[ Fortunately Nina has ways to travel around. Still, it might be time to invest in some fancy jewelry that allows one to teleport wherever the matching set is, but that's a worry for another day. Hijacking and angel's power to zip through several countries might have been uncalled for in other times, but nowadays people have better things to worry about.
Whatever, she'll apologize later if needed.
Nina lands roughly where the gps was showing Anna's location (steering while flying isn't as easy as it looks) and looks around. The four large ghosts are easy to spot, but the other girl isn't, which is just as well. ]
Anna? I'm going to make some fireworks so stay put.
[ It's not sarcasm, of course, it's a genuine question; she'd like to know. She feels it would be a pale powder pink, but then, she's not too sure, it could be an electric blue too. Everything has colours, especially feelings -- the problem is figuring out what colour they are, it's why there are so many fights.
The blonde hears her arrival and stays where she is, crouched down against the front tire of a white car. When Nina speaks, telling her to stay put, she shifts slightly, shoe scraping against the concrete, alerting both her and the ghosts of her general whereabouts. ]
Dorogoya, did you give your father the slip? He's running in circles with that look on his face again. As comical as it is to watch him fret, why don't you tell me where you are, hmm?
I didn't slip. I don't think. [ A pause, and muffled chatter in the background.] I don't know where I am, the man doesn't understand English. I'm alright.
Well, I'm glad you haven't slipped. The man, do you recognise the sound of the language he speaks? Is it any you've heard Auntie Jules speak? And you be sure to let me know if anyone lays a hand on you. [Because she will hunt them down and break it.]
( death carries a heavy aura that lingers, splattered across the shadows and chipped paint walls, triggering a migraine that wakes harvey up out of a dead sleep and ends in dry heaving on the floorboards of his shitty attic apartment. because that’s fucking how hellcraft functions; the pull of endless hands from the river cocytus threatening to drag him down to their level if he doesn't move. sometimes, he swears the shadows swirl just right and he can see the depth of the underworld again. it means hobbling through the dark over emptied whiskey bottles to tug on pants and boots - jacket’s low priority, though it’s somewhere on the list, should it prove unchallenging to locate.
( it beats dreaming sweet nothings that burn up like ashes and acid reflux in his mouth. )
he can feel the searing in his bones like a locating spell without half of the blood magic, beckoning him into the ceaseless darkness of a portal in the cemetery below his bedroom that leads into a shady warehouse deep in a city somewhere better left alone. his nostrils flare on arrival where he crouches near the fallen bodies that, from mere observation, died gruesomely. it’s old hat, dabbling among mortals and organized crime. but there’s something else, something … intimidating in the air. peculiar, considering he hasn’t felt fear since caden died in his arms ( and before that, since he was a child ).
it’s his unforgiving bastardized excuse of a job to be here, to collect the souls stuck in this grimey warehouse, scrabbling for human occupancy, and to retrieve them. he doesn’t have much of a choice. it doesn’t explain his company. if his eyes flash red in the flickering lights of a hallway, it’s only because he’s tapping into senses he doesn’t completely have access to without shifting. )
[ The name escapes the lips of a pale young woman. Her blonde hair is decidedly a windblown mess of a braid that drapes down her shoulder, but despite that she looks completely out of place in her white lacy sundress. Maybe it's the lack of sun, or maybe it's the spotlessness of it in such a place around so much gruesome death. ]
Who are you?
[ Her accent is upperclass Londoner mixed with something just a bit odd, a bit hard to put a finger on unless directly thinking South African. Much like everything about her, it's peculiar.
Magic seeps from her like it's her job to produce it. Light, airy, warm and old - it's impossible to avoid the invisible tendrils of magic that smells of ozone and honey to those that might have a magic sensitive nose. They reach out towards his own magic like a kind greeting despite being so diametrically opposite in nature. Anna hasn't moved an inch from where she was, tucked away by a large door close to one of the bodies and yet her magic makes it near impossible to ignore her presence.
The bruises on her back sting and she isn't completely sure they're just bruises this time. Waking up in strange places is normal, waking up in strange places where other magic users looking at her funny is also pretty normal - what isn't normal is waking up to dead bodies.
Demonics always make her uneasy in the back of her mind, yet the thought is pushed down - ignored.
