'Sper watched Dumu's eager eating of the stew with interest. He seemed hungry... so very hungry. Perhaps in the Jungle he'd not got enough food. Indeed, he bolted the food down as if it wasn't scorching his tongue (and Esper had no doubt that it was, with how hot it had been). But though her mind was occupied with the other pendragon's consumption of food, her body was still very nervous. Her hackles were up, still, the fur at the back of her neck bristling. It gave her an aggressive appearance; however, she felt anything but. The storm had stopped for a second and was now swirling in the angry green sky, waiting to spill its guts on the road below it and turn the thick mud into complete, shin-deep, oozing sludge. 'Sper knew that if the ground became that saturated, it would be impossible to move through. We have GOT to go... She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, looking about. Her temper fizzed unpleasantly in her belly, and she wanted to yell again. The femme rolled her golden amber oculars, keeping a bare reign on the now-growing flame of her anger. She wished dearly to tear the bowl away from the (rather naive, she had come to find) male and run, run, run to her house. Thankfully, Dumu finished his food (it was about time). She saw his eyes flit to the sky, and she knew that the same thought was running through his mind. "C'mon," our pink-haired protagonist said commandingly, and stood up. With relief she noticed that he had stood as well. His stance was strong. She hoped she looked half as in control as the younger male did at the moment. As he began to stride towards the door, she walked abreast of him. His steps were long, but she kept up with him, her usual joie de vivre replaced with a burning sense of purpose. She stalked along beside him, and stopped at the door, prepared to tear it open once more after he'd walked out. But instead, he'd held it open for her. Somehow, this just made her angrier. She took it into her own paws and pushed it far further out than he'd allowed it, not heeding the sudden gust of wind which swelled into the pub. There were a few cries of indignation from inside the establishment, and 'Sper had the courtesty to turn around and call, "Sorry, kiddies," as she strode out into the gusting swirl of air. The wind was incredibly damp and humid, as if it was nearly saturated through with moisture. It felt as if the sky was going to explode, though the rain was only about half-force now. Esper forced the door shut and stood beneath the awning of the resaurant, back pressed hard to the wooden door. Her already soaked-through shirt clung to her body and she panted, her chest moving in and out quickly. She was filled with nervous anticipation as she closed her eyes. But somehow, her lithe frame was also filled with a sudden rush of adrenaline. The pump of white-hot energy was so quick that it almost seemed lighting had struck her body and filled it with physical wellness. She wanted to run through the bright sheets of electricity and be drenched with rain. She wanted to be one with the storm. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a devilish little purr. One sharp brow quirked-- --it seemed Dumu really did know how to use his mind. A couple who had, a second ago, been knocked off their feet were now being lifted to safety, apparently by him. At least, she thought it was by him. But there was no time to waste. Turning towards him, she said, "Come on. Let's go." quite breathlessly. And then she rain out into the street. Her army boots were immersed in muck, and it spattered copiously all over her jeans as she rain. Her skull tee was soaking wet, the blackness looking like velvet on her magenta pelt. She laughed, her voice lost in the rumble of thunder. But still she rain on, through the streets, her lungs beginning to burn as she trotted faster and faster. The lighting began again. A fork of it shafted down brutally, staining the ground about fifty yards behind them with black soot. Esper found herself hoping that the bar wouldn't get burnt down, but oddly fear wasn't present in her mind. She laughed in spite of herself as she realized that Dumu was still wearing the old jacket of the man in the bar. She rowrled, the noise being ripped away in the intensity of the crashing storm. The femme continued to run, her body absolutely saturated with the now cascading sheets of molten glass. But it was cold. Her inner lady was beginning to snarl at Dumu, not for his gentle treatment of her earlier, but for the fact that he was wearing her jacket. Or actually, the baldy drunk guy's jacket. Come to think of it he might've got it from his uncle, after he died and all. Tee. Her giddy mental ramblings soon consumed her, and she forgot all about the chill and her intense fear of electric storms. And where she was. Suddenly, she had to stop running so as not to recreate the previous door-smashing incident from the bar. She was on the front walk of her flat, and she was now skidding helplessly through the thick, slippery mud. Her feet kicked instinctively, and soon she found herself laying on the ground, encased in a slimy, saliva-like crysalis of mud from her sides all the way around her back. The only bits left uncovered were her breasts, face, and stomach. "Oh, God... FUCK!" she yelled, losing it completely and beginning scrape at her arms, the mud falling off in large chunks. But after a few moments of scrabbling and raking at the thick sludge, she actually began to appreciate the rain, as it slowly but surely washed away what her hands could not. She only stood there for about a minute in the natural shower, shaking her arms; soon it became too much and she simply had to get inside. So, without looking to see if Dumu was behind her (she was pretty sure she'd outrun him anyway), she wrenched open her door and leapt inside to the the living room. Its pale gray wall-to-wall plush soon became covered in discoloured water, but she didn't particularly care. In about three steps she crossed the room, skidding now into the checker-floored kitchen. Then she dashed through the office and burst into her bedroom. Crossing that in a single leap, she came to the bathroom, where she promptly took two creme-coloured towels in hand and wrapped one about her waist to stop the cascade of dirty water. Trotting back to the living room, she slammed the door closed, prepared to open it in a second's notice if Dumu presented himself. Breathing hard, she walked a few steps away from it, settling into a striped black-and-white chair and beginning to preen with the towel.
