In spite of everything, Eclair takes a moment to smile. Her fingers caress the words on the tablet, curling over 'Eclairette' as if to capture the diminutive of her name inside her fist and lift it into her heart. A precious gift, this attention. Strength itself. She would not waste it.

It was no good responding to Evening with words. It was little good responding at all, but sometimes love overwhelms practicality. A flourish of a sword, a stiff nod, salute, and curtsy, a flustered smile and flush of the cheeks, the twist of a shy foot against the ground. They all meant the same thing. Even from here she would be seen, no matter the gesture.

Eclair picks up her tablet and climbs back out the window she slipped in from. Farewell, first home. Thank you, though it comes far too late to help. She stands with her back to the street, holding the tablet in front of her and waiting on the precipice. Watching the bats in all their glittering mystery as they swirl and circle across the city. Back and forth, back and forth, they carry the fire of Vespergift and the dreams of the Avels with equal ease. Do they flee the city and the smoke? Or do they dance above it all?

The fires above, and the fires below. Eclair Espoir, lit in soft red from the tips of her ears to the end of her tail. The shadows paint her face in pure determination. Does she smile, does she burn, does she chill the air around her with cool perfection? The truth is in the eye of the beholder. This is the image she sends to Evening, along with a violet heart reaction.

She tucks her tablet away. She straightens her hair. She draws the iridescent curved sword that is the first section of her heartblade. She closes her eyes. She leans backwards.

And Eclair Espoir falls. Her knees bend to match the curve of her spine as she turns through the air until her position is inverted. Face first, she hurtles toward the lower streets in silence and serenity. The city is burning: what could that possibly be considered but the greatest mess anywhere? It has been long enough to clear the streets to the point where her face should no longer cause panic and confusion. Now is the time to finish washing away the Rot Star's grime and ensure that this last and least of homes does not crumble on top of its injuries.

She thrusts her sword toward the ground, a simple vertical strike with the blade held flat against her opposite hand. Not a codified technique, hardly even a particular skill worth mentioning, but Light and physical force enough to halt her fall and give her something to do other than dig a well with her skull. Once she feels the edge bite into the cobblestone she lets her body turn limp and melts over the side of the hilt until she brushes against the ground. A simple shoulder roll, with particular care taken to not flip her skirts overmuch and she is back on her feet with just enough time to dust herself off before her skateboard hits the streets and sends her rushing through the city.

She does not, of course, know the secret of cutting fire. That is the sort of miracle that requires a true hero like Princess Heron to manage. But as she is otherwise engaged in... well. That thought deserved unpacking later. For the moment it is enough that she is not coming. Luckily, years of playing detective and charting the imagined escape of her and Mayzie's many 'culprits' has left Eclair with an intuitive understanding of the waterways of Vespergift. And it is a far simpler thing to guide a river than to fight an inferno.

"I have of course heard of the Yukisearth combat technique called 'surfing'. I am excited to see how different it is in practice from skateboarding."