Bare feet are graceful in stepping around and avoiding blood as she takes a couple steps closer in an attempt to get a better look at him.
Anna's eyebrows knit together and her head tilts ever-so-slightly. Instead of looking at him, it's almost like she's looking through him, down to his core. ]
( she is overwhelmingly out of place with exposed feet and a pristine sundress, it’s almost like the glare of hospital lights whilst being wheeled to the operating room. looking at her for too long makes something in him twist uncomfortably and so he cringes as inwardly as he can, then cuts his eyes away sharply. her aura is otherworldly at the edges and the center, swirling with a mix of other hues—it’s perplexing, but not entirely unidentifiable. if he has to name it partially, he thinks he can, he’d just prefer to be wrong. )
Harvey. ( he’s appropriately distracted and disinterested. he sounds american enough, there’s no other inflection to speak of.
his eyes are blue again when she approaches him, not that he feels he needs a cover here (a human would run screaming from the scene before them, whether they created the mess or not). it’s rude to radiate intimidation even accidentally and he can generally wing it well enough with demeanor alone. he’s equally as careful with leaving bootprints or tracking blood around, mindful of his steps as he puts his preferred personal space back between them. she can tiptoe closer all she likes and he’ll sidestep or move back to ensure she isn’t within reach. )
No, I’m precisely where I’m meant to be. ( her piercing gaze is easier avoided than met. he knows what it is to look into someone and he doesn’t appreciate receiving or giving it. ) What about you? The stench of this hasn’t reached you. You’re clean of it. What brings you here and out of some fairytale?
[ Idly she fiddles with her braid, it gives her hands something to do when they so desperately want to reach out and soothe his aching soul. She looks at him and sees a butterfly with its wings ripped off and it almost hurts her in return. ]
I don't know. [ It's an honest answer, the slight downturn of her lips probably easily implies that. He does well at not implicating any hostilities to her, even despite their differing natures and that is made clear by how easy she is to turn her bruised and bleeding back to him. From the front she looks pristine - aside from her hair - but the strappy sundress does nothing to hide the damage to her back and only soaks up the blood. ]
If I'm honest, I haven't a clue where I even am.
[ Her light green gaze follows something they both can see: a lingering soul taking notice to them. Anna's voice fails to stay steady when its eyes lock with hers. ] Do you ever dream of doors you can't open? Sometimes it's like the old cartoons where they'd open the door and there would just be bricks?
[ The buzzing of flies always makes her uncomfortable, there's so many around this place and even more waking up with their presence here. It's like walking in a graveyard.
Everything happens so fast - suddenly the mess of a spirit (an older man by the looks of it,) looks between the two of them and then sprints towards her. Barefoot and Anna still manages to stumble over herself, letting out a partial scream as she does. Her arms go up to cross over her head instead of try to break her fall. She's more intent on bracing herself from a spirit lunging toward her than her fall. ]
( the stark contrast of red seeping across such a delicate color lures his attention back in. he’s exactly the type to stare freely while her back is towards him. there’s no expectant gaze awaiting him. his lips part in a cross between alarm and suspicion, all of which is swept under some metaphorical rug when movement in his peripheral forces him to whip his head in that direction.
just as well. he doesn’t have an answer for her. the only indicator harvey has that he hasn’t jumped continents is that he isn’t crippled by exhaustion, temporarily limited to his hands and knees. )
Is that what your dreams are full of? Dead ends? ( the reversal isn’t devised out of some necessary deflection technique but it is one. his fingers are around a thread and he wants to unravel the spool, pull until everything fits into neat, sensible categories. ( only people aren’t like that, people are monsters. ) he puzzles briefly over what has her trapped, reading too far into the potential message there. thankfully, he has only the fleeting pause to reflect on his own dreams, on the nights when he’s too bone tired to fend off sleep.
whatever nonsensical follow-up he means to deliver, it’s suspended before them, banished when mr. has-overlived-his-moment rushes them. unnaturally increased speed gives him the few heartbeat’s span that it requires to open a hauntingly cold portal beneath her — he’d apologize for the inky blackness, the free-falling, and the rough landing but there’s really no time, and he doesn’t bother himself with concern overly much. )
As for you, go home.( his power’s stretched too thin. regardless of coupling old latin for the latter part of his statement, he can’t simultaneously open a second shadow void in the wall to send anna tumbling back out ( from a much gentler height than before ) and use cleansing hellfire without jeopardizing some kind of tragic guillotine effect. personally, he'd sort of like it if she returned to earth in the same manner she left it. he doesn't know if he's bought her an extra minute or merely twenty seconds. ) A little help here?
