy froze at the words. How the fuck had they known about the princess? Alarm bells went off in her head immediately. There was no way they could have found out so quickly. Suspicion flared in her gut, and she was glad that she hadn't mentioned anything damning before.

"Come again? Dunno if you've been keeping tabs on me, but my friends and I have just been out in the woods partying. Or something, we got pretty drunk."

"Princess Colette was aboard a Vangar Envoy with the name Palatine. A few hours ago, all contact with the ship ceased. Do you have any information that might be of use? The princess was arriving under a statement of peace. If something has happened to her within our borders, then...shit is about to go down, if you'll pardon the expression."

Still those alarm bells in her head. Zimmy wasn't sure why: maybe it was because, now that she thought about it, all she really knew about this man and his bracelet was that he had stepped out of the shadows, said he was part of an intelligence agency, and given her the bracelet. Why the hell had she been wearing it all this time without even thinking about it? "Uh...no. Don't think so. I feel like if I'd been near anything like that, we would have sensed it. Sorry."

"Of course, of course." The man on the other end sounded deflated. "You will tell us if you learn anything, though?"

"Uh, yeah. One thing though: how the hell do I contact you? All I have is this bracelet thing." Zimmy peeled the band off her wrist and tossed it on the bed. "You have a phone number or something?"

"Oh, yes. Apologies. If you have your cell-phone on you, you'll see that we've sent you a number which you can use to contact us if need be. We don't send out that information until an agent has been activated. Which is what this conversation is, by the way. Welcome to Rassvet Collections Institution." The voice cut out, and the glowing bracelet became dull once more.

Zimmy checked her phone. Sure enough, there was a new number there. How had they gotten her number in the first place? "Fuck my life," she sighed, before putting the phone on the nightstand and lying down on one side of the bed. Maybe someone else would come in, or maybe they wouldn't. Right now, she had bigger things on her mind.

"What's the plan?" Galahad vaguely heard as he jumped out of the truck with the rest of them. Unsure whether or not the question was rhetorical, the question was answered with a mixed combination of shrugs, and planning that lead to the idea of 'figure it out later'. For now, they were exhausted and tired- the alcohol and partying form earlier likely did little to help that feeling. Though to be fair, they hadn't done much partying before the proverbial shit hit the fan and they ended up here, but somehow it was late, and they were in bum-fuck nowhere. To be perfectly honest, this wasn't exactly how Galahad expected his first combat scenario to go- at least out of the Academy. He expected to be fighting Vangars, not rescuing/taking one hostage as they fled robots from gods know where.

Darryl took cash from Gideon to go buy them rooms, and Gideon went about quickly and subtly scouting out their surroundings. At least they had their heads screwed on right. Zimmy looked kinda worn out- she'd been using a lot of Mist that night, and unlike Galahad, she wasn't as trained to withstand the burn. Unlike many of the others, Galahad was extremely economical about his Mist usage, and as a result, still had a fair amount of juice to go around. Conjuring a spell into a bead, Galahad wiped a bit of sweat from his brow and threw the bead on the top of the truck. At first glance nothing happened, but as soon as they got some twenty feet away, their military truck began looking considerably less like a military truck and more like a large, run down camper-van. With the amount of energy Galahad coalesced into that spell, it would last them at least until dawn.

Returning to most of the group just as food was starting to be passed around, Galahad grabbed at a sandwich and began scarfing it down. Only pausing to roll his eyes with a scoff as Lee asked the Princess what he thought was going to be a serious question. It was a stupid question indeed, but it did do its job, sort of. Zimmy was quick to tell him off before stomping off- the girl was tired. They all were.

Galahad realized he still held the Vangar sabre in his hand, his grip around it tight like it was a lifeline. Technically it was his lifeline as of the past hour or so, able to actually cut through the weird robots, where their other weapons merely smashed and pummeled. Able to now appreciate the weapon, Galahad examined the weapon, sheathed in a scabbard of fine, black ironwood, with subtle gold etching- its material and intricacies making Galahad realize just how expensive this weapon must have been. Even the ammunition cylinder and trigger fit into the weapon so well that from a distance, one would not be able to tell that it was anything other than a fine sabre.

"Incredible." Galahad murmured to himself. He'd appreciate it more if they weren't all so damn tired. Glancing at the Princess, he picked up and handed her the most least smashed bit of food remaining from their collection. Then, mustering all the courtesy the exhausted son of a general could:

"Eat, then sleep. No harm will come to you. We'll figure out what's going on tomorrow."

Out of all the members in the group, Trent was the first one to pass out when they got back into the army truck. He trusted each of these people for different reasons. He knew they wouldn't let death overtake them when they could still fight. So he took a Mist-induced nap, mental alarm set to go off when the worst of it had been done in.

Waking from Mist Sleep was like waking up after only five minutes and feeling like someone had run over your eyes with sand and salt. He rubbed them, blinking continuously to get his tear ducts to wet them. Stretching he started handing out the food, the other would have everything else sorted out, again he trusted them in this situation.

A traitorous thought kept nagging at him, he didn't trust them with his want to get out of dodge. To head home, take his family to a neighboring country, to hide and never come out of hiding. Food passed around, drink going next with a mix of alcohol and water and soft drink, Trent let out a sigh as Lee tried to lighten the mood and Zimmy snapped in her tired way. Galahad glamouring the truck startled a laugh from Trent and a soft smile as well.

"He is right," Trent spoke to the princess at last. "I think rest for everyone, I'll work on getting a storm coming in to cover us as we come and go from here."

