On the continent of Europa, Baron Wulfenbach’s Pax Transylvania remains in full force. Upon the Baron’s return to the lands nearly fifteen years ago, he discovered that his one time friends and allies, The Heterodyne Brothers, had vanished and that the powers that be had fallen into bloody chaos and disorder. Crazed scientists, Sparks, waged war with one another, turning whole sections of the landscape into vast Wastelands. Baron Wulfenbach struck back against this and imposed his own iron order upon them. His unofficial motto: “Don’t Make Me Come Over There.” His Empire is ruled from his flying castle, where Sparks and their creations are recruited to serve Europa and the Baron.
In and around the Wastes are small villages, places forgotten by the powerful. These townfolk are raised in fear and ignorance of Sparks, even minor ones. Deadly war machines and constructed monsters without masters still roam the Wastes randomy and often pillage the towns along the edges. And should any of the villagers start to display a talent for invention, the mobs come with their pitchforks and bonfires to prevent any further destruction at the hands of science.
But some of these monsters are not so random, nor bent soley on terrorizing the humans who cower behind their walls. Some have a purpose, a goal. And some are unrelenting...
*~*~*
Jötz picked his fangs with his littlest claw while he watched the village. With the sun setting in the autumnal evening, it looked peaceful. Idyllic even. It was unsettling to the Jäger that the world should be so at peace, without the cries of the wounded, the shrieks of victims, the sobbing of maidens. But the green-furred Wild Jäger was nothing if not optimistic. There was something going on in the village, some sort of hubbub, of that he was certain. Only there wasn’t the smell of beer and pretzels in large enough quantities to justify a party of some sort, nor was there any sort of parade or music to mark a special occasion. What there was, was fire. Or at least a lot of smoke. Not a cooking fire by the scent of it, for there was too much greenwood burning for that. The stench of pitch and tar tinted the air as well. A tar and feathering, then? Nothing like a good old tar and feathering for a cold, autumn night!
He tch’d and reached an overly long arm up to the tree branch above, yanking himself up with the strength that only one of the Heterodyne’s Jägers could manage so easily. Once upon the limb he pushed his battered brown derby back on his head to scratch at his pointed ears. What was going on, that was the question! Why would everything look so peaceful but feel so tense? His large brown eyes squinted, hoping that something else would make itself obvious soon.
What really annoyed him was his own impatience. Granted he was one of the younger of the Jägerkin, only a half century at old despite the fact that his human-ish features still left him looking in his twenties. Older Jägerkin tended to be more patient, but more destructive in turn. Jötz envied them both of those qualities. After nearly twenty years of searching on his own, separated from the rest of the Heterodyne’s loyal soldiers, Jötz found his patience waning. Why the Generals thought there might still be a Heterodyne out in the world somewhere was beyond him; the Brothers were gone and lineage was well documented. Then again, the old Heterodynes had been a rowdy bunch. He supposed it was possible there was some bastard line out there somewhere, some heir they could restore to rule. It would be so nice to go home again! To share draft in the Jägerhall with his comrades and friends that he hadn't seen for over a generation, to serve a Heterodyne again, to rampage across the hillsides and valleys with wild abandon just like in the old days...
Good times, good times. Good times that would never come about if an heir was ever discovered. An't if there was one thing Jötz was good at it, it was gambling; he didn't like the long odds on this. Still, it was his duty and he had volunteered for this exile rather than serving Klaus Wulfenbach like some dog. True, the Jägers that had taken service with the Baron had only done so upon the agreement that they be released to serve any of their former master's descendants should they appear, but Jötz still somehow felt that they had somehow betrayed the House of Heterodyne.
Perching himself in the crook of a branch, he wrapped himself up in his tattered wool cloak. He’d wait and see what happened, he decided. “After all, I’s got no place to be at anyvay,” he muttered.
--
"Th-three point one four one five nine two six five..."
The panted numbers kept insidiously perfect time with the pounding of bare feet. Well, mostly bare. She had stockings on. Somehow. How had that happened? And why couldn't she remember? Though it hardly seemed to matter. More important was the fact that Mama Petra would undoubtedly throttle her once she found out she'd stained her white stockings dirt brown. Well. If Mama Petra found out. And the way things were going, it did not look like she would.
"...three five eight nine seven nine..."
A patch of loose gravel nearly sent her sprawling, headfirst, into the darkening Wastelands spread before her. She regained her balance with a grace far from characteristic and kept running. In her mind's eye, she could feel the tongues of flames at her back, the horrible mystery of sharpened points at her neck. She'd only wanted to help! How was it possible she was running for her life?
"...three two three eight four six..."
The same life spent in the quaint and quiet little hovel of Motorhum. Just under eighteen years spent there with the people she'd called friends and family, and now those selfsame people wanted her blood, simply because they thought she, Ivy St. Mayhew, was a...a...
"...two six four three eight...eight...eight..."
She was slowing down, she realized. Which was a bad thing, but she couldn't help it. Her bare feet buzzed a numb promise of coming agony. There was a stitch in her side that burned like wild fire every time she drew a ragged breath. She'd cut her hand, sometime recently, though that, too, was only half remembered, and blood ran down her fingers tips to leave a weaving trail of tiny red spots in the dirt, leading from the middle of nowhere all the way back to the barn her family shared with Helga and Bartholomew Bartch. Or what was left of it.
Ivy stopped running so abruptly, she nearly pitched forward again, suddenly nausea, afraid, saddened and lonely all at once. Turning back toward Motorhum should have been a simple thing to do, but she simple action took ages. Was it because she knew what she'd see? A pillar of smoke rising from the center of the little village, blacker than the early dusk that threatened to engulf it. The screeching remains of the oven she'd rebuilt for Mama Petra, promising a perfect pie crust every time.
It was true, she had gotten a little carried away. Most ovens didn't need motion sensors...or defensive microwave beams. But it had seemed such a good idea at the time!
And now they were ripping it apart, if they hadn't already. Tossing the parts she'd spent the better part of two days gathering, repairing, assembling, all with the help of her younger brothers and sisters. She'd called it the ÜberOven, and she'd been so excited to show it to Mama Petra. Just in time for her eighteenth birthday next week. No more soggy pie crusts or fallen souffles. And no more ÜberOven, either. She was lucky she'd made it too complex. She knew as soon as the villagers, her family, were done with it, they'd turn their attentions to her.
And so Ivy turned and ran again, still trying to convince herself this was all a fluke. She knew all about the Sparks. Every Motorhum child did. They were monsters disguised like humans, worse even than the rabid Jägermonsters living in the desolate Wastes. They were dangerous. They were insane.