( he may not be inhabitable but that doesn't mean spirits can't harm him. )
[ And here she thought she was pretty good at not getting shaken up like a confused martini.
He might have his reservations about her getting anywhere near his personal space bubble, but in a fluid movement she's closer to him and suddenly grabbing onto his wrist. Where her pale thin fingers wrap around his wrist he'll notice an oddly comforting warm sensation, like a doctor injecting fentanyl in the form of pure magic. It doesn't have a direct path and instead spreads its own way up his arm and into his shoulder, webs of magic creeping over him to both soothe his inner aches and meet with his own magic. It wraps around his magic and engulfs it in almost overwhelming force- and yet turns over to bolstering his hellcraft instead of trying to purify it like one might expect.
The goosebumps on her skin won't go away from the mildly horrifying trip she's just taken, and the kindness to her general demeanor has lessened tremendously, but she doesn't seem angry. ]
He's not the only one. [ There's an odd melancholy to her voice; she already regrets what she's going to do - this is the most lucid she's felt in a while and Anna still hates this. She hates it every time.
When her hand releases him the magic flowing into him comes to a startlingly abrupt stop -- a fuse being blown on the breaker. But the energy she did channel into him stays with him. ]
Five.
[ Holy fire would be cruel. Though perhaps not as cruel as the possible fate she's offering. Sadly, she doesn't want to hurt both the restless and her new friend. She settles for one.
There's a cold down to her bones, and now it's only going to get worse.
She moves toward the kamikaze spirit and grabs ahold of him before he can move to attack. If Harvey has ever seen a possession in action, he'll soon get the firsthand view of the opposite. The spirit is forcefully pulled into her.
Probably not the healthiest thing. ]
There's so much buzzing! [ As if spurned on by the ghost-napping reverse possession the lights stop flickering and seem to burn brighter before dimming back down. The blonde doesn't seem to notice, instead her focus is on wrapping her arms around herself. If the aura of magic surrounding her before was intense, now it's on the verge of going nuclear. ]
( for the first time since meeting, she gets a reaction out of him in the form of widened eyes. he tries to be impassive, to keep it all under wraps these days. he doesn’t overly enjoy being touched, less so by someone he’s only recently introduced himself to. those stipulations to their cooperation go to the wayside, never discussed, and harvey broke unspoken boundaries first. more than her fingers at his wrist beneath the sleeve of his jacket, he resents the complacency. an unfamiliar assurance that this is okay when he has no such certainty grounded in reality. her magic should be stifling, he can sense it. he feels more like a livewire than he has in months, like a creature with a pulse rather than the vacancy constructed of bone.
it’s closest to the jolt that’s coupled with being dragged out of the rain, drenched but new, wrong yet giddy, and nothing like the salve of alcohol-induced weightlessness and fury.
he’s forgotten what that felt like. )
What have you done?
( followed by a staggering breath. the shadows slip from him with a lack of focus and he falls back on his resentment. annabella meant to aid him as he’d asked, but what are intentions worth? he should feel bolstered by power and instead it's as if he's a glass panel. there’s no time for interrogations when there are others. he heard her. he wastes a few more seconds in front of her, palms raised but suspended between them. he can’t imagine how unholy she feels, having forcefully turned herself into a trap. ) I can’t separate you. I can make sure you don't repeat that.