He grinned at the lot, short as he was, hands behind his back in a very innocent looking manner, "I'll take the first watch. The small power nap in the tin-can over there was helpful. Thank you, Collette, for your superb driving." His smile was mixed with a bit of Mist, to get the others to start to pack up and head to the rooms Daryll had bought. He wasn't sure if any of them would listen to the inducement but he couldn't keep a few thoughts to himself.

Stepping up to Gideon and Setzer, nodding towards Galahad as well to gain his attention, "Odd, is it not? A ship that hides in Mist yet ripples it not? If Vangar had this before, during the siege, why not use it? I could not sense it, not until it's veil fell. I'll summon a storm for tonight, if that ship can hide in plain sight, I'd rather make it harder for the enemy to gain on us."

He would await one of the three's approval, his smile was still in place as he had spoken in a soft voice to not let the princess hear in case her being here was within itself a trap waiting to be sprung. The beads for communication earlier would pass on his worries to the others who were still awake. He kept the smile on his face and headed towards the army truck. It's going to be they're home for a while, he can feel it. Leaning back against the hood he looked up into the night sky, his hands down at his side, Mist gathering and heading up.

"Well, when I'm vacation I don't make a habit of keeping anti-magic shackles handy." Galahad answered Collete, as he approached their little gathering. In one hand he held a baseball cap for a local sports team, in the other a bottle of water. Galahad had already been up for a few hours, always the early riser, and had been handling the disguise of their truck and his morning Mist-training rituals, meant to further extend and make efficient his use of Mist, chances are they'd need it in the coming days. He had traded yesterday's garments for a less blood and sweat stained, but still non-descript outfit consisting of boots, jeans, and a plain jacket. The only thing really out of place was the ornate Vangar saber at his side. He'd go about concealing it with a spell later.

"and I won't bother trying to shackle a mage with zip-ties, paracord and chains." Galahad added as he joined them on the ground with a grunt. The implication was simple- shackling WARDENs and those similar to them had little use- almost all of them were strong enough and/or knowledgeable enough, to break their way out of simple bindings, and a mage could snap chains and binds with little effort. Nothing short of anti-magic shackles, or diterium-metal restraints could really stop them.

"All the same, its probably better for all of us if no one recognizes you." he said as he pulled the cap over her dark hair. He regarded her for a moment before he shrugged and sighed. "Well, could be worse- could be better- but could be worse." For $10, it would obscure her head profile and shade her face enough to hide her from recognition at any passing glance. In a group of half dozen 20-something-year-olds, maybe she'd be harder to notice.

Reaching across Setzer to grab at a hot dog, Galahad glanced at the small map he was regarding. He had remembered them talking about the Archives just a short moment ago. Setzer called it a boring place of books and math- and to that Galahad begrudgingly agreed. The Archives were a handy resource, but in this day and age when copies of most of their knowledge were abound and available in more forms than just book, Galahad found the Archives to be more of a tourist attraction than a place of learning. Though there were some bits of information in the Archives that weren't available for general print or public- perhaps they as WARDENs could access it.

"Also, isn't there a small military guard post near the Archive?" Galahad mused "We could convince them to lend us some gear, by official means or otherwise."

Out of the truck window came Daryll's voice, laden with sarcasm, accented by exhaustion. "Yeah, because everyone loves WARDEN. We'd be lucky if nobody tried to report us for something about being off duty or some shit. If we go officially, we'll need to prove who we all are, and then some database or another will show that we haven't started working yet." Daryll gave a heavy sigh as he clambered out and into the open air, cutting the conversations distance from five to two meters. Like everybody, his outfit was changed, although he'd had the sense to pack more cohesive clothing than Setzer, if only somewhat. Today's theme was vaguely blue, spread across his jeans, t-shit, and navy jacket.

"And we are not doing anything, as you so daintily put it, 'unofficially.' The sheer amount of trouble involved in that, both getting it done and the massive repercussions make it impossible to be worthwhile. You are literally the only one who has Daddy ready to help bail you out, and I don't see why we need to go to the archives anyways. What we need to do is report in." Daryll stopped himself there. He knew he needed to reign himself in, in a couple ways. First was that his usual attempts to be positive were fading fast in the face of his crappy mood and disdain for the type-A, high-and-mighty Galahad. More importantly, however, was the implications of his proposed course of action. Going directly to the capital is what every rulebook in all Rassvet military recommends. The capital needs information, and the princess should be kept in its safety, as well as her safety broadcasted to her family. The issue, when the princess realized it (and Daryll was certain she would soon), was that she would immediately become a hostage. Her highness's family would likely also be incredibly suspect about this third party, and unlikely to trust her own account so long as she was kept in captivity.

As much as Daryll wanted to be friendly to their de-facto guest, he was quickly realizing that she needed to be excluded from some discussions, for reasons unrelated to trust. "Fuck." He thought, "And here I hoped this could go well."

"Plan?" Gideon shrugged, and then continued in a low voice, "Archives make sense to me. I think we ought to think about what we're doing next real carefully, though. I figure our big, scary acquaintances are tracking anomalous Mist use and isolated signals out here; our new friend here is a mist user and they probably expect her to go for the first phone or radio set and call for help. So we should keep mum and get out of here. But Darryl's got a point; we cannot hide this forever. They just kicked off the war again. We're in the middle of the reason why. Deep shit," he added in conclusion. Those two words were the ones that kept him tossing and turning the night through. We. Are. In. Deep. Shit.

