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Ivy, for her part, was caught somewhere between counting her blessings and her bruises. For all she had dreamt of leaving Motorhum -- however briefly -- this night to dawn romp had been nothing like what she'd expected. Not that she'd known what to expect at all. Running for your life didn't leave much time for forethought, though somehow, she'd imagined a lot less falling and a lot more pirates.

Ivy lay in the darkness, breathing heavy, though she hadn't been doing very much running at all. It was her second -- or third time? -- cradled in the furry green arms of her new Jaeger companion that night. Also her third time in a life time which made the eve of her eighteenth birthday something of a record-setting notion. She held his gun cradled to her chest just as lovingly as a new mother might hold a child, feeling her heart beat in her cheeks and finger tips. She didn't know what had changed, or even what had happened, really. It seemed Jötz had found them somewhere else to hide, and judging by the faint echoes of their breathing, it was at least somewhat walled in.

Strange, since she hadn't remembered seeing very many buildings out this way. Stranger, because no one had built anything in the swamp for at least a billion years, or something equally unimaginable. Maybe just a few generations.

In any case, she couldn't hear any more croaking, and that was as good a sign as any. She wiggled a little, testing all her body parts to make sure they still functioned, then wriggled out of Jötz grasp and upright, squinting through the darkness to see whether she could find anymore hints on their location.

"You know," she mused, as she peered up toward the faint patch of tangerine dawn she could see, "this is the most fleeing I've ever done in one night. Is that how it always is with you?"

She tucked her chin to look down at him when he didn't answer right away, head curiously tilted to one side, like that of a small, confused animal.

"Are you alright?"

Daisy had seen Dumbo once. She couldn't remember where or when or how, or if she'd been dead at the time or not. But she could certainly remember watching it, in particular that creepy fucking 'pink elephants' scene. Mostly because it still made her shiver, which was impressive, seeing as how she was dead and all. The dealt with ghosts, spirits, and worst on the reg, but the shit that really stuck with her was a series of technicolor pachyderms tripping on a delicate mixture of booze and schadenfraude.

This was kind of just like that.

Candy-coated origins? Check. Mousy sidekick? Check. Dubious villiain? Close enough. One minute, you're coasting in a veritable paradise of magic flowers and rainbow bright chimaeras, just trying to mourn your mother-turned-circus-side-show (or Max, in this case. Same difference). The next -- BAM -- someone's tipping champagne into your trough, things are spiraling rapidly into a fever bright hellscape, and bullshit is on parade.

For a moment, Daisy could only gape. She'd offered up Artie's tracking skill in lieu of C3PO's fucking house keys...and had been swiftly passed over in favor of a piece of paper...and then a flower. A flower artfully placed atop a still more magical-er stump of sorts. Which was stupid for several reasons, chief among which Daisy had been living ("living", of course, being a relative term for both parties) with Veti for almost a year now, and she would have never called the gun-toting werewolf a decorator, or at least not of the floral variety. Daisy was about to say as much, when a blast of cold wind raised her borrowed skin to goosebumps.

That was enough to stop the words dead in her throat. Daisy was dead. Pain and injury were possible. Cold was another thing entirely. After dying, nothing felt cold anymore. Except Death.

She felt the portal coming before it had appeared, well before the others were even aware of what was happening. If there were more goings-on in this technicolor version of the living, Daisy was oblivious to it. Death was coming, and it wasn't by her hand, and that scared her just slightly less than the fact that she could feel it coming for Veti.

She didn't think. She'd almost forgotten about Artie, whose silken black body was curled around her neck, still uncomfortably quiet. Veti was not even half a step away -- the elf was nearly invisible to Daisy's eyes -- and it still felt too far. She reached out with one hand, the other going for the Scythe of it's own accord, and yet had hardly moved when the portal tore itself open with a piercing scream only Daisy could hear.

They were coming.

Daisy lunged to put herself between the door and Veti, the red-head's name dying on her lips. The Scythe was already out, ready, poised, and...Daisy might have killed Max a second time if he hadn't gotten to Veti before she did.

For some reason, that hurt.

But then he was through, and Daisy didn't trust him at all, but there were things much, much worse than maybe-Maxes on their way through, riding in his wake like some evil, deadly rip tide.

"Artie -- " Daisy said quietly, and Artie roused himself and leapt down from her shoulders, falling back in the black Saint Dane form that had become his Veti-default. He knew better than to actually attack the two reunited lovers -- something about not biting the hand that feeds -- but a growl rumbled deep in his chest as he watched patiently, playing a literal guard dog for the temporarily errant werewolf. Neither he nor Daisy could sense anything about Max was not Max, but Daisy wasn't about to leave that shit to chance.

Even if Max had gotten to Veti first.

She pushed the thought out of her mind, content that Artie was watching for signs of all more hell breaking loose, and turned her attention back to the portal. It still wailed at a pitch far above or below what any of the others would be able to hear -- save perhaps the Wight, but fuck him. And it was growing colder by the second. Whatever had been pursuing Max had caught on to Daisy's own Deathly aura of power, and that was more than enough. She had kept a low profile on the other side for over a year now, but she might have guessed her luck wouldn't hold.

The tang of fear was as familiar as it was bracing.

She shuddered, then ignored it, then when to work closing the portal. It was larger, and it had not been a clean tear. It seemed the 'key' had not been a 'key' so much as a 'motherfucking wreckingball', semi-nude Miley Cyrus and all. Daisy shivered again and swore under her breath before drawing forth the Scythe in its True form. On this side of Death, it was immaterial, but that mattered much less than closing the gate before Abacus lost half his party.

She held the Scythe out in front of her, forcing its reach out to either tattered side of the tear between life and Death. If she could sweat, she might have done so, even in the cold. Her hands were shaking well before the edges had even begun to draw close, and still she could hear Death's wail. She could sense now what was on the other side, coming for them, for these denizens of life that went far beyond their normal fare. Coming for her.

With a gasp, Daisy stumbled backwards, pulling the Scythe back into herself as neatly as one turned a key -- a real key this time, not some bullshit fucking flower -- just as the first washed over her feet. The screaming stopped abruptly, and her ears were filled with a dull buzzing. And the sound of Veti going all mushy over her prodigal beau.

It still seemed too quiet. Her hands were still shaking. And she was still cold. But the portal was closed. For now.

Daisy gave something suspiciously close to a sigh of relief and sat down hard, looking pointedly away from Veti and Max. There was an unfamiliar feeling scraping away at her insides, separate from the fatigue and the cold, and it was decidedly unpleasant. Artie gave Max a surreptitious sniff before trotting back to her side and licking her fingers. Daisy scowled. It would seem Max had passed the 'are you secretly a Death-Thing, yes or no?' test. But she'd sure as hell keep an eye on him, at least when he wasn't making out with Veti.

"Great," she muttered, absently running her fingers through Artie's fur. "Now all we need is a flock of secretly racist crows."

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