( although, he can get away from being internally rearranged like a busted rubik's cube. escaping everything but instinct is easy. he can feel their spirit voyeurs in the hair on the back of his neck, in the pinprick of being watched. harvey's already turning from the newly possessed? vacuumed? the fuck if he knows what she's done. he's not sure how long she can contain it or what she means to do next. the surging power in the building offers scarce reassurance. his fingers deftly work at zippers and buttons, ripping at the laces on his boots until there's a pile of discarded clothes between them. ideally, he'd put a room between them and his transformation, but it isn't as though he wants to be descended upon in the middle of it. he's also no longer in the mood to converse. two birds, one stone.
the crunch and twist of bones and nerves are actually a welcome reprieve to her kind magic. having shifted countlessly, he barely screams. annabella's left with a massive black wolf with red eyes peering up at her briefly, though there's an unearthly haze around him if she stares too hard. he lowers his head to growl, spotting two unresolved contenders — one is distracted by the bodies like a vulture scavenging and he rushes the other. as opposed to smacking into a wall at full-speed, he passes through it, crashing into a storage room full of someone's priceless crap, nipping at the wispy heels of the soul even as it attempts to phase through one closed gate to another.
when he catches their new foe in his teeth ( back in the hall between two storages ), it's as if hands of despair are grasping at it from the archeron itself from beneath him. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 01:49 pm (UTC)I don't know what a foodie is. But I do like food. Sometimes.
As long as I'm not being chased by flies.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 04:14 pm (UTC)a foodie is like someone who really likes food? and like knows how to make a lot of dishes, or something
just wanted to ask if you knew of any cool recipes but now i am sorta concerned you're being chased by flies
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 04:38 pm (UTC)Oh. Like my uncle. He's taught me some things.
What do you consider cool?
I am. I think there are four of them. I'm hiding in a parking garage.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 04:46 pm (UTC)guess so? im trying to expand my repertoire beyond cheeseburgers and slightly burnt rice, so yeah
anything under 14°C but that's not really important right now
are these four flies the sizes of mall dogs or something? because usually they should be the ones hiding
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 04:59 pm (UTC)Do you like salad? Or crêpes? Ice cream is good. Ice cream in cêpes is delicious! Pizza is good. :)
Are you cold?
They're bigger than me. One of them keeps screaming.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 05:17 pm (UTC)if you can cook any of that i will love you forever. and if you can't we can always just order and have it delivered
my demon part always keeps me a few degrees over room temperature
oh THOSE flies. send me your location? ill spook them away
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 05:29 pm (UTC)I can cook all of that. Do you want all of it?
I see. That must be helpful.
[ Have a location in Italy, what is she even doing there?? ]
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 05:41 pm (UTC)sounds like a date
[ Fortunately Nina has ways to travel around. Still, it might be time to invest in some fancy jewelry that allows one to teleport wherever the matching set is, but that's a worry for another day. Hijacking and angel's power to zip through several countries might have been uncalled for in other times, but nowadays people have better things to worry about.
Whatever, she'll apologize later if needed.
Nina lands roughly where the gps was showing Anna's location (steering while flying isn't as easy as it looks) and looks around. The four large ghosts are easy to spot, but the other girl isn't, which is just as well. ]
Anna? I'm going to make some fireworks so stay put.
<3
Date: 2016-10-27 04:53 am (UTC)[ It's not sarcasm, of course, it's a genuine question; she'd like to know. She feels it would be a pale powder pink, but then, she's not too sure, it could be an electric blue too. Everything has colours, especially feelings -- the problem is figuring out what colour they are, it's why there are so many fights.
The blonde hears her arrival and stays where she is, crouched down against the front tire of a white car. When Nina speaks, telling her to stay put, she shifts slightly, shoe scraping against the concrete, alerting both her and the ghosts of her general whereabouts. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 07:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-25 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-26 04:37 am (UTC)these images look appropriately cursed
Date: 2022-01-08 08:24 am (UTC)Omg omg omg hell yes
Date: 2022-01-08 02:53 pm (UTC)[ The name escapes the lips of a pale young woman. Her blonde hair is decidedly a windblown mess of a braid that drapes down her shoulder, but despite that she looks completely out of place in her white lacy sundress. Maybe it's the lack of sun, or maybe it's the spotlessness of it in such a place around so much gruesome death. ]
Who are you?
[ Her accent is upperclass Londoner mixed with something just a bit odd, a bit hard to put a finger on unless directly thinking South African. Much like everything about her, it's peculiar.
Magic seeps from her like it's her job to produce it. Light, airy, warm and old - it's impossible to avoid the invisible tendrils of magic that smells of ozone and honey to those that might have a magic sensitive nose. They reach out towards his own magic like a kind greeting despite being so diametrically opposite in nature. Anna hasn't moved an inch from where she was, tucked away by a large door close to one of the bodies and yet her magic makes it near impossible to ignore her presence.