He'd seen the news reports on TV, because he'd been up early, and it shook him to the core. Gideon didn't like TV news much; some bobblehead reporter was hamming up how endangered they were for the camera. Gideon actually was rooting for a Vangar sniper to aim carefully next time. They missed real wide on the reporter, real fucking waste of a round. He was a newspaper kind of guy. Then he realized; the Vangar didn't just fire a stray round, the guy aiming the gun put followup shots on the reporter. They weren't worried about a kinder-gentler sort of invasion where they were telling everyone how nice it'd be once they took over and everyone got fitted for their collars. They were pushing with tanks and just blowing cover into rubble to get it all over with. The reporter, used to being treated as immune by the enemy, suddenly was realizing that it was a new phase of the war. Of course, the guy was so busy talking about how the Vangar Empire didn't respect the press that he missed the wider implications as the artillery rained down -- TOT, walked fire, very coordinated, and highly destructive, hitting places that'd been spared previously to root out resistance.

Gideon, of course, thought twisty, about detection and probabilities, and figured that someone was benefitting from this, and that would probably be the guys that engineered the whole fucking disaster by derailing the peace talks. And those guys would be looking for Collete and anyone that knew too much and had to be shut up before word got out.

Tradecraft, the spooks called it, and he had a passing acquaintance with it, but also a grounding in common sense and instinct. He liked the sneaky stuff, and he didn't believe in straight up fights. He also tried to get into the enemy's head, even when the enemy was mostly an unknown. He'd changed out clothes to something not sweat-stained and combat soiled. He'd also collected everyone else's dirty clothes and put them through a wash that was mostly intended to be a decontamination, to help disable mist-or-technological tracking, just in case someone put the trace on them -- it was when he caught the news reports and chewed on it mentally.

He'd paced all night long and gotten about three hours of sleep working through what he could on what little information there was. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with three buttons at the collar, two of them unbuttoned. It showed off shoulders and lats to good effect, and made him look like the jock he was. He threw a coat over that, mostly to cover up the gun he was still wearing underneath it, tucked away. There were some bags under his eyes, but he'd learned to move through things even when exhausted. He'd catch a cat nap sooner or later, he reckoned.

"So I suggest two ways of making that contact. Either we mail an old fashioned letter and wait a couple of days and take the scenic route, or we find a really populated place, preferably, during a sports event where we can get lost in traffic," he gestured to Colette's new hat, "and get a burner phone and make a call. I think we ought to really think about who we report to though, because if we tip off the wrong person, we might be swallowing polonium while 'detained' or eating a bullet. We're loose ends and people are going to stop caring about the nuances now that the Vangar Empire has stopped giving a shit about collateral damage."

Which meant that the pro-peace side was going to argue even more loudly that they couldn't withstand the magnitude of the Vangar war machine. Sure, there'd be an initial boost of patriotic animosity for the guys that invaded, but eventually there'd be renewed yells for peace. There would be calls for surrender and stopping the war fast by giving the Vangars everything they want.

"Anyway, I kind of favor option #2, we can do it on the way to the Archive, because more risk but...tick-tock. Our country is about to burn."

He was referring to the renewed offensive on the news. The Vangar invasion had been occupation-oriented before; they wanted to knock off the Rassvet government and probably turn the Royal Family into leash-dogs of some sort. They wanted the resources. But now? Well, it looked like they were driving harder, with more firepower and less concern for collateral damage. That was what awaited them on the front line.

Gideon wasn't Mr. Comforting when it came to a bleak outlook on factional politics or their strategic situation as a nation. Even in Rassvet, there was some really disturbing political hardball played in the name of varying agendas. Some people were going to be selling them out to stop the war; "It was their fault; here's the Palatine back. Yes, your Imperial Pissed Offedness, we took care of those meddling children. Please stop the shelling and accept their corpses as our abject apology and oath of fealty." Blam!

As a Royal Family member, he wasn't happy that Rassvet had its surrender monkeys and they were probably freaking out at this very moment. He just acknowledged that they'd be tripping over themselves to stop the war before a bunch of people died, which he supposed was an admirable goal that explained the potential methodology of just raising the white flag. They had stock portfolios, careers and children. They even had a point. But Gideon wasn't ready to just hand over the country to a bunch of guys that said, "Give it here."

Still, he detested the whole scenario, so he got it. Stop the madness and stop the bleeding. This wasn't even a war Rassvet started, but here they were.

Prepaid phone in a populated area might spoof them, might not, "In the meantime, we gotta start figuring out who might want to derail the peace efforts and why. So here's a good question for our new friend: Who knew your flight plans, and could identify that location as a good place to strike? Who knew on your side and who knew on our side?" He asked that calmly, without heat. It was a good question: if people turned her over to the wrong faction in Vangar, she'd be eating a bullet too, likely. Nothing was as monolithic as it seemed, even in an empire full of people marching around saluting the absolute ruler.

"Never again..." Lee grumbled early that morning when everyone first began to meet up for breakfast, "That damn vodka killed me and I'm dead. Damn that bottle and damn you Zimmy for bringing me out here and letting me get shit-faced." In one hand he held a water bottle, which anyone could see he'd already drank the original contents of and refilled with water again at least once judging by the wrinkling of the plastic. In his other hand he held his head, as he leaned forward in his seat and laid the point of his elbow against his leg in order to keep his arm vertical and head stable. He had one hell of a hangover, and he was regretting every moment of it.

"That's a lot more baggage than I expected."

Those had been his last words yesterday evening, in response to Colette giving him a legitimate answer last night. He now wondered if she had cursed him for it and intensified his hangover. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pissed a girl off that much.

"More eggs. More water." He practically begged as he slowly ate the plate of scrambled eggs that had been offered to him. He didn't remove his head from his hand as he ate and instead just put the bottle down, not daring to risk moving his head too much given his current state. Though that wasn't the only reason why, as he also was doing his best to use a bit of healing magic to try to cure his hangover. In all honesty, experiencing his first painful morning after a night of heavy drinking so many years back was the entire reason for him wanting to pick up healing magic in the first place. He did eventually learn the spell down to a science, and it was what lead him into delving deeper in the craft and start taking tutoring lessons in healing. Though he now wished he'd actually paid more attention back then, as high-tier healing sounded invaluable given the situation he now found himself in. If Galahad's bead barrier hadn't protected him yesterday, he knew he never would've been able to heal himself enough to continue escaping. He just wasn't as good as the true genius medics of WARDEN. Ha, it turned out his laziness throughout the years was already beginning to bite him in the ass...