And Ivy St. Mayhew was none of those things. She was positive.
Well. Mostly positive.
--
The scent of blood and fear hit his nostrils, waking him from his half doze among the tree branches. Now this was promising! Blood, fire, smoke, fear! Just like old times! The harsh, acrid stink of burnt pies was also in there somewhere, somewhat spoiling the effect, but nothing was perfect. Someone was running, too, towards him. Now that was novel, he reflected, Most folks run away from me. He could hear soft footfalls coming through the shrubbery and foliage, steps that were starting to falter and slow down near him. Jötz grinned happily as he shook the kinks out of limbs. Things were looking up! He may not have found a Heterodyne heir, but at least he'd found some excitement!!
When the struggling figure stumbled into sight, though, he fought the urge to sigh. A girl. A pretty girl, yes, but a girl. Jötz had really been hoping for something dangerous, something wild, something capable of dismembering a body with calloused ease. In other words, a playmate. He pursed his lips in thought, thinking how he could change this to his advantage, anything to relieve the boredom of hiking by his lonesome across the Wastes looking for someone who probably didn't exist. A young girl. A pretty young girl.
Back in Mechanicsburg, the Jägers were very popular with pretty young girls. Everyone knew why of course. The process of becoming a Jäger turned the subject involved into something more than human and enhanced several attributes, especially one that ladies of a certain nature had come to prefer: charming looks. After all, what woman would be able to resist a brightly colored, slightly fury, strongly fanged and well muscled man with arms that hung down nearly to his knees and legs that were a quarter again longer than they should be? Oh, and the claws. You couldn't forget the claws.
The young lady seemed to be in a spot of trouble, an nonexistent plea for help that the melodramatic Jötz felt compelled to answer. After all, it wasn't every day you came across a damsel in distress. And the smell of fresh, clean blood was definitely coming from her.
Jötz waited until she was almost right below his perch before he dropped in front of her with a flourishing bow. "Goot evening, sveetheart!" his growling baritone voice rumbled out. "Vhat's the matter? You boyfriend, he is being all handsy mit you? Evil step ma-ma making you life miserable? You poppa not buy you a puppy?"
From the village, an explosion ripped through the night. Jötz's eyes followed the rising mushroom cloud that easily cleared the treetops to reach the early evening stars that were just starting to shine, his brow raised in startled appreciation at the size of the blast. Now he could hear angry shouts, cries of dismay and revenge carried on the Wasteland breezes. "Ooor... maybe you is having some other troubles?”
--
Ivy backpedaled with a strangled yelp that might have been a curse in anyone else before gravity seized up and exercised its traditional gracelessness on her rather boyish form. From her new perch on the ground, she stared up at the lanky green thing that had assaulted her from his -- his? Yes, his...probably -- position in the trees before her jaw fell open and the chaos of the evening was momentarily forgotten.
She stared, unabashedly agape at the Jäger towering before her, without even trying to make sense of...whatever it was he was saying. Oh, she caught snippets: boyfriend, evil, puppy. But mostly she was trying to wake up. She knew now she was dreaming. The abrupt appearance of the Jäger had told her that much. She had been up late the night before, tracing constellations in the sky, and she must have fallen asleep again over one of her books out in the barn. In a few minutes, she'd wake up, black hair coated in dust from Papa's old work bench. Then all of this would be a funny dream. Mama's failed pie, and Ivy's sudden knowledge that she could better the oven, that she had to better the oven. She'd never dragged Rosie, Dahlia, Briar, and Fern into the barn, almost too excited to focus. Memories of barking orders in a manner so uncharacteristically Ivy had been little more than fabrications brought on by one too many blueberries from Mama's bowl. There had been no ÜberOven, no subsequent elated exhaustion, no overwhelming pride as she'd walked her creation into the kitchen, hardly aware that she'd taken down half the door and left the barn smoldering behind her.
There had been no shocked silence, no ushering of her younger, tow-headed siblings into her bosom. No appearance of concerned neighbors going from confused to frightened to enraged. No horrible screeches of metal as Ivy finally came down from her high to see them wrenching apart the new construct. All of it had been a dream. And she was still dreaming now. Having fled into the Wastelands, it was only natural she should find what her subconscious mind had heard stories of for years now.

She meant to tell the Jäger all this. As soon as he understood it was a dream, the dream would collapse, and she would wake up, and resume looking for birthday presents with little Rosie and Leaf.
She opened her mouth, suddenly quite confident in her plan.
"Three two se -- er. I mean -- "
She felt the explosion rumbled up through her palms and her bare feet and winced, rather imagining the last of her hard work to have been disintegrated...or worse. !
"It was going to make the perfect pie crust," she said to herself, half pouting, half grieving. It was then her cut hand gave a twinge, and she remembered -- understood -- she was not dreaming.
Which meant the Jäger standing before her really was a Jäger...and really was standing before her.
Ivy looked up at him, green eyes wide with equal parts disbelief and awe.
"Hullo. I'm Ivy. I don't think you want to be seen with me, Mr. Jäger...um sir.”
--
Jötz narrowed his gaze at her. "Vhy not?" Then a look of enlightenment crossed his face. "Oh, ho-ho-hoo! I sees! Itz the whole beauty und beast ting, ja? Donchu worry, sveetheart! I think yous pretty. Maybe not as goot looking as me, but whatcha go-ink to do, eh? Oh, und don't call me 'sir.' I is no officer, trust me! I'm just plain old Jötz."
There were voices now, voices crying for vengeance and blood. The Jäger looked up past Ivy's shoulder. "Is dey mit you? Only they seem an eensy-weensy mad or someting." Another explosion rocked the ground, causing even him to stager a bit. "Vow! Dat vas someting! I gots to hand it to whoever is making mit da boom-booms up der. Dat's got to be one professional! Eeder dat or..." He switched his gaze towards Ivy, two and two finally making four in his head. If it wasn't a monster or a machine on its own, and it wasn't the Baron, that could only mean...
Out of habit, Jötz leaned close to her and took a deep sniff. Pleasant, but not what he was looking for. "You smell nize," he commented, "but not very nize. Still, I ees not one to leave a girl to be torn apart by da mob mit der pitchforks und torches und da burnings! So?"
His clawed hand shot out to grab her wrist, pulling her along behind him as he took long, confident strides towards the pursuing crowd. "Let's go und haft a little chat, hm? I tink I make dem see reason.”
