Title: Batty
Time Period: August 22nd, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Beisdean, Blake and Luna have their day interrupted by a fire.

There is a stiff, steady, southwesterly wind blowing over Dornie this morning. The grasses, wheats and wildflowers all bow and ripple in the same direction as the pair of colorful kites two children fly near the Dovetail while one of their parents is likely inside. There are fluffy clouds in the sky, but they are giving the town ample berth as if not wanting a single shadow to fall upon it.

Afanc Armors is a little less cheerful than its surroundings. While the front door is propped open, the barred windows are shut and shuttered. It isn't the mossy roof or untended yard that makes it ruin the otherwise picturesque scene, however. It is the gloomy man outside of it. Blake stands on the south side of the building, near the well-topped hill, in the middle of an uneven circle burned into the tall grass (which still smolders in places; fueled by the wind). His eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed, but he faces the path leading to the building with his hands together as if watching for visitors with his mind's eye.

Walking down a hill comes a tall man; a fedora shades his face from the sun, but the lean limbs and posture is a give away for anyone who knows the medium. Above, a raven circles, cawing now and then, and Beisdean glances up with a grin at something the familiar must have said.

Eventually, he nears enough to be within speaking distance of Blake, but the way the man's eyes are closed gives him pause; Beisdean doesn't speak, and his feet come to a slow and then a stop. He simply watches and waits for the moment of concentration or meditation passes.

"Baizey!!" A shrill call of a female, unfortunately familiar to both of them. As small as she is, just a speck down the road on the top of another hill, her voice carries as loud as if she was quite close. "Baizey look!!"

A thin contraption rests against one of her hips, its lean straightened to a few inches taller when she takes it by the handlebars. Her dress today is quite a bit shorter than the ones she usually wears. The skirts come to a ruffled stop just a few inches past her knees, where her thin calves begin to curve. The petticoats underneath help hide the shame of exposed undergarments when she mounts up and lets off an excited scream as the bicycle careens down the hill and up to where Beisdean is walking. Her cheeks are flushed with trepidation and elation, on closer observation it's quite clear why; one of her knees has already been scuffed and dirtied from an unfortunate introduction to the gravel pathway.

As the pair of guests, one silent and one quite the opposite, grow close to Blake a few more details become apparent that couldn't be seen from more than several steps away. The first is how incredibly sweaty he is even though the wind should be keeping him dry. The second is the way his body trembles slightly as if he is exerting a great force. The last to be seen (due to the tall grass around it) is the large copper ingot that sits on the ground a yard in front of him in the very center of the uneven circle.

Beisdean's arrival doesn't alert Blake, but as Luna calls out and comes flying down the steep hill behind him, the armor smith's eyes fly open and his head turns sharply towards his shoulder to see what the noise behind him is. As his concentration is interrupted, the copper ingot on the ground bursts into flames. Concussive force lacking the shrapnel that would make it deadly emits from the center of the circle and knocks Blake off his feet; sending him spinning counter-clockwise through the air like an acrobat. Fire is spreading through the dry grass even before he lands a few paces away.

Beisdean turns at the sound of his name in surprise, and then chuckles, shaking his head as the woman on the bicycle goes by him — the laughter is short lived, however, as the ingot bursts into flame. The mage's arm covers his face and he turns away for a moment before it's clear there's no giant fireball coming his way. Then, Beisdean turns back to assess the damage done to Blake and the area closest to the armorer.

"Shit. Luna, get out of there!" he shouts, as he runs to move toward Blake to drag him out of the path of the spreading fire, then turns to look for something to put the fire out.

Though weaker due to being farther away from its source, the blast that sent Blake reeling hits Luna with enough force to knock both her and her two wheeled contraption ass over tea kettle. She lands, thankfully on her ass rather than her tea kettle, in the dry grass a few meters away from the road. Already the plumes of smoke have started to filter through to where she sits in a daze, Beisdean's voice does little to hurry her along.

Heat does though. And more smoke.

When a few licks of flame begin to sear the ground near her precious little bicycle, she screams again, this time with less delight than before. The metal frame is pulled away and she runs with it toward the gravel. Thus far, she hasn't put together exactly what has happened, she just needs to get away from the burn.

On a normal day, the fire would be of little worry. Blake burned the ground around where he was working to create the circle and, fortunately, created a boundary the flames would not cross. The constantly gusting wind, however, threatens to spread the fire right towards Afanc Armors and perhaps the northern half of The Vale if not contained very quickly. The blaze is splattered over a few feet diameter currently, but is growing at an alarming rate.