Nonetheless, some time passed and his spell played out well enough. He could at the very least sit up straight without wanting to desire the sweet embrace of death anymore. It was around then that the rest of the group started showing up as well, all dressed in different attire than they'd been wearing last night. Which made sense, since their outfits had been trashed after the fight/flight with the killer robots. It had been particularly tragic for Lee when he realized his favorite blue jacket had been dirtied and damaged, and he made a personal request to Gideon to bring his jacket back in one piece when he took everyone's clothes to wash them. In the meantime, he was having to wear a spare change of clothes he'd brought with him: some dark jeans, a black V-cut shirt, and a thin gray undershirt. The color palette was a little more morose than what he usually wore, but it would have to do for now.

There was more important business at hand, however. With everyone showing up, it became time to try to come up with a plan of action, but of course everyone seemed to have differing ideas on what to do. Lee actually started to laugh a bit when things took a turn for the dramatic side, unable to help himself at all.

"Sorry, sorry," Lee apologized as he let out another chuckle, "Keep going, but I'm staying out of the planning phase. You know me, I'm not really the kind of guy to be a part of these kinds of talks." A small smile showed on his face, but he didn't look particularly happy. If anything, he looked rather melancholic. "I've gotta say though Daryll, even I felt the venom there. You sure you guys don't have a hate-love thing going on? It sure seems that way at times." Lee of course was actually oblivious to what Daryll's orientation was, and was just joking around for the sake of it. "I guess I shouldn't be one to talk though. Nice choice with the daddy card by the way, that's usually my plan of attack too when it comes to Gal."

He let the discussion continue, but Gideon managed to catch his attention.

"Ouch, yeah, I kind of forgot about politics," Lee grimaced, "Well in that case we're kind of screwed no matter what we do. If we do nothing, we become war criminals, ruin literally everything, and the war probably goes to the extreme and everybody dies. But if we bring Collie here to the capital, we still probably become war criminals and get blamed for what happened and everything still goes to shit. I mean it's not like anyone'll believe us if we tell them about the robot apocalypse, and we don't exactly have proof it even happened. Someone's gotta take the blame for what happened, might as well be us, right? And that's the best case scenario, worst case like Gid said is we get assassinated." He shook his head as he let out a sigh.

"Man we're screwed...but, it's not like we already weren't. Most of us were gonna die in a few weeks anyway, out on the battlefield." Third-Class WARDENS weren't exactly known for having a low mortality rate, after all. And it wasn't too much better for the Second-Class members either. No matter what, they were always going to run into an unhappy end. He really didn't see a way out of this, but the positive side of him was hoping that maybe everything could still turn out ok.

He turned expectantly to Colette after Gideon asked his question. He didn't really think she would just tell them confidential information like that, they were still technically enemies from two different sides of a war after all. But maybe she was desperate enough, or even vengeful enough, to let something like that slide for now.

"Setzer, before I forget," he started to say as an aside, in order to not interrupt Colette, "You look like shit. Also, you look pretty hurt from yesterday." He paused. "Don't worry, that was a joke and you still look pretty. Anyway, I'm not an expert, but I can patch you up and ease the pain a bit if you'd like."

“Sir? Hope you’re gonna pay for that.”

Trent snickered as he watched the half sleeping giant go about his morning routine. He stared at the orange juice container, sighed and went to put the one he had already gotten back. Heading back to the coffee machine he had taken over he went back to fixing up seven cups. His mind absently reaching out to the others feeling them awaken, shake off sleep or feel unease with their situation. It staggered Trent when he started sensing others emotions and realizing they weren’t his own. It’s part of the reason he had thrown himself into his books and studying. It wasn't so staggering now, unless he wasn't expecting it or if it was a strong mixture of emotions. Nowadays it hit his face like a breeze and moved on.

Humming and thinking and mixing coffee he suddenly realized his lack of free hands and this little store being out of car carriers. Trent cursed all those out there who hadn’t thought to get coffee because some of them NEEDED it to continue on with their lives, read Trent liked his coffee and would slice off heads without it.

He smiled at the clerk, as he told him how many coffees he had, yes seven. Yes they were all for him, what was the man behind the counter, daft!? An eye-roll with a smile and a call to keep the change, he whistled a soft tune and suddenly had seven containers of liquid of the gods circling him. He paused in the doorway out, having the cups lined up behind him. Shaking his head from thoughts of wiping out the cashier’s mind of his Mist usage and Setzer’s facial features he continued calling the cups as one would call a stray dog. Trent breathed in the fresh air and sighed. These next few days were going to be stress filled. Trent hadn't thought to grab a postcard to send to his family either.

As he got nearer to his group he stumbled for a moment, Daryll’s wariness combined with Gideon’s unease had him gasping for breath. In that singular moment between gasp and stagger, he pulled a book out from the hoodie pocket he was wearing and stuck his nose in it. Appearances after all, had to be kept. A plain forest green hoodie, over one his flannel button-ups and loose black jeans covering up combat boots he had swiped out of his bag. They were his most comfortable clothing he had gone with the Daryll to get them actually and that made him smile into his book. As he continued forward he pretended to be engrossed in his book.

"Anyway, I kind of favor option #2, we can do it on the way to the Archive, because more risk but...tick-tock. Our country is about to burn."