--
There was a moment of paralyzing shock during which some part of Ivy's mind -- the part that was often finding patterns in swirling dust motes, and the same part that was always getting yelled at for daydreaming -- thought the supposedly dangerous and wild Jäger before her was incredibly charming. Certainly well-meaning, if not sweet. But then Ivy tended to find the best in people, having befriend all manner of stray animals when she was younger.
Then again, those self-same animals tended to have bizarre experiments performed upon them before long, but it was all for a good cause. So. There was that.
The moment was over as soon as it came, however, as the rational part of her brain kicked into gear and she realized she was being quite forcibly dragged back toward the village -- or more accurately -- the mob she'd just been fleeing.
At once, she dug her heels into the ground. Of course, as she was wearing only socks, this didn't help much.
It didn't stop her from trying.
"H-hey...no, wait, don't -- what are you -- I don't think this will help -- I already tried -- HEY! STOP it!" she hissed suddenly, yanking her wrist back and fixing the Jäger -- Jötz -- with a scowl.
"Look, you pointy-eared ingrate. You vill shut up now and listen to my reasoning, alright? Those people want to kill me. Because -- because -- well, because doesn't matter, just that they do. And if they see you with me, they're going to kill us both, reason or no. Trust me, I know these people. Reason doesn't look like you. So unless you want to be turned into someone's flea- ridden throw rug, I suggest we both start moving away quickly in the opposite direction. Deal?"
Her teeth came together with an audible click, and Ivy found herself quite suddenly, inexplicably out of breath. Still not quite able to speak, or even explain, she thrust both hands into the pockets of her apron -- of her mother's apron, technically, but she didn't fancy the older woman would want it back anymore. She'd thrown it on back in Motorhum before going to work on the oven. It had bigger pockets than the trousers and tunic she wore now. Perfect for carrying an assortment of small tools and metal bits. Just in case.
The 'case' of the moment appeared to be a distraction. The people from her village were coming and coming fast, and even the Jäger could only buy her so much time. !
She reached deeper into her pockets and found a handful of screws, some loose electrical wiring, and a utility knife. A slightly manic grin lit upon her face and she smiled at her new companion.
"Jötz, right?" she said sweetly. "I think I've got an idea. Are you going to help me, or not?" Her tone, she thought, made it very clear there was only one acceptable answer.
--
The Jäger took her sudden outburst in stride, his face placid and calm as she ranted at him. So I was right, he congratulated himself, she's touched! Shame. The uproar and the concussive explosions had given him a fair idea that she was a Spark, while her sudden rantings confirmed it for him. Jötz recognized the tone. All she needed to do was start shouting that she'd show them all and start milking the giant cow. In fact, she sort of reminded him of old Bellaria Vhosnotvitz, the crazed cow-wife who had created just such a cow for that very purpose back before he'd become a Jäger. Pity about her entire town drowning in milk, but what could you do?
"I was tink-ink dat I vaz helping you." Jötz regarded her critically, completely ignoring the approaching villagers intend on death and destruction. Raising a finger in admonishment at Ivy, he mildly commented, "You know, you ist awfully vound up, Miss Ivy. You should learn to relax, I'm tink-ink. Haft you tried chamomile tea mit honey?"
The mob was at the top of the hill now, bearing down the path towards them in that heavy footed clumping that wasn't quite marching nor stalking, but a clumsy bastardization of the them both. Various farm implements were being waved high and with great enthusiasm, as if the wielders were trying their darnedest to make themselves look intensely dangerous (and failing), while torches were held up to light their way. A male voice, deep in outrage, rang out with "There she is!" followed by other voices crying out "Get her! Don't let her get away! burn the witch! Burn her!"
Jötz rolled his eyes in annoyance, the tone of his voice making clear his disgust. "God's fish in leetle trousers, can't dey tink of somezing original to say?? Chust once?? Next mob dat falls back on dat old standard? I's buying dem a thesaurus! Und vhy alvays mit da torches?! Vhy not lanterns or candles for once? Vvvery lovely, candlelight ist!"
Then he noticed the girl was rummaging in her apron's pockets, pulling out bits and pieces. The Jäger grinned wickedly. "Miss Ivy, vould I be correct in tink-ink dat tings ist about to get fun? Cause let me be tellink you, I like fun! Heck, I vas chust goink to kill dem for you but if'n you wants to fry dem mit a death ray or melt der undervear, I's you man!”
--
"Good!" Ivy answered briefly, almost before the enigmatic Jäger had finished speaking, rather as though she hadn't heard anything else he'd said. Entirely possible, since he'd just threatened her entire village and family, and she hadn't so much as batted an eye.
"Here." She thrust a mass of electrical wire at him without looking up. "Untangle, don't cut."
She dropped at once to her knees, completely ignorant of the small stones that sought to bury itself into a kneecap, muttering under her breath as she frantically emptied her pockets: "Yes, yes...perfect! Four four two eight one zero nine...Yes! And then if I just...six seven five two three eight four -- " a manic giggle escaped her lips; her hair was falling in her eyes and she brushed it out of the way with her bleeding hand, leaving a streak of rust on her forehead.
"One six six one zero two one..." Her fevered counting was rapidly be drowned out by the approach of the village mob, whose thundering feet could be felt in the earth beneath the girl, even from here. She was blissfully unaware.
"Okay, and then -- " Something lit in her eyes and she turned to look up at Jötz, her gaze just slightly unfocused. "Aren't you done yet?" she demanded impatiently. "Never mind, let me -- "
She reached out with one hand and yanked the bundle of cord and wire from his claws; with the other, she thrust a thin sheet of metal plating. "Score," she said simply, then, without waiting for an answer, she scowled imperiously. "Score! With your teeth, don't be stupid -- God, you're useless -- " And then she took that back, two, wrapping her own pale fingers around a lightly furred wrist and using his claw to trace a perfectly straight line down the center. That done, she grinned again and giggled. "Brilliant! Thank you," before turning away to assemble...whatever it was she was assembling.
"There! Done!" she cried an instant later, and leapt to her feet, eager to show off her creation.
It was...not much to behold, quite frankly. A lumpy, loosely spherical mass of dented metal and rusted springs, all set atop two pairs of converted nuts, supposedly meant to work like wheels.
"There, see?" Ivy exclaimed, absolutely thrilled with her work, and still quite oblivious to the ever nearing villagers. "This bit, here," she pointed to the heftier bit of the tiny machine. "You throw it, and when it hits the ground, it explodes!" She giggled again, delighted. "And the best part is that's only the distraction, the decoy, see? What buys us time is this -- "
She flipped the thing over to reveal a glistening bit of flint wrapped in exposed wire to the underside of the metal sheet Jötz had "helped" her score. "When this hits the ground, with the flint, and the oil -- the brush -- it starts a fire, see! This whole little foresty bit here, it's been so dry lately, the whole thing'll burn in seconds! There's no way they'll find us!"