As Beisdean starts to drag Blake out of the path of the fire, the armor smith suddenly jerks awake from his single-second unconsciousness with the sound of a rugged, gasping inhalation to punctuate the action. He flails at Beisdean without coordination to pull his limbs away, but already seems to have a firm grasp on what is going on. His throat sounds raw and groggy as he snaps, "Fire! The fire, you cunt!" Apparently he is not concerned for himself. Instead of moving away from the burning grass, he kicks at it with his leather-covered foot in a drunken motion; stamping it out even as he tries to push himself upright. He flops over on his ass and continues to kick at it; stopping the fire from progressing towards him, at least.

When the other man flails, Beisdean lets Blake go, scowling at the word cunt, but he looks over at Luna to shout, "Get out of the way of the flames, Luna. Go upwind."

Turning to take in his surroundings, he spies buckets of water and grabs one in each hand, hurrying to toss the fluid on the spreading flames, one closer to the edge that's advancing with the help of the wind, and the other more at the heart of the miniature inferno.

The buckets, now empty, are tossed to the ground, and he returns to find a sheet of metal, planning to use it as a way to snuff off the oxygen. "You all right?" he shouts to Blake over his shoulder as he grips the metal sheet, trying to find the right hand hold.

Upwind is all fine and dandy if one knew what that meant, or even could figure out which way the wind was going without stopping and licking a finger. So she runs in a wide circle and ends up somewhere near the two men, watching and guarding her precious little transport as Beisdean saves the day. She's perfectly willing to let him do all the dirty work. In fact, just as it's almost all put out, she races up and stomps down a lick of fire with one of her heels.

"Blake Esho! How dare you blow up the countryside and try to kill me!" Finger wagging in the armorer's face, she scolds. Then just as quickly as the anger flashes, it's gone as she turns to Beisdean and smiles. "You should thank Baizey for saving your ragtag little shack." She looks around at the burnt yard and raises her eyebrows a bit. "Or you should hire him to control the fire while you burn off all the weeds, it'd make this horrible place a bit more comely."

Blake really puts a lot of effort into trying to help Beisdean in his display of firefighting, but he is moving like a boxer that's taken one too many shots to the head and refuses to rest for the ten-count. After several kicks and a few attempts to push himself up to his feet while kicking, the armor smith manages to right himself. Instead of thanking the man that managed to get the flames down to what is now a number of candle-sized flames burning towards wet grass (as would be proper), he turns towards Luna with anger naked on his face. His eyes swim between glaring at her and unfocusing. "I ought to belt your arse, ye fuckin' numpty!" he exclaims, and doesn't sound as if he's going to finish there. "By the time-" He lifts his index finger in a menacing fashion to make his rant a declaration but pitches right back to the ground as his eyes half-roll towards the sky.

The concussive force was strong, but it might be noticed that something else has contibuted in draining Blake's vitality and leaving him hardly able to function. He groans as he starts to push himself up from the ground again with quaking arms.

The metal slab is dropped on the remaining patch of flames and does a good enough job of quenching the fire that Beisdean can turn his attention to the other two. "I'll take that as a no," he says drolly to Blake, heading to the man and pulling him up to lean against him, holding one of Blake's arms over his own shoulder and wrapping an arm around the waist. No, he's not trying to get fresh.

"Luna, get the door, will you, and quit nagging him while you're at it. I'm fairly sure he wasn't trying to kill you. Let's get him inside and out of the smoke. A glass of water and a rest will fix you right up." He begins to pull the man toward the building, and waits for Luna to open the door for them both.

A high pitched hmph! is Beidean's answer, Luna's golden hair bounces ahead of him as she flounces toward the door in a pout. "You don't know Blake Esho very well at all then, do you? How do you know he wasn't trying to kill me? He's a brute and a savage." A brute and a savage with a few interesting things in and around his shop. The young woman takes the opportunity to snoop a bit after opening the door. No, she doesn't hold it open.

The wind keeps it though, and as Beisdean labors to get the armorsmith inside, Luna is keeping an eye out for the ugly familiar as she peeks in corners, under tables, and inside drawers. "His bed is over here! Can you manage him? I'd help but my arm, you see…"

Blake tries to resist Beisdean's help, muttering something that sounds rather displeased, but the only part that comes out clearly is, "…fuckin' fuck…." The normally strong and dextrous smith is hardly able to do more than roll his head around as if his neck is made of limp noodles. After a couple steps he manages to support some of his weight beneath him, but it's good that he has someone to use as a crutch. He blinks a few times as the blood returns to his brain with more strength, and coughs once more. Glancing at the taller man, he gives as close to a thank you as will likely be given: a nod (that would send Blake back to the ground if not for the support). It is followed by a weak scowl towards Luna's back.

Blake's bed is where Luna indicates, but just after she does so, the last drawer she opened (one filled with various types of pliers) has an ugly toad pop out from its recesses to flash its red, warty belly at her with an unken reflex as if to shout, 'Surprise!'