Trent walked up to Gideon and stood to the side, coffees still orbiting him like a miniature sun. Trent waited for Gideon to take a breath before he placed a cup of black coffee into Gideon's hands. Trent’s face was still buried in his book so he couldn't see the reaction he received.

“Extra strong, you should have slept,” was all Trent muttered to the prince in an off hand member as if he couldn’t feel the exhaustion coming off him. For all Trent knew, it was coming off all of them. He poked Daryll in the chest with his cup next, and sent him a searching look from over the rim of his book. When he felt the wariness wane the tiniest bit he smiled and patted Daryll’s shoulder. “Half hot chocolate, half coffee if you want extra go get it yourself.”

He moved onto Setzer next, and couldn’t keep the grin off his face, “I had OJ for you, but someone isn’t patient.” He left Setzer’s coffee floating in front of him. Black the same as Gideon’s. Trent stood off to the side of Lee, his nose still in his book as he snatched Lee’s coffee out of the air.

“More sweetener then coffee,” Trent smirked. “How you can stand that I’ll never know.” Trent moved off as he nodded when Lee agreed about the worst case being assassination. Trent sent Galahad his coffee knowing the other mage would take over the Mist induced spell to grab his. A touch of creamer and five packets of sugar went into Galahad’s coffee. Zimmy’s pure hot chocolate that he handed to her himself and sat down nest to Collette, he wasn’t sure how she would take her coffee so had her cup, along with creamers and sugar packets at the ready.

"Man we're screwed...but, it's not like we already weren't. Most of us were gonna die in a few weeks anyway, out on the battlefield."

“Speak for yourself,” Trent spoke up finally throwing in his two-cents into the discussion. His voice slightly cynical as he kept his eyes firmly planted on the book, finally turning a page. “I planned on taking out a large group before I burned into nothing but a Mist Crazed Lunatic. I’ll skip on my own death, thanks. My votes the Archives for what it’s worth. Get supplies, plus there’s something down that way I’d like to stop and see if it’s all the same to you. Farm land past the Archives, might be a place to hide there if we had too.” Trent kept his voice level, and went back to his book. Cussing as he cut his finger on a page and went digging into his pocket for a band-aid. Of course he cut him on the thumb below the other bandage upon it. He didn’t feel eyes on him when he spoke of wanting to see something outside so he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Plus, the Archives might have a spell to dismantle that spell that concealed the airship, I don’t think even I could have dented it, had I tried.” Another shrug and nose back in his book. He liked this one, he’d read it five or ten times he wasn’t sure but it was well loved.

Zimmy pulled the rough blanket tighter around her. She'd woken up cold as all hell. Try as she might, she couldn't get the cold to leave her. Her best guess was either that she had contracted a nasty illness from that mattress, or that she was suffering the consequences of getting so close to Mist Burn last night.

The thoughts in her head didn't help either. Some small fragment of her laughed. Wow, the witty, quippy, Zimmy Morander, brought so low and...silent. What a whelpybitch. Still other parts of her felt perfectly justified at taking it easy: she had consumed an absolutely mad amount of alcohol yesterday, then infused her very being with magical might. Drunk magic was even worse than drunk science, no matter what anyone said.

And then there was the whole RCI thing. The sleep she'd gotten hadn't made her feel any better about the situation. It was just...suspicious. And she couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching her. That was what shadowy organizations did, right? So she'd left the bracelet, and her phone, in the room when she'd woken up. Then she'd stepped outside, sworn colorfully, went back inside, and grabbed the blanket.

She should tell them about the bracelet. It was obviously important in this situation. But if it really was some top secret Rassvet intelligence organization, and she just bandied about their secrets, what would happen then? She doubted they'd be too pleased with her.

Then talk turned to their next plan, and Zimmy perked up slightly. Orestia? Something in her shied away from that: they'd come out on this trip to avoid the Citadel, hadn't they? No, it wasn't that, it was the stupid bracelet again. She sighed.

"I'm gonna come out and say something that...nobody here should repeat, on pain of death. Meaning, I'll kill you if you do, in your sleep, with a fishhook." She looked at the foreign princess. "As much as I like you, Colette, you're going to have to step away for this one." Zimmy waited patiently until it was just WARDEN around the stove.

"I...uh, when I graduated, a shadowman came up to me and asked me to join a Rassvet intelligence group. He calls it Rassvet Collections Institution. Does that ring a bell to anyone?" She forged ahead to finish her story before they started talking again. "The guy contacted me last night and started asking about the Palatine. They weren't asking about us, specifically, but I was suspicious of it. And now we have no idea what to do. I figured keeping it to myself is a bad idea."

She pulled the blanket close again. "I'm a shitty spy, aren't I? She chuckled dryly, a tiny smile on her lips. "I just don't think I'm willing to go against my gut here, you know? Unless one of you know what this agency is for sure, I'm worried that I might have stumbled into a big conspiracy, or something." She sighed. "My vote's on the Archives, by the way."

Institution for Higher Existence? Zimmy's heart sank like a rock. So...she had been worthless, then? A pawn for an organization that wasn't even from her own country? She got into the truck silently, a shadow across her face. The phone and bracelet were forfeit now, of course. Everything else she hadn't even bothered to unpack.

So...there was nothing to make her different from the other WARDEN sobs who had come before her, then. She was just a part of the pack. What would her parents say? Could she even tell them? They'd always been so understanding, but this...this was not something she could see them being pleased with. She'd been recruited by an apocalyptic cult, fresh out of the academy. Literally a fucking cult.

Not only had she been recruited, but she had happily worn their stupid fucking bracelet since then, probably spying for them on her own friends and comrades since she graduated. Oh gods above, was she a traitor now? Had she been a traitor since she put the bracelet on? Did Rassvet even have laws dealing with doomsday cult, ex-intelligence groups roping unsuspecting WARDEN into a lie?