She jumped back, not quite ready to relinquish the mini distraction/destruction device just yet. Time, after all, was of the --
"Here! Throw it! Over there!" she pointed, still all but vibrating with excitement. She wrapped another hand around his wrist. "Ooh, I've got a better idea, let's go see if it works, c’mon!"
--
"Ah." Jötz felt himself on familiar territory here: a Spark, a mob bent on vengeance, and a spur of the moment creation born of madness and desperation that would probably get him killed. The bundle of wire was about half untangled when she ripped it from his hands and forced the metal plating upon him in its place. There was probably some sort of arcane reason she wanted him to score the metal with his teeth instead of one of his claws like he had been about to it, but whatever it might have been, it was beyond him. With a roll of the eyes at her commands, he ran the tip of one fang along where she had indicated. The sound of it pierced the ears and make some of the villagers cringe, even at a distance. The taste left something to be desired as well.
The little device she finally held up for his inspection really wasn't much. At least, he couldn't make heads nor tails of it. But Miss Ivy seemed to have a good grasp in the 'build it and it will explode department' if the mushroom cloud coming from town was any indication, so he trusted her with it for now. At least, until she grabbed his wrist and started pulling him along. Caught in the madness as she was, her strength was noticeably increased. Her words were a little alarming, too.
"Vait! Vait! See ift vhat vorks?? Chou leettle bomb or youse idea??" She paid him no attention that he could discern. He had seen the Heterodyne Boys get the same way; his masters would just start working on some project out of the blue and everything else around them became negligible... unless of course it could be used in whatever it was they were inventing. Jötz allowed Ivy to drag him along, his face stoically resigned to the fact that eventually she was going to want to use him as some part of an experiment.!
"Chou know, Miss Ivy," he commented dryly as she pulled at his wrist, "Dis ist usually how most new Sparks start der life oft creation und inventing und schtuff: by saying vords like 'Hold mien beer und watch dis.' Eet ist usually den followed by somezing goink 'boom' und then endink said life mit a bang.”
--
"The plan," Ivy snapped, mildly indignant. "Of course the bomb will work. And it's not 'leettle', it's compact. Aerodynamic." She trudged on eagerly through the underbrush, only half aware Jötz was even behind her, despite the rather one-sided conversation she was engaged in.The crowd was drawing ever nearer. She could almost hear voices she recognized now. She ignored them.
"The detonation depends on the speed it's traveling before it hits the ground, otherwise the whole thing'll be useless. And it's not useless. And I don't drink be -- wait. What?"
She stopped so suddenly, he nearly walked into her. She seemed markedly indifferent to this, to, though for different reasons. The unfocused, manic look was gone from her face, replaced by muted fear and stark confusion.
"Did you say -- oh, no, Mr. uh...Jötz, sir, I'm not...not a..." But even as she spoke, she could hear the words ringing false, spoken more out of habit than knowledge.
Things certainly added together, if that we're the case. Building an oven/cannon was certainly pretty Sparky. And the town's reaction was just as telling. Ivy wasn't dumb, had never been dumb...but she certainly wasn't smart. Not smart enough to Spark, anyway.
The mob, however, seemed to think otherwise.
Ivy blanched then blinked, swallowing. The orange flicker of firelight -- torch light -- was shining through the trees behind her.
"We...um...we should run." She paused, then awkwardly offered up the tiny explosive. "I guess you should throw this, too. Try not to hurt anyone, okay?”
--
There was no keeping the annoyance off of Jötz's face. One did not simply hand a Jäger a potentially lethal weapon, point him an armed throng bearing down upon him and tell him not to hurt anyone. It simply wasn't done!

"Ja, ja. I tries real hard, hokay?" Casually he flipped the device over his shoulder to land right in front of the crowd as they rounded a bend in the path. They were disturbingly closer than Jötz had realized. On the upside, they were far closer to the bomb. "Hokay, now we runs. Yes?"
Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed her wrist again and started heading away from the village, a mechanical tinged 'WHOOMPH' coming from behind them as the device began to fulfill its function. The explosion was not as large as the one that had come from the village, but it certainly spurred Jötz to move faster. He could smell the fires starting. Dry grasses caught blaze easily, providing them with an excellent smoke screen with which to avoid detection. After only a few yards, however, it became obvious that whatever calculations Miss Ivy had concocted in her head had not included wind direction. The fires were actually headed towards them!
"Götterdämmerung!" he swore vehemently. He and the girl would need to move much faster if they were going to avoid being burned alive. It was ironic that Miss Ivy's creation that was supposed to prevent her from being captured and burned alive was now ensuring it, albeit sans stake and cheering villagers. He glanced down to see what was slowing Ivy down so much when he saw she was in her stocking feet. Stocking that were starting to show spots of bright red from where stones and thorns had pierced through and into the tender flesh. It was impressive that she was still able to run!
"Dis ist no goot," he shouted to her, and with a construct's strength snatched her up and over his shoulder. With one arm around her legs and her rump brushing along the side of his cheek, he increased his speed over the terrain to evade both mob and fire. She couldn't see it, but he was actually grinning! All she needed to do was to start pounding his back futilely and screaming at him, and he'd be right back where he was on his first Jäger raid!
--
"Hmm...thank you, and everything, but you know...I don't think you tried very hard at all to -- Hey!"
This time, Ivy's exclamation was less Spark-rage and more surprise as her (admittedly sore) feet were suddenly swept out from underneath her. The view from over her shoulder became the view from over his. Fortunately, said view was mostly obscured by thick, dark smoke.
Unfortunately, the bits that weren't obscured crawled with flame.
"...ohhhh," Ivy said a moment later as an instant of clarity dawned. Years of hearing Spark stories, shuddering under cover of night and knitted quilt, thinking how, if she were ever a Spark, she would avoid all the mistakes they made...and hear she was, running from two of the devices she'd created. Part of her was instinctively appalled.
Another larger part, however, wanted to show off. She only just stifled these urges, as there were more pressing matters to attend to, not the least of which being the choking heat now pressed against her face.
"Do you know where we're going?" she called uselessly, because she couldn't think of what else to say, and because she wanted to know. When it had become 'we', she wasn't sure. Then again, she'd only just recently begun running from the only place she'd known in her whole life, so answers across the board would be much appreciated. Hell, she couldn't even navigate the Wastelands, which had seemed vast and exciting as a child. Now, they just seemed rather abysmal.