<span style='color:blue'>The door, almost wrenched from his grip, shut as sharply as it was opened. Dumu glanced down to her, but she strayed no longer than a moment. He was partially caught off guard when she took off as fast as she did, down the icy road of Watani. He followed as 'Sper seemingly parted the air with her presence, thrusting the thickly setting fog aside. From every direction he was beaten upon by the merciless torrent. The entire area was thrown into utter turmoil through their daring venture away from inviolability, otherwise known as the Golden Apple. An ominous drone resounded only miles above he and his new found companion. Instinctively more than intentionally, his ears pricked to the noise, following it as it set a course behind them. Snaking around the lighter clouds, it rippled under and over the surge, eventually resting above, how he had come to accept it, sanctity. In a council of charge and fury, equating to a mini Aurora Borealis, it unleashed a vociferous, blinding shaft of light. Dumu whipped around to catch the lightning at its fullest power. Because of the droplets hanging frustratingly close to his eyes, the light was amplified ten fold virtually focusing it through the crystal orbs into his pupils. Briefly, his ears were a buzz with the deafening crack and his eyes swelling in agony. Dumu shook his head, flicking the water from his brow once more. Then he noticed something. Crawling toward his feet was a dark silhouette, maybe of a middle aged person. Without changing posture, Dumu snapped his sight up to look along his forehead. Indeed, a figure was approaching him, but this 'dragon's characteristics evaded him. A tall, fairly nimble, hunched physique was lumbering toward Dumu sluggishly, as though wounded. Dumu opened his mouth to speak, yet the words fell silent. The figure was edging closer and closer. He took a step back on the cobbled road, expecting to feel the slick rock, however, his foot glided on a cushion of air. Following suit, his other foot did the same. With all the will in the world he couldn't remain still. Ostensibly powerless, Dumu watched this pendragon to see what he or she may have wanted. To add revulsion to disorder, the person stopped inches short, brushing against the black jacket. Their breath washing over his face in disgust. Suddenly, the figure twisted back around and slammed an object into the ground, wielding it with tremendous force. Excruciating pain ripped through every fiber of his body, rendering any useful reaction void. The figure ebbed and slithered from sight with the washing of the rain over his face. Steady flows of water ran continuously from his hair in between his fingers. In temporarily controlled cascade, the gales blew harder, then the downpour restarted, then the lightning. Squinting past the diamond chains hanging from his hair, Dumu peeled up two hands from the surface of the road. He turned them palm up, immediately cleansed of gritty particles cutting into his hands and wrists. Breathing proved difficult, yet obtainable. His head swam with anxiety and confusion. Many years prior, he could recall being told that something of this caliber would occur, but not as painful. Maybe the two were connected. Even considering his experience was a premonition instead of an elaborate illusion, decoding the message buried amongst the horrific scene seemed futile. This 'Pandora's Box', he feared, may open if he were to prod at the lock for a while. As he was washed over, he promptly picked himself up with a refreshed dedication. He turned to see if he had lost 'Sper, but her faint outline was still visible and disappearing fast. Dumu launched into a sprint after her, knowing all the while that by losing her, he would lose his only opportunity to reunite with his sister. For a split second he could have sworn that she had indeed vanished, however she re-emerged once more. Dumu had made a significant amount of ground, yet he was a fair old distance away. He trudged through the sludgy road after her, trying with great difficulty to watch her every movement. One arm seemed to jerk out to her left, followed by the rest of her. That was it, that was her home. Dumu stumbled faster to catch up, sliding along haphazardly. The click of metal against metal was as clear to him as the day itself. Counting the doors and railings as he passed, he found 'Sper's door. He didn't notice the massive pool of mud when he stepped over it. From within the sleeves of the jacket, he extended his left hand to the handle, and grasped it... Or so he thought. The normal twist from his wrist clockwise would have opened the door. </span><span style='color:black'>What?