[center]> by the pricking of my thumbs,[/center]

Time has righted itself. It's disorienting; the same distant flames that had taken eternity to change shape now sputter away as usual, the same gust of ash and soot that she had seen billow up in a slow molasses crawl dissipates with her next blink. Where she'd been so [i]certain[/i] that she had been trapped there for hours, days, [i]longer[/i], she now realizes it must have only been a few heartbeats. What a clever trick! She'd rather chew the business end of all these spears laying around than experience it again, but, still. Admiration where admiration is due. 

"[b]Did I frighten you? I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to. I should have been a better listener. Rest assured, I don't think you'd need your spear to stop me. A stiff wind would do it, [i]eheh[/i].[/b]" She's back on proper timing, so that means she's going to [i]talk some more[/i]. Meko gets an apology, first. She doesn't really mean it (is much sorrier for herself for having to endure a consequence), but she'd like to show some gesture of kindness and an apology will suffice. She hopes it also softens the tone of her following question: "[b]What is the matter with you? You're smoking. Is this normal? Is it like how that other gentleman is on fire? Does it hurt? Does it have a taste? Or a smell? You tell me. I don't want to frighten you again by getting close to smell it myself.[/b]" 

Now, to speak again of admiration where admiration is due...she turns her grinning face to the man with the lightning-hands, clasping her own together at her chest. "[b]And [i]you![/i] You little [i]hero,[/i] you, how did you do that? It was very impressive, however you did it. I almost swooned. Still might.[/b]" She's laying it on thick. Consequences matter and she has no weapons, held or innate, to contend with The Horrors. So if she can ingratiate herself to someone [i][s]useful[/s][/i] "[b]—chivalrous! That's the better word. I'd give you a prize but it seems I've misplaced my everything, so I hope an IOU will tide you over.[/b]" That grin twitches wider, held so long it becomes only teeth. Only aching cheeks. Then it falls and her attention is spinning away again, trying to catch up with everything she'd missed in her thousand-year-moment.

The old lady. Their shaman. With such darling braids. She'd been the one who magic-tricked the soot up, up, and away after the muddy-haired man brought her, and now she's mingling with the others. Or, had been, answering questions and the like before halting with that look of dismay shared by her compatriots. Something terrible has just happened, hasn't it? But when this woman shuffles about, craning to look, all she can see up so high is the person that'd waved at her before, only identifiable at this distance by their dress. "[b]Gracious! They've more than just the [i]face[/i] of an angel.[/b]" She's all the more excited to learn about that one, now, though the three here with more of their bearings than all the rest don't seem nearly as enthused. Meko's aside to the blind man sounds as grim as they all look, and—

And then there is a terrible noise.

She's curious, excited to see what could make such a sound until she remembers, again, that she needs to take the threat of danger seriously. She isn't quite sure how to go about acquiring a missing instinct like self-preservation but hopefully it's nothing a little practice can't help with.

"[b]You didn't know. I trust that you will do your very best to fix this. That's all we can hope to do when we make mistakes.[/b]" Presumably it was the angel's ascent that had triggered whatever is on its way to them, now. They seem more than ready to fend off whatever they'd provoked, though, so she settles for the tame guilt trip and leaves it at that. Many of these new friends have such charming noble streaks. She'd like to encourage that behavior whenever possible. [i]Decide now: run, hide, or prepare yourselves.[/i] It's a good enough suggestion that she stows all the questions she's brewing up for the angel. [i]Later, then.[/i]

She looks to the mounds of the dead. How many of them had been similarly ill-equipped as her? [i]How many more were far more capable and died anyway?[/i] Fire has begun to rain down upon them, but the shaman has done another trick to shield their heads for now. This woman is all out of laughter, or else she'd chuckle again at their circumstances. Nothing about hell is funny when the fire can singe you. It occurs to her, as she stares, just how perfect of a thing a corpse really is. Empty. Something that could hold you if you asked. 

[i]And on the inside you know everything there is to know. That's love.[/i]

It can't happen now, not with her own body in the way (how could they be together with so much meat between them?), but the thought doesn't leave her once she has it. First she'll have to keep her body safe. Then she'll have to let it go. [i]And then...[/i]well. She'll know when she knows. 

"[b]Any of you valiant hero types, you have my utmost confidence. Whatever comes a-sniffin' won't be expecting such a dashing line-up.[/b]" If she had pom-poms, she'd shake them. "[b]Good luck![/b]" And she's off, staggering toward the nearest protected mound of corpses. She may not be able to get inside of them the way that she wants to right now, but surely if she's polite when moving them around they won't mind her using their communal grave to hide for a bit.