And smoky. Really, really smoky. So, score one for Ivy.
"Maybe we ought to look for...a river? Mama Petra always said those were good for hiding, because of the mud." The sudden recollection of her mother made her belly twinge, but she pushed that away. Mama Petra was now chasing her though the Wastes with a torch and singed eyebrows, and no perfect pie crust to speak of. That would make forgiving Ivy a little tricky, to say the least.
--
“Do I know vhere ve are go-ink?! Ja! AVAY! Sheesh!”
Jötz picked up a bit of speed on a downhill slope, allowing his ropey limbs to twist and turn his body around obstructions as they moved along. A river wasn’t a bad idea, not by half! Water was a great barrier against fire, after all!
He looked over his shoulder and gulped at what he saw. Moving water would be a great barrier… against small brush fires. And this was not a small brush fire. Not that it really mattered, as Jötz really couldn’t think of any moving streams or rivers nearby; he had only just begun to scout the area when the uproar in the town had caught his attention. All he knew of were a few deer paths, an older road that probably connected her village with the rest of the world at one point, and that stinking…
Swamp! That was it! Granted, the smell from the moors had been pretty bad, but the girl may not notice it as much having just regular human senses. There was probably something icky in the swamp as well, otherwise the villagers would have either drained it off for farmland or dammed it up for a water source. That just added to the appeal of hiding out there, actually. The villagers would be too afraid to follow. Of course, the thought that whatever might be lurking in the marsh might think of them as a tasty snack was secondary to their immediate survival; for Jötz, work came first, then fun.
“Rights! I gots an idea! Hold you nose, Mizz Ivy!!”
The Jäger made a sharp turn and was soon running parallel to the flames. Choking smoke rolled closer, filling the nose and bringing tears to the eyes. It was a desperate move, one that could lead to their deaths by either burning or by suffocation, and even should they survive the effects of the raging flames the villagers would surely have their way with them. The edge of the swamp was still a good kilometer off. If they made it, it would be just by the skin of their teeth.
*Hokay,* thought Jötz, *maybe a bit of fun ist alright.* He was just glad she couldn’t see how widely he was grinning.
--
"Of course," Ivy muttered to herself, still trying to squint through her possibly-maybe-just-the-teensiest-bit-too-effective smoke screen. She couldn't see much, which she supposed was good. But she couldn't hear much, either, so if one of the villagers had suddenly become fire-resistant, she and her new travel companion were in --
-- Oh. Fire-resistant villagers. Interesting concept. Countless uses, obviously. Flame retardant workers would be in high demand one day, probably. Human shields. High-heat brick and mortar, assurance of no pesky bursting eyeballs or burning flesh, with a scent like --
Like...Ivy gagged, and Jötz was spared a messy new ensemble by some unforeseen grace Ivy had spent more of her time baking pies than eating them in the last two days. She held her breath, eyes watering, and brought the edge of her tunic up over her mouth and nose. Just as well. The smoke was thick as cotton and breathing was getting to be problematic on its own.
"Hey, uh...Jötz? Is this -- " She broke off to cough, wishing she'd opted to bring a canteen with her. Or maybe just not to be in this position in the first place. "Is this idea (cough, cough) to get us both (cough, cough) killed (cough), asphyxiated, (cough, cough) or...or...or..."
She ran out of usable oxygen before she could come up with an appropriate list ender. The smoke was making her a little light-headed. The fire was making her a little desperate. It was awkward to try and reach into the deep pockets of her apron, pinned against the Jäger's shoulder as she was, but she tried anyway. After all, a little desperation had gotten them out of the first jam.
Well. Then right back into the second, but anything was preferable to slow death by smoke. At least their killer could be an active, and sentient participant. Small mercies and all.
--
Of course it’s not a good idea, he wanted to shout, but really it was the only one he had. Long legs and tireless muscles covered the ground quickly as he loped over the uneven terrain, his eyes scanning for the tell tale signs of run off. He knew his best bet to avoid the fire was to continue down the slope, away from the town. Sadly, while the bog he was headed for was also down hill, it was on the opposite slope. All he could do was to continue his diagonal dash, keeping parallel to the fire and hope to come across a gully or run off that connected to the wetlands.
A brief hole appeared in the wall of smoke. Jötz grinned at the sight of the mob with their pitchforks and scythes and torches, all staring dumbfounded as the furry green monster sped along with the pretty maiden on his shoulder. No doubt there was some conflicted feelings there. No one liked seeing young maidens being abducted by monsters, except for the monsters of course. At the same time, he had just stolen away the person who was going to be no doubt the main ‘bon’ in their bonfire; her family and friends were probably confused as to whether they should be upset about this or glad! The looks upon the children’s faces, now… THOSE were worth treasuring! It was a fine mix between “now what”, “what’s going to happen next” and “I really need to visit the outhouse.” As a matter of image, the Jäger waved cheerily a the crowd and showed all of his fangs in a toothy grin. The smoke plums rolled between them once more before Jötz could see their reactions.
He could see a small gully just ahead now. It was little more than a path for rainwater to run downhill during the worst of the seasonal storms, but it should be wet enough to help. Still, it wasn’t enough!
That’s when he saw it happen. All of the local wildlife stirred up by the flames were also running away: mice, voles, a couple of deer, a tiny herd of minmoths… but not the hare. He watched as the brindle coated rabbit held its ground before the inferno as though biding its time. Then, just as the fire was near about to close over it, it stretched its powerful legs and leapt over the deadly wall. Jötz didn’t see it land, but he could hear its feet running further away beyond; it had lived! It had jumped over the fire to land on the other side where the ground was just hot ashes and embers! Brunt feet were surely better than burnt everything! And the gully ran the length of the slope, so a section of it should be on the other side as well. If they could clear the flames, get to the gully and then follow it the rest of the way to the swamp, they should be safe!
Jötz felt his passenger fumble for something as she bounced along on his shoulder. “I gots me an idea, schveethart, but if’n you gots someting else to share now would be a very goot time to be using it!”
--
Ivy didn't respond. Not right away, at least. She'd only been half listening, and quarter-watching, more concerned with finding something -- anything -- useful in this God-awful scrap of fabric she'd used to refer to as an 'apron'. 'Apron' indeed! It may as well have been one of Mama Petra's tattered old things, all smears of flour and butter stains for all the good it was doing her now. Two days spent in that muck pit of a barn, with nothing to show for it but a few coils of stiff wire, a handful of nuts and bolts, a half empty oil can, and...