They probably did, she realized. She hadn't even tried to look into the organization. She'd just grabbed the fucking thing and put it on like an idiot. All of the Rassvet Intelligence groups would have been open to her scrutiny! She'd had the clearance, she just hadn't given a shit to look into it.

"Fuck my life," Zimmy hissed. End result: she wasn't particularly strong with the Mist, good at fighting, strategically intelligent, wealthy, or politically inclined. So what exactly was her use then? A great, heaping helping of nothing?

She slammed her fist into the truck's side, rubbing her temples with one hand. She didn't think she would cry: Zimmy wasn't a crier, even in the worst of circumstances. In fact, she didn't get angry much either: usually, she had one of the more level heads in WARDEN. At least, that's what she thought: something had to have stopped her from getting caught every time she lied through her teeth.

This was different though. This was an upending of who she'd thought she was. No, she wasn't going to cry. Instead, she continued to smash her fist into the metal of the truck until she felt something pop slightly. "Fuck," she growled again. The sudden pain finally forced her to raise her head.

"Lee!" she called, her voice surprisingly steady. "I...uh, help?"

"You're spoiling me, Trent," Lee said gratefully with a smirk as he accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip from it, "Ahhhh...that's the good stuff. Thanks Trent." He didn't get to hold on to it for too long however, as Setzer soon accepted his offer for medical treatment. "Alright big guy, you know the drill. Try not to squirm and avoid using any Mist until I'm done." He went over to Setzer's side, letting out a yawn as he did so, before he then held out his hands in front of him until they were hovering within just an inch or so of his frame, and then got to work.

First things first, he made it a point to start working on that pain and soreness issue that Setzer had been dealing with. Temporarily shutting down pain sensors in his nerves while encouraging a natural flow of endorphins to flow through his body and to his brain was something he was skilled enough at to not screw up. It was tricky and time-consuming, but it was something all students in the medical field had to learn, and it was generally considered that if someone could understand the process, then they could theoretically learn all other Mist-based medical techniques by using it as jumping off point. After all, they had to use Mist in such an acute and precise manner in order to manipulate the human body, one of the if not the most complicated system in the entire world. Lee was just lucky that acute and precise Mist usage was his forte; had he been the type to haphazardly expend Mist like it was nobody's business, or hell, even spent average amounts of it like the standard WARDEN unit, he never would've been able to pick up healing magic. He sometimes thought of it as a form of hilarious irony, that someone like him was subtle with his Mist usage when his outward persona was anything but subtle. Though speaking of Mist usage-

"Don't tell me you'd actually prefer becoming a zombie," Lee responded to Trent in hardly hidden surprise, "We've all heard the horror stories. There's...definitely no way that it would be worth it. But I guess that's just my perspective on it." Mist Burn was practically considered the boogeyman of the WARDENs. It was always drilled into everyone's heads that Mist Burn needed to be avoided at all costs, even in his medical training it was brought up as an issue since healers were technically inserting Mist into their patient's body. While Lee himself had never experienced it or ever became dangerously close to experiencing it, he knew about others back at the Citadel who'd been Burned. The ones who'd been overzealous, who'd been so desperate in proving themselves to their peers and instructors, or even just flat out ignored the dangers of Burning. The numbers weren't high, considering how the few victims there were was enough to scare most of the trainees into being more careful with their Mist usage, but the fact that there were still so many who had been Burned and had experienced (or in some cases, were still experiencing) its effects was honestly incredibly chilling. Lee really hoped that Trent would never enter such a state, he hoped none of his friends and comrades ever would, but Trent...he just didn't deserve that kind of fate.

Lee was switched out from his current train of thought when he heard Colette begin to answer Gideon's questions. At this point he had moved on to focusing his attention on Setzer's head, as a quick internal report through his body had let him know that the worst injury he'd sustained had been to his noggin. That's right, hadn't one of the robots punched him in the face, or something like that? Honestly he was surprised its fist hadn't gone straight through his head, yet as far as he could tell Setzer was barely suffering anything more than a minor concussion. Dear God, what the actual fuck was this guy? Lee was glad to have what was basically a super soldier on his side, but he was honestly kind of scared of what Setzer was capable of. No human being should be this resilient, or this incredibly strong either for that matter.

"So anyone who would know the important details is either dead, you, or your dad," Lee recounted as he listened to Colette's explanation while continuing on with the healing process, "That doesn't leave a lot of wiggle room for possible suspects, does it?" With that information, it meant that only Colette herself or the King of Vangar could have leaked the details necessary to launch yesterday's ambush, but that didn't really seem all that likely. "Of course, the traitor could actually be one of the dead," Lee suggested, "That's a possibility. One of your Dragoons could've spilled the beans, but then was killed to make sure that fact was never let out. But what are the chances of that?" It wasn't like anyone could prove it either, the dead can't speak after all.

Zimmy began to speak up after that, claiming she had death-as-punishment worthy news. As it turned out, she wasn't exaggerating, as what she told them was shocking, to say the least. Before Lee could get a word in, Colette pretty much beat him to the punch and answered all of the questions he was about to ask.

"Hey! No squirming rule, remember!?" Lee exclaimed when Setzer practically flailed in response to Colette appearing to suddenly show up. It was a simple enough illusion spell, but Lee had to admit that he hadn't been able to sense it either. "Source of Mist...?" Lee repeated slowly. Well that was news to him, but then again if it was already known he likely just hadn't been paying attention before. Though what really caught his attention was how...authoritive Colette sounded for a moment there. Had he had a death wish, he would've commented something along the lines of "That was kinda hot.", but he had enough brains to know not to push it that far, especially when they were trying to have a serious discussion. It was something Lee actually felt seriously about as well, in all honesty. Everything Zimmy had said about this group, the 'Rassvet Collections Institution', had sounded shady as all hell, and the Princess confirmed his suspicions and then some. This was definitely some conspiracy shit that was going on, and whether he liked it or not, he was now a part of it.