The bruises on her back sting and she isn't completely sure they're just bruises this time. Waking up in strange places is normal, waking up in strange places where other magic users looking at her funny is also pretty normal - what isn't normal is waking up to dead bodies.
Demonics always make her uneasy in the back of her mind, yet the thought is pushed down - ignored.
Bare feet are graceful in stepping around and avoiding blood as she takes a couple steps closer in an attempt to get a better look at him.
Anna's eyebrows knit together and her head tilts ever-so-slightly. Instead of looking at him, it's almost like she's looking through him, down to his core. ]
You're lost?
[ Maybe she isn't here because of the bodies. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-01-09 01:32 am (UTC)Harvey. ( he’s appropriately distracted and disinterested. he sounds american enough, there’s no other inflection to speak of.
his eyes are blue again when she approaches him, not that he feels he needs a cover here (a human would run screaming from the scene before them, whether they created the mess or not). it’s rude to radiate intimidation even accidentally and he can generally wing it well enough with demeanor alone. he’s equally as careful with leaving bootprints or tracking blood around, mindful of his steps as he puts his preferred personal space back between them. she can tiptoe closer all she likes and he’ll sidestep or move back to ensure she isn’t within reach. )
No, I’m precisely where I’m meant to be. ( her piercing gaze is easier avoided than met. he knows what it is to look into someone and he doesn’t appreciate receiving or giving it. ) What about you? The stench of this hasn’t reached you. You’re clean of it. What brings you here and out of some fairytale?
no subject
Date: 2022-01-09 04:05 am (UTC)I don't know. [ It's an honest answer, the slight downturn of her lips probably easily implies that. He does well at not implicating any hostilities to her, even despite their differing natures and that is made clear by how easy she is to turn her bruised and bleeding back to him. From the front she looks pristine - aside from her hair - but the strappy sundress does nothing to hide the damage to her back and only soaks up the blood. ]
If I'm honest, I haven't a clue where I even am.
[ Her light green gaze follows something they both can see: a lingering soul taking notice to them. Anna's voice fails to stay steady when its eyes lock with hers. ] Do you ever dream of doors you can't open? Sometimes it's like the old cartoons where they'd open the door and there would just be bricks?
[ The buzzing of flies always makes her uncomfortable, there's so many around this place and even more waking up with their presence here. It's like walking in a graveyard.
Everything happens so fast - suddenly the mess of a spirit (an older man by the looks of it,) looks between the two of them and then sprints towards her. Barefoot and Anna still manages to stumble over herself, letting out a partial scream as she does. Her arms go up to cross over her head instead of try to break her fall. She's more intent on bracing herself from a spirit lunging toward her than her fall. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-01-09 06:46 am (UTC)just as well. he doesn’t have an answer for her. the only indicator harvey has that he hasn’t jumped continents is that he isn’t crippled by exhaustion, temporarily limited to his hands and knees. )
Is that what your dreams are full of? Dead ends? ( the reversal isn’t devised out of some necessary deflection technique but it is one. his fingers are around a thread and he wants to unravel the spool, pull until everything fits into neat, sensible categories. ( only people aren’t like that, people are monsters. ) he puzzles briefly over what has her trapped, reading too far into the potential message there. thankfully, he has only the fleeting pause to reflect on his own dreams, on the nights when he’s too bone tired to fend off sleep.
whatever nonsensical follow-up he means to deliver, it’s suspended before them, banished when mr. has-overlived-his-moment rushes them. unnaturally increased speed gives him the few heartbeat’s span that it requires to open a hauntingly cold portal beneath her — he’d apologize for the inky blackness, the free-falling, and the rough landing but there’s really no time, and he doesn’t bother himself with concern overly much. )
As for you, go home. ( his power’s stretched too thin. regardless of coupling old latin for the latter part of his statement, he can’t simultaneously open a second shadow void in the wall to send anna tumbling back out ( from a much gentler height than before ) and use cleansing hellfire without jeopardizing some kind of tragic guillotine effect. personally, he'd sort of like it if she returned to earth in the same manner she left it. he doesn't know if he's bought her an extra minute or merely twenty seconds. ) A little help here?