Well. Her father's old utility knife may have been of some use. If only anything else was!
Still, she fiddled with the wire and nuts, hardly aware her face was all but streaming with tears kicked up by choking smoke, and growing more and more frustrated with each passing second.
Finally, she gave a frustrated cry (which quickly dissolved into a coughing fit), and prepared to throw away the whole mess, catching herself only just at the last minute.
"Guess some of it could be useful later," she grumble to herself, half resigned, half defeated. Then, a bit louder, calling over her shoulder, and his, "What I've got certainly can't be any more life-saving than what you've got, so go on." Her voice had lost it's chipper, too-polite edge. She was still watching the landscape being swallowed up by smoke and flame, peering through a screen of tears to find any other method of escape.
She may have been proud that her strange little invention had worked, but she certainly didn't want to die from it. Besides, she was running one-for-two now. And anyone who expected her to simply let prior mistakes go clearly knew nothing about Sparks...or Ivys, either.
--
“Hokay den!” Running at full tilt as he was, it was hard for Jötz to properly gauge the height and speed of the flames. After a few critical seconds he finally shrugged to himself, saying, “To hell mit it!”
A jog to the left brought them running fully into the flames. With a hefty grunt, he swung Ivy around into both arms and flung her up and forward high into the air. Jumping with her in his arms was out of the question, even with his enhanced strength, so the obvious solution was to make the leap without out! She arched into the air above the fire. Trusting to his own reflexes, he quickly followed, jumping headlong at a slightly lower angle so he could catch her. The fire licked at his fur, singeing it and scorching his boots and clothing. The reek of burnt hair added to the lung clogging smoke, threatening to overwhelm him with the smell of it; he felt the pain but ignored it. A foot touched down on hot ash. Instantly, his knee bent with his weight and launched him back upwards to snatch Ivy bodily as she fell towards the baked and smoking ground.
The second landing did not go as smoothly. The very tip of his burnt boot caught a rock, sending him crashing to the ground. With the girl in his arms, there was no way he could catch himself safely, so instead he wrapped his long arms about her to shield her body and rolled. Down the gully they went, mud flying as they jounced and bounced their way downwards towards the swamp’s edge. Jötz felt stones and trees roots bite into his back and sides as they tumbled. He was sure the girl would be unharmed, if shaken, by the time they stopped. What condition he would be in was another question altogether! Still… it’d been worse! And he still had his hat!
Gravity eventually granted them mercy, and they rolled to a stop. The fire was past them now, and the villagers out of sight. He flopped onto his back slowly, releasing his protective hug from around Ivy and laid there eagle-spread and aching. The pain of the various contusions and bruises he’d just earned warred with the migraine inspired by the smoke for supremacy, and while he could heal quickly it did nothing for him right now. Still…
He lolled his head to look at the girl he’d just saved. He’d… saved someone. Not the usual duty of a Jaeger, by any definition! A smirk worked its way to his lips as he thought about the vast absurdity of what just happened. The smirk worked its way into a grin. Laughter soon followed, starting with a low chuckle and soon blowing out to full blown merriment.
--
Ivy lay calmly in the dirt and ash in mud, staring up at the sky. The smoke and fire had turned the evening a funny color, roughly comparable to that of a rotting grapefruit, a sort of purple-black smudge with gray-orange smoke. There would be no stars or moon tonight. The thought made her strangely nostalgic.
More nostalgic, oddly enough, than the thought that she was dead. Because she surely was. Accepting she was a Spark (she was still somewhat undecided, though that, she supposed now, was bordering more on denial than confusion), then she was a Spark of legend and statistics, the foolish sort who died at the hand of their very first creation. Well, perhaps she had ended a Spark of some notoriety. Technically, it was not her first creation that had done her in, but her second. The one created to evade the pitchfork-y ramifications of the first.
That, and an enigmatic Jäger. She wondered if he was dead, too. She might feel rather badly if he was, since it was her fire that had burned down his Wastes, and despite his...insistent demeanor, it seemed he really had been trying to help her. Probably. Maybe.
In any case, it seemed, she thought, her death had proved her Spark. There was simply no way any regular old after life could smell this badly. A strange stench of smoke, stagnant, dirty water, and...burnt hair.
Was there burnt hair in heaven?
Idly, still staring up at the smoke, eyes still watering somewhat, she moved a hand up to her dark hair, feeling for the missing inches she'd probably lost in the fire. Probably when her new Jäger buddy had tossed her into the air like she was no more than a sack of old potatoes.
The laughter next to her started at the same moment Ivy realized she was completely unharmed, and oh, yes, the Jäger had just saved her life.
'Well, so much for the stories...'
Ivy rolled over and got to her knees, crouched, curious and somewhat dazed over Jötz's prone figure. He appeared to be in the grips of somewhat hysterical laughter, and while she knew what she would have done had Jötz been Heather or Fern, the idea that Jötz, her savior, was also a Jäger, gave her some pause. He had rescued her, sure, despite however off-kilter the attempt and subsequent success may have been.
But his own survival belied a resilience that might have been unsettling in someone more violent. And she had no way of telling whether or not he was that.
"Um..." she said after a moment, clearing her throat a little too loudly. "Thank you. Are you quite alright?"
--
Still laughing, he punched the air straight up with both arms, narrowly missing Ivy as she hovered over him. “DAT. VAS. GREAT!”
Dropping his arms to his chest, he grinned up at her with a mouthful of fangs. “Dat fire und smoke? Runn-ink fur our lives? LIVING? HAH!”
Jötz sat up suddenly, now nose to nose with the girl. She was rather pretty. And she did smell nice, even with the scent of scorched fur and burning flora all about them. It wasn’t the scent instilled into him by the conversion from human to Jäger, the pleasing aroma that was the tell tale sign of Heterodyne, but it was quite pleasant. He inhaled deeply, obviously savoring both her scent and her proximity. “Zo,” he hummed coyly, “Da mob ist behind us, ve ist safe from da fire, nothing ist trying to kill you at da moment. Vhat you gonna do now, Miss Ivy, hmm? I knows what girls like you like, you’d like to get youse hands on my great, big gun, ja?”
He reached back beneath his cloak to pull out a rather large handgun. It was a frightening piece of black steel and dark walnut wood, inlaid with scroll worked brass; four barrels, two atop two, ended in wide muzzles quite used to spewing forth hellish death. Still within a scant inch of Ivy’s nose, he glances at it with a pitiful expression. “It could use a bit of vork, you see. Da trigger sticks a bit after da second shot.”