"Damn," Lee said simply, finishing up the healing by now and just doing a quick touch up to make sure none of Setzer's bones had been fractured or broken, "We're being screwed at every conceivable angle. I was kind of hoping that the first time I said that would have a more fun context to it, but this...this isn't fun. Not at all." He sighed, then finally lowered his hands as he stopped the flow of Mist. "Alright Setzer, nothing's broken and you don't have to worry about your possible concussion anymore. You're probably gonna be sore again later once the endorphins wear off since you sort of overexerted yourself yesterday (as usual), and I can't really do anything about that unless you just want me to give you a massage or something. I mean, I could, just putting that out there, but we probably don't have time for that." Though he wasn't sure how much Setzer had gotten of that, since he was more than eager to get going on the road again. Right, they probably should sooner rather than later. It wouldn't be good to stay in one spot for long.

Lee kept most of his stuff in the truck, so he didn't have much of anything to pack up. Cleaning up their camping supplies wouldn't take long, and he figured it was probably better if he left it to the others, partially because they'd know where to put it away in the truck, and partially because he was too lazy to help out with that. Once inside the truck, he tried to relax for a moment and sort his thoughts, but he kept hearing a banging noise. He was about to ask what was making such an annoying sound, but then he heard Zimmy call for him, and he quickly realized she'd been the one making the noise. With a sigh, he got up from his seat and made his way over to her. He eyed the dent in the truck side next to her, and then glanced down at her currently bruising hand. It wasn't hard to put two and two together here.

"...So you tried to fight several tons of steel and lost, right?" Lee asked rhetorically. His little quips usually had some 'zest' to them, you could say, but it fell flat this time considering the mood at the moment. He looked down and away for a moment before turning back to her and continuing, "I'll fix you up, if your hand isn't broken it shouldn't take long." He sat down across from her and took her hand into one of his, while he let his free hand hover just above her's as he began the healing process. Kill the pain, assess the damage, patch it up one bit at a time. Same process, different subject.

"You did the right thing, you know?" Lee told her after a round of awkward silence, "Punching the truck I mean. Not the 'accidentally joining a cult' thing, that's pretty bad. But letting out whatever you're feeling is the best thing you can do right now, trying to hold that kind of shit in will just eat away at you." The melancholic smile from before returned, but it was a little more subdued this time as he was trying to focus on her hand. "But I think you also did the right thing by telling us. That had to take a lot of courage, more than I've got at least."

Collab with @Mercenary Lord

Daryll was the last to enter the truck, having taken the moment to check the dent Zimmy left behind. While he was no expert, it clearly wasn't about to make the rust-bucket break down. He closed the door behind him and took a seat on Zimmy's left, away from the hand Lee was focusing on. He had no phobia of blood, but averted his gaze from the sight regardless.
A minute later, even after Lee had finished his work, Daryll knew something was up. Zimmy's quiet was unnatural to someone who had known her for so long. Even in the past, when she'd have the standard WARDEN mid-year confidence crisis, there was always a face put forward. An act of normalcy while she tried to tuck away the pain. Not even that was present on this morning.
"Hey..." Daryll said, quietly as he could over the rumbling engine. He set his hand gingerly on Zimmy's shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort. "You know you saved my ass last night, right?"

Zimmy didn't look at anyone while Lee worked on her hand. She didn't want to see their sympathy, their confusion. "Thanks, Lee," was all she said, before turning to face Daryll. She looked at his feet, her lips moving wordlessly for a few moments. "I wanted to be something special," she said. "Mom and dad: they were something special. They were Second Class, you know? Higher-ups. They could have gone First if they hadn't had me."
"So, you know, they wanted me to carry the torch. Pressured me a lot to get into training and practicing and reading. They were...tough on me. Not mean or hurtful, but I had to earn my praise, yeah?" She sniffed, rubbing her nose with her non-damaged hand. She would not cry.
"I told them that something really big had come my way. Something special, that would make them proud. They believed me. I believed me. Any now look at me. I got duped. Fuckin' doomsday cult recruited me to be a spy, to spy on my own friends. And I didn't even stop to think about why I was special. Why they'd chosen me. Because I'm a fucking gullible idiot, Daryll. That's why."

Daryll stayed quiet for a few moments, processing what he had heard. None of the details were new, but the framing was. He chose his words with some care.
"Everyone has a weak point. It's as true in combat as it is about ourselves. These guys don't sound like any sort of joke. I don't wanna know how long they spent researching you and creating the perfect pitch, but I doubt any of us could've resisted if they had chosen a different target. But do you know why they chose you? Not for gullibility, but because you're the best of us at that shit. Let's be honest, if anyone in this truck was going to not only sneak their way behind enemy lines, but cause pandemoneum while still staying uncaught? It'd be you. It's like a vote of confidence."
Daryll put on a cheesy gruff voice, hoping to lighten the mood on their corner of the benches. "This girl! This one's gonna survive! We can't let all our work go to waste!" He dropped it, looking Zimmy right in the eyes with a smile. "And you know what? They're right. You're alive, I'm alive, we all made it! Heck, they underestimated you! Realistically speaking they got what? One day of intel out of what must've been at least a year until they approached you? You've practically thrown the whole thing in their face!"