( he may not be inhabitable but that doesn't mean spirits can't harm him. )
no subject
Date: 2022-01-10 04:14 am (UTC)He might have his reservations about her getting anywhere near his personal space bubble, but in a fluid movement she's closer to him and suddenly grabbing onto his wrist. Where her pale thin fingers wrap around his wrist he'll notice an oddly comforting warm sensation, like a doctor injecting fentanyl in the form of pure magic. It doesn't have a direct path and instead spreads its own way up his arm and into his shoulder, webs of magic creeping over him to both soothe his inner aches and meet with his own magic. It wraps around his magic and engulfs it in almost overwhelming force- and yet turns over to bolstering his hellcraft instead of trying to purify it like one might expect.
The goosebumps on her skin won't go away from the mildly horrifying trip she's just taken, and the kindness to her general demeanor has lessened tremendously, but she doesn't seem angry. ]
He's not the only one. [ There's an odd melancholy to her voice; she already regrets what she's going to do - this is the most lucid she's felt in a while and Anna still hates this. She hates it every time.
When her hand releases him the magic flowing into him comes to a startlingly abrupt stop -- a fuse being blown on the breaker. But the energy she did channel into him stays with him. ]
Five.
[ Holy fire would be cruel. Though perhaps not as cruel as the possible fate she's offering. Sadly, she doesn't want to hurt both the restless and her new friend. She settles for one.
There's a cold down to her bones, and now it's only going to get worse.
She moves toward the kamikaze spirit and grabs ahold of him before he can move to attack. If Harvey has ever seen a possession in action, he'll soon get the firsthand view of the opposite. The spirit is forcefully pulled into her.
Probably not the healthiest thing. ]
There's so much buzzing! [ As if spurned on by the ghost-napping reverse possession the lights stop flickering and seem to burn brighter before dimming back down. The blonde doesn't seem to notice, instead her focus is on wrapping her arms around herself. If the aura of magic surrounding her before was intense, now it's on the verge of going nuclear. ]
...three years later in spongebob voiceover
Date: 2022-01-15 08:21 pm (UTC)it’s closest to the jolt that’s coupled with being dragged out of the rain, drenched but new, wrong yet giddy, and nothing like the salve of alcohol-induced weightlessness and fury.
he’s forgotten what that felt like. )
What have you done?
( followed by a staggering breath. the shadows slip from him with a lack of focus and he falls back on his resentment. annabella meant to aid him as he’d asked, but what are intentions worth? he should feel bolstered by power and instead it's as if he's a glass panel. there’s no time for interrogations when there are others. he heard her. he wastes a few more seconds in front of her, palms raised but suspended between them. he can’t imagine how unholy she feels, having forcefully turned herself into a trap. ) I can’t separate you. I can make sure you don't repeat that.
( although, he can get away from being internally rearranged like a busted rubik's cube. escaping everything but instinct is easy. he can feel their spirit voyeurs in the hair on the back of his neck, in the pinprick of being watched. harvey's already turning from the newly possessed? vacuumed? the fuck if he knows what she's done. he's not sure how long she can contain it or what she means to do next. the surging power in the building offers scarce reassurance. his fingers deftly work at zippers and buttons, ripping at the laces on his boots until there's a pile of discarded clothes between them. ideally, he'd put a room between them and his transformation, but it isn't as though he wants to be descended upon in the middle of it. he's also no longer in the mood to converse. two birds, one stone.
the crunch and twist of bones and nerves are actually a welcome reprieve to her kind magic. having shifted countlessly, he barely screams. annabella's left with a massive black wolf with red eyes peering up at her briefly, though there's an unearthly haze around him if she stares too hard. he lowers his head to growl, spotting two unresolved contenders — one is distracted by the bodies like a vulture scavenging and he rushes the other. as opposed to smacking into a wall at full-speed, he passes through it, crashing into a storage room full of someone's priceless crap, nipping at the wispy heels of the soul even as it attempts to phase through one closed gate to another.
when he catches their new foe in his teeth ( back in the hall between two storages ), it's as if hands of despair are grasping at it from the archeron itself from beneath him. )