--
Some part of Ivy rejoiced quietly.
Sure, she'd just been chased from the only home she'd ever known by an angry mob, at least partially consisting of friends and family...including baby Briar, who was just learning to walk and had probably followed along, thinking the whole thing a game. Ivy couldn't pretend that one didn't hurt. She had been Briar's favorite, and to think he'd now be raised thinking his eldest sister was some sort of monstrous madwoman...
Well. Perhaps the ÜberOven had been a bit overboard...but there was no way to say for sure! They hadn't even gotten to see it in action! Or at least not in pie-baking action, which, of course, was its primary function.
Right after personal defense.
Anyway.
She was lost out here in the Wastes, and even if she could get back home, there was no guarantee of a warm welcome...outside of the massive fires. Trapped outside of Motorhum with nothing but an apron and some bloody stockings, and a Jäger who was absolutely nothing like the stories she'd heard.
She reeled back only just in time to avoid a black eye, then crouched at the swamp's edge, watching cautiously as Jötz closed in on his quarry. Ivy backpedaled just as deliberately, green eyes wide and cautious.
And then he started speaking, and Ivy went from wary to furious in all the time it took for her to slap him across the face.
"Why you insensitive, insufferable, ungentlemanly -- and this after...after...after...oh. Oh. I see." A pause. A brief sound that could really only be called a cackle of delight. And the proffered weapon was in her lap.
Whatever the Jäger might have said afterwards was immediately lost, along with the final understanding that Ivy was, indeed, a Spark. And when she handed the gun back, fifteen minutes had passed, for Ivy, at least, like fifteen seconds, all of them spent muttering under her breath.
"Here," she said, looking up at Jötz almost as if she'd forgotten he was there. She shoved the gun into his hands, thrilled for him to begin a new reign of destruction.
"See?" she said, now finding herself crouched nearly as close to him as he had been to her. "The problem was that you were only using one barrel at a time." She gave him a look that clearly said she couldn't imagine why anyone would only want to fire one bullet per shot.
"It's okay, though, I fixed it. See? Your firing mechanism back here, it overheats after firing just once, and makes the trigger stick. It was doing too much too soon, accounting for appropriate velocity and all that, but I made it so your magazine works like a sort of a rotating cylinder. One shot uses all four barrels, see? And with the old magazine gone -- " Something dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Ivy didn't seem to notice " -- you quadruple your cool down rate. You can fire twice as many bullets in half the time!"
Breathless, she stared at him, almost vibrating with exciting energy, both impatient and expectant at the same time. After an agonizing half second wait, she grew frustrated and snatched the weapon back, oblivious to any complaints that might have followed.
"Look, see? I'll show you!" And without so much as waiting for approval (or lack there of), she stood and fired the gun off into what remained of the trees. The subsequent roll off sounded like four almost synchronous explosions, and the kickback wasted no time throwing Ivy backwards into the swamp.
It was enough to pull her back to herself, though she managed to keep the gun above water and sat up after spitting out a mouthful of mud.
"Sorry. You had more...um...bullets, right?"
--
Jötz watched her disassemble his firearm in a matter of seconds, the parts laid out upon the lap of her apron even as his cheek still stung from the slap. For such a small young woman, she packed a pretty solid whallop! He was actually dazed for a few seconds! And then Ivy was off in Sparky-mood, muttering numbers and poking at bits and pieces of the custom made gun with, well, whatever bits and pieces she had at hand. He couldn’t swear to it, but he was fairly certain he saw a shaving of lichen from a nearby rock go in there as well. Her announced of having improved the magazine also worried him somewhat as it had been a break action, breech loading weapon with no magazine to speak of; it made him wonder what it was she had removed and just dropped into the mud with little regard. But having her that close to his face and ranting breathlessly? It was scary! Jägers did not scare easily, so this was definitely something. He also found it rather exciting; with her face just scant inches away from his, Jötz felt the irrational desire to lean forward that extra amount and kiss her on the nose. He found himself staring at her with eyes wide, unsure of quite what to do or say. Prudence won in the end, however. Doing something like that to any Spark while they were in the mad-place was… unwise.
He was saved by his own inaction. Tired of waiting for his response (approval?), she grabbed the gun and test fired it. The result was both hysterically funny and far louder than he would have preferred. They were supposed to hiding now.
“Heh. I like you vork, Mizz Ivy. Come now, upsey-da-daisy!” A long fingered hand with talons retracted reached down to help her to her feet. The other plucked the gun gingerly from her lap. “I gotz a few more bullets, sure. But maybe now we stay all qviet like, ja? Ist no goot to be making mit da bangs und da booms vile ve ist in da Vastelands, hokay?”
Truth be told, he didn’t have *that* many more rounds. Twelve at most, maybe thirteen. Which would give them three shots total. The gun had definitely become a last ditch defense now, although he certainly couldn’t be depressed about its lack of subtly! For that, he still had his short sword tucked behind his cloak, a two-foot-and-some langseax with its cleaver blade and sloping point. It was an antiquated style, but it did its job rather well. Still, he really didn’t want her tinkering with it.
Once the girl was up on her stocking feet, he regarded them with a critical eye. “Ve gots to get you zome shoes or zometing. But first? Youse get dem stockings of’n youse feet. I gots zome bandages und salves dat vill help for now. Oddervize you feet gonna get all manky.”
He raised his gaze to look at the swamp before them. It was thick with vegetation, so much so that he could practically smell the green of it within the stagnant water and sucking mud. What sort of wildlife might be lurking about in there he was unsure of, although it was guaranteed to be unpleasant he knew. Yet he heard no bird or frog, nothing but the slow trickle of water from the gully feeding into the stinking bog. “Mizz Ivy,” he asked cautiously, not taking his eyes away from the darkened interior, “Der any reason da townies haven’t drained dis place for farmland?
--
"There're a bunch," Ivy answered casually, as she leaned over the foul-smelling muck to ring mud and water out of her hair. It hung in damp, sticky strands around her ears, giving her the overall appearance of a very moist animal of some kind, but Ivy figured there could be worse. Particularly since the only people she might see and recognize still sort of wanted her dead. She kept thinking she ought to be more upset about it. Maybe she was just in shock. But her new Jäger friend was so strangely disarming, she found herself quite unable to place the situation. At least she wasn't burnt to a crisp.
"Mostly that it's out of bounds." She finished raking the mud out of her hair as best she could, then carelessly wiped her hands on Mama Petra's old apron -- her's now, she supposed. There was no way the matronly old woman would take it back now, singed and Jäger-y as it was -- and turned to Jötz.