"Never been very good at following instructions," Zimmy muttered, before looking at Daryll for the first time. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm an idiot. Am I a traitor to my country now? I know I can spy. That's all I can do, Daryll: I'm not great a fighting head on, if you haven't noticed."
She sighed. "I can't even remember if I went anywhere classified after they gave me that fucking bracelet. For all I know, it could have been recording everything I saw as well. Who knows what weird Mist shit they've cooked up?"
She nursed her recently repaird hand while she spoke, as if not quite believe that it was whole again. To be honest, she hadn't even felt any pain after she'd smashed it to bits. She snorted. "You know, I used to be the funny one. Now look at me."
Daryll decided to take her literally and gave her a quick scan. Her clothes were as clean as anyone's, although she seemed even more exhausted, hunched over, with her elbows on her knees and head on her hands. Daryll didn't expect some instant recovery, but brooding would only hurt his friend.
"I don't understand why you say "used to." Everyone has slumps, and this one is just hitting particularly hard. I'm not going to claim it'll all go back to whatever we're supposed to call normal, but you're still the Zimmy I've known. Perhaps a bit more wary and a touch more wise, yet I have no doubt you are fundamentally the same excitable young woman who had half our year guessing at what the hell was going to happen next. Plus, there's no use brooding on what they may have seen. You can't take it back, you've stopped giving them more, and even that info is becoming more outdated by the second."
Daryll gave a long pause, wanting to find good words which could give some sense of temporary closure. "No matter what happens, Zimmy, I'm here if you need me. Just say the word and I'll be there to listen, to fight, or help with your latest mischief. I'm sure Trent and Lee would be delighted to as well." He gave her a gentle pat on the back and a smile. It was a sad smile, but sincere.
"Lee literally just wants to have sex with everyone I swear to god," Zimmy muttered, leaning back and putting her head against the wall. "He'd fuck his own shadow if it had tits."
Daryll was right, of course. Dickhead. Always being rational. There was nothing to do now but keep moving. Their lives were very much in danger. "Well, we did kind of kick some ass, didn't we? Did you think that aerial shit would have actually worked? I told everyone, didn't I? It's genius."
Daryll perked up slightly at the change of topic. "Probably best not to do it without good covering fire, but yeah. Leaves them helpless!" He mused for a moment, knowing very well that Lee was still mere feet in front of them, and Zimmy was just as aware. "We might wanna come up with a few more tricks, actually. And coordinating that stuff would be awesome. Both of us up in the air would be tricky, especially since you didn't spend too-many-goddamn-hours practicing spot-teleportation. Still, I'm sure there's a load of shit that we could cook up..."
They passed a solid hour this way, tossing suggestions back and forth, cooking up absurd "tactics" that may be liable to get them killed. They even pulled others in for feedback every now and then, whiling away their time in the rickety old truck.

Trent went beat red in the face at Lee’s words countering his own careless statement. He hadn’t thought at all what Lee would think of that and closed his book with a silent clap. This was the same man now, then a boy, who Trent had pestered for days on end to get him to smile during and after class. He even sat between Daryll and Lee throwing puns at each other and wanting to throttle the both of them. He could sense the slight confusion at Trent’s words and worry was suddenly consuming him. Trent shuddered as he thought of the videos he was sure Lee was thinking of. They hadn’t been pretty and had been used by Galahad and his teachers when Trent had supped too deeply of the Mist’s allure.

He patted Lee on his shoulder as he passed. Partly to show his apology and partly to soothe his own guilt. He turned to focus on Zimmy explaining the bracelet and Colette refuting it and showing she was no sneeze with her Mist usage and it’s abilities. He still couldn’t hear her and the world still went quiet so he went back to his book in his hands and dove deep into his thoughts working mechanically as he helped break down the site they had used for their breakfast. Maybe Colette was like a crystal. From how she spoke, it would make the most sense, since Mages USED what was in the area and it sounded like she PRODUCED Mist.

“Collette...” he turned to ask her and she vanished. He blinked and would deny it later but the slight squeal of terror from the horn blasting had come from him. He figured he could wait to ask her what she meant and possibly interrogate her about what she meant exactly and WHY he couldn’t hear her. It was bothersome.

It didn’t cross his mind to go talk to Zimmy, they weren’t extremely close, sure they would help each other in a few classes they shared. Trent would be a sound board for some of her prank ideas against Lee when he was in the middle of a battle with him. Same way with Trent helping Lee but he was neutral ground and kept it that way though forced shows of power. He’d admit to himself he’d never lift a finger to hurt his friends, but if push came to shove he wouldn’t be used. His mind was going off on tangents and it was starting to frustrate him.

Pulling at the Mist, he set it to turn the fire to embers, the pan used for the eggs to cleanliness, the food to return to it’s storage, the coffee cups that had been dropped or emptied to fly towards the trash. He opened his book again and made it look like he was reading the words as he walked towards the Dastardly Deathtrap.

He half listened to Zimmy and Daryll and smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, nodding along and wanting to put in his two-cents but keep his words to himself. He was getting to the part where the prince found out his butler was really the evil villain behind the story when he heard his name from Daryll and blinked a few times to get reality and fantasy to separate themselves. He cursed silently about forgetting his glasses at the school and not packing them. Reading glasses weren’t cool, according to his royal pain in the arse, Gideon Anbruch.

“I’m sure we can come up with something to terrorize a bunch of librarians to help you feel like you,” Trent grinned whilst looking back down at his book. When they went off about working their aerial shit as Zimmy put it, he snorted, he added. “I can give you the cover fire if needed. Give you a tempest to get you higher or add pockets of gravity to draw you down faster. I’m sure we can figure something out.” Trent sighed internally and de-summoned his book back into a Mist Pocket pulled his guns out and started to clean them as the group rumbled along.