</span><span style='color:blue'> The door wouldn't open. Muttering briefly to himself, he tried anti-clockwise with a little shove. Still it persisted in refusing to budge. Keeping his hand around the handle, he thought that maybe pulling it would work, or even pushing it straight would work. Since he was fresh to the area, Dumu didn't know how they built the place. A tug, a shove, a twist and lift appeared to be fruitless. His eyes darted from the base of the door to the top in contemplation. </span>How did she get in? Do I wait here? In the rain? Could there be a back door closer to these portals? I'm not going to lose my chance. <span style='color:blue'> One more time would he try and physically open that door. But fate had reared its ugly head against him again. He wrenched his arm when it slipped clean off the handle. A gradually building surge was amounting to anger in the depths of his soul. He raised his hand to the door handle, but, this time, never touched it. For a split second his sight went blank and the door had blasted open, discarding the locks and handle in mid air. Splinters of wood shot only so far, before being reduced to nothing more than dust once it came near him. A twitch from his hand sent the metallic lumps into the ground. The door had bounced proceeding collision with the wall on the inside, but Dumu pinned it back with his stride in to the warm, clean apartment. </span>
"Are you SHITTING me?" Esper cried, none too eloquently, through her hands. "No!" She had just arrived in the living room with a towel, only to be showered with a solid wall of wood splinters and water. Thankfully she had covered her face with the towel in the nick of time: Her hands were battered with chips of wood, but that pain was nothing to that which she might have felt if her eyes had been the recipiants of the splinters. It was the second time in a Quarter her door had been ruined by magic, but this time, Kyofu wasn't there to repair it. For the first time ever, she remembered the femme fondly. If only for fixing her door. Framed by the roiling gray mass of storm on the outside, Dumu's velvety blue frame stood. "I cannot-- I cannot BELIEVE this." She motioned shakily towards the chunks of pine all over the floor. "This is the second time in like a Quarter. The second time my door's been fucked up by magic!" She trembled in anger, shaking her arms. The wood flew off in thick splinters. To add to it all, the rain was pouring through the front door in sheets. "Close the damn door, Du--" she began, realizing too late the stupidity of her statement. "Ngh!" Closing her eyes tightly, she said, "You could've knocked. But let's not worry about that; let's worry about finding a fricking replacement for my door." And she stalked away from the tall, built male, unable to meet his gaze or listen to his response for fear of completely losing it. It obviously meaning her temper. The hot pink femme crossed the living room in four strides and ran off to her workshop, where the smell of charred wood and metal greeted her calmly. Storming through it, she reached the supply closet and threw it open, rummaging around until she found a tarpaulin. It was a miracle, really, that she had one; she used it usually to throw across the floor to put her water barrels on. Also, she might cover a large project with it and store it outside. Whatever she chose to do with the tarp normally was put out of her head, and she dug deeper for handmade nails and a mallet. Seizing them impatiently, she took up a handful of the tarp's crinkly blue material and dragged it behind her back to the living room. By now the handwoven carpet was sodden, and oozed water wherever she stepped. The tarp crackled along behind her. Growling to herself, she yanked the tarp up and began to work the mallet. Five minutes later the din of wind slapping nylon fabric resounded throughout the living room. The rain pattered loudly against the makeshift door. ooc;;; NOT done, nammit. It will be soon, though :/