"Um...y'know...not to be rude, but we've always heard the Jägerkin are...well, not good for farmland, at least. Nothing out here is good for farmland, and when this is the only still water around..." She trailed off and shrugged, squinting through the smoky horizon for the unimpressive Motorhum skyline.
"A couple years ago, Toley Vanderhün came out here to find his dog. The dog came back, but Toley didn't, and when the men came out here to get him, they only found a couple burn marks and grease stains. Mama Petra swore up an down it was one of the old Heterodyne constructs gone hunting for 'disobedient little boys', but I think there was a reason Toley's dog always barks at toads now."
She realized she was rambling, an undeniably dreamy look in her gray eyes, and shut up abruptly. It was that sort of day dreaming that Mama Petra would have spoon-smacked her for, if she wasn't so busy running Ivy out of town. Or getting burnt up in fires. Ivy chewed her lip, suddenly wistful, and looked out at the smoke again, with half a mind to go hunting, just to make sure --
She shook herself and plopped down on the ground just as quickly as Jötz had pulled her to her feet.
"If you need more rounds," she began casually, as she sat to examine her own feet...and more importantly, the remains of her stockings, already thrice patched. Mama Petra would be heated over that, as well.
"I can make more, if you need them. Maybe not now, Mama's apron's running low, but I could find things." Her eyes lit up abruptly and darted upward to meet the Jäger's. "I could make them explode, too! And heat-tracking, like I did with the ÜberOven, so -- oh, but right. No noise. Okay, so later, then. Exploding rounds."
The temporary spark of excited inspiration spent, she folded her stockings carefully over her knees and tucked them into an apron pocket. She'd have to wash them out before Mama Petra caught sight. It would be difficult enough to explain that she was a Spark, let alone a Spark with a penchant for torn stockings.
Curious, she looked up to Jötz again. "Thank you for saving me," she said. "Also, what are you doing out here? Wouldn't it be easier to...you know...pillage and terrorize in one of the bigger cities?"
--
Jötz sat by her feet, pulling out a battered steel canteen and a small leather pouch from his belt. As she sat back, he took her legs into his lap and gently trickled the cool water across them, washing away the mud and the blood from the many scratches she’s inflicted upon herself. He listened carefully with a critical eye upon her as he tended to her wounds with a gentleness that certainly did not fit in with what villagers were often told of Jägers. She wanted to make more rounds? Fine! He would make sure to save the empty brass casings to make it easier for her. Her day-dreaming stare was another matter, though. He wasn’t quite sure if it was shock, the madness leaving her or… something else.
Her sudden question distracted him from his musings, causing him to start a little. What was he doing out in the Wastes? Oh, boy.
“Ah, vell, ja. But any of da udder guys can make mit da pillaging and raping and killing and da burning in da cities. It’s easy der. Lots of peoples. Lots of buildings. Lots of stuff to be breaking. Is children’s game! No challenge. But to gets a good rampage going where der is not a thing already? *Dat* takes an ar-teest like me!” Pausing to look uphill towards where the smoke still rolled across the sky, he glanced back at Ivy with an idiotic grin. “Not dat I didn’t appreciate da help!”
The salve was thick, cool and soothing upon her feet, taking away aches and fatigue along with the blisters’ swelling and cuts’ stinging. Ivy’s feet wouldn’t feel healed, exactly, but more of cooly numb. And turn bright blue. It would be an attractive blue and lasting only a few days, but there would be no denying that they were no longer not blue. Jötz decided not to go into that now either. Instead the monster flexed his fingers into a relaxing foot massage as he worked the salve further into her flesh. Then he started to wind a thick bandage around her feet, a roll of gauze followed by strips of linen that would keep the medicine fast against her skin and grant some additional protection.
“Zo. Vhatcha gonna do now, Miss Ivy? Zomehow go-ink home don’t look like a goot idea fur youse.” He started on her second foot. “An’ ve’s gotta get youse some shoes fur youse pretty feet.”
--
Ivy settled on watching him watch her feet at first, her expression one of mingled curiosity and suspicion. Yes, she decided, this was definitely shock. The oldest of ten children, each of them, according to Mama, graced with Ivy's complete lack thereof, she was forever bandaging knees, soothing scrapes, mending torn trousers. Having someone else do the same for her was an experience she couldn't quite put words to. That the 'someone' in question was a Jäger...well, that complicated things a bit.
When she realized she was staring, she went a shade or two pinker and abruptly flopped backwards onto her back to stare at the sky again, wincing only slightly at the first touch of cool water on sore soles.
She tucked her arms under her head, only half listening as Jötz went on about being a talented, murdering artist. Mostly, she was painting images in the sky again. The smoke had only just started to clear, letting the dark purple of nighttime shine through the orange haze. It still didn't make a very pretty picture, but it served well as a sort of metaphor. Made it easier to remember there were things beyond the smoke, at the very least. Or maybe it just meant nothing good could come of playing with fire, literal or otherwise.
It was something Mama Petra would say, and the thought bade her think of home again. She wondered idly if the rest had started back toward Motorhum already. She hoped they got there okay. The Wastes were dangerous after dark. Well, all the time. But especially after dark. Just ask the man-eating toad that had snatched up little Toley Vanderhün. Or Ivy's new Jäger friend.
Propping herself up on her elbows, she studied him as subtlety as she could manage as he hunched over her feet. This was all wrong. A few scant hours ago, she'd been helping Mama make a birthday pie. Now? She was a semi-exiled Spark (because surely they hadn't meant to run her out of town forever), in the Wastes, on her own...save her Jäger-turned-white-knight. Well. Green knight. A knight, anyway.
She didn't hear him speaking right away, caught rather unawares by the sight of her toes. She was certainly glad her feet weren't throbbing anymore...but it would be very difficult to explain to people how not-Sparky and unassuming she was when she was the wrong shade of blue. Or any blue at all.
"Uh..." She stared at her feet a moment longer, then looked up at Jötz. Well, if he wasn't going to say anything, she wasn't going to ask. "Right. So if we're not going ho -- er, back to Motorhum, we should...we should get out of the Wastes, right? Or...um...I should. I don't know where you're going. Somewhere to pillage, probably. I guess...I'll find somewhere to...lie low for a while. I can write Mama Petra from an inn the next town over." She stopped abruptly and blinked as if something had just struck her, quite literally.
"Oh. I've never been out of Motorhum before. There are other towns around...right?"
Little Bill