The armorer is eased down to his bed, and Beisdean glances back at Luna. "Aye, we wouldn't want you to put yourself out or anything. You think you can manage getting him a glass of water, Lu?" the medium asks with a shake of his head.

Peering at Blake, he appraises the damage done. "I think you'll be all right, mate. I'm going to go check on that blaze outside and make sure it's put out properly, and if there's still some burning, I'll head up to the well to finish the job. You just rest up, and kick her out if her tongue's too sharp to bear, aye?"

He doesn't really wait for a reply, but instead steps back, doffing his hat to Luna. "I trust that you'll be able to fend off the brute in his weakened state and that I'm not being too ungentlemanly to leave you be with him. If that's not the case, yell for help and Darklight will hear and I'll come back to rescue you." His eyes sparkle a bit with the jesting, and he bows in that flourished way of his, before heading out the door to see to the mess outside.

Pighead's greeting elicits a shriek and earns him a trip back into the darkness as Luna slams the drawer shut again, with him still inside it. He might like it better, considering the venom she next shoots toward his mage. "Don't you swear at me! You're lucky I decided to head this way, you could be dead for all the care you took setting fire to half the vale!" Still clucking, she makes her way to wherever the man keeps his drink and pours a liberal glass. The first swig is hers, of course, but the rest is passed over to the armorer without much fuss for his weakness.

Beisdean's comments don't go unheard, just unheeded until the click of the door announces his departure. "My arm is still weak!!" Luna yells at his retreat, cradling her shoulder as thought she might have injured it again. It could happen, she did take quite a fall. "Imagine that, I saved his hide from being eaten by a monster and he has the nerve to imply that I'm not gracious enough to help." She's not, not really, especially since there's nothing really in it for her.

If Pighead objects, it is unheard in the dark depths of the drawer. Blake's objection, however, is quite audible despite the fact that he still sounds dizzy, gruff and as if he's recovering his breath after a run for his life. "I will say any damn word I please," he starts almost gently, but then he adds as his eyebrows lower, "and you're the fuckin' reason that fire even started. Miles and miles o' fuckin' Vale and you have to ride that…" he glances towards the shuttered window, "…whatever the fuck it is up on me while I'm-" He sighs rather than continue his lecture. He must be drained.

For reasons unknown to anyone in town, Blake doesn't drink. In fact, he's never had a single drop of alcohol. When youths would sneak off and have some wine, he'd take no part in it. Not even a sip with dinner. Milk, water and occasionally juice is all he drinks. Therefore the drink that Luna imbibes is the very bottle she traded to him previously. If he notices, it doesn't show. Instead he pushes himself up onto an elbow to look at her more clearly. "You risked your own arse to save someone else from a beast?" The incredulousness is clear.

"Of course I did," Blake's audacity at even questioning Luna's selflessness makes her balk with incredulity. "It wouldn't have done me any good to rescue him only to lose him again to the jaws of a vicious creature. Who would believe me then?" But to sacrifice herself in Beisdean's stead, a better or more tragic tale couldn't have been dreamed by Shakespeare himself. On that topic, the medium still owes her an epic.

The former prostitute continues to sip the cup she brought for the armorer, sitting at the edge of his bed and basically ignoring his needs or wants in favor of a good story. "It's not the first time I've done something of the like either. I rescued a stableboy from a group of attacking kelpies once, I still have the hide tucked away. I was going to have it made into a coat for someone dear, but he left me before I was able to have it commissioned." Oh well, for Duncan perhaps, someday.

Blake doesn't even seem to consider asking for help as he slowly walks his elbows up to hands in order to sit up. The nicely tanned man is looking quite pale, but his eyes are no longer swimming around with lack of focus. He reaches down towards his boots to unlace them, but his fingers are fumbling and making no progress. "Well aren't you just a fuckin' hero. Time to give up those skirts for some armor." As he points out the skirt, his gaze lingers on the garment and Luna's legs for a few seconds in thought. It might seem perverse, but he follows the look with, "Kelpies attacked a stableboy? Are they no' supposed to, well, lure maidens off to watery deaths?" His right eyebrow raises with the question, but snaps low with its peer a moment later as he gives up on his boots with a frustrated exhale.

Crossing her legs at the knee, Luna flips one foot out, pointing her toes toward the door and then bouncing her foot. Blake's attention to her is directly proportionate to her inattention to him. Sip. Sip. "Thank you," she says, resting one hand behind her and leaning comfortably on her uninjured arm. "I am a hero, no one ever thinks of me that way, you know. Except Duncan, he knows how wonderful I am."

She stops to glance at him, waiting for affirmation of her statement, before his silence is taken as implied agreement. "He's quite wonderful too, once one looks past everything he had to do to make Dornie a safer place to live. It's sad isn't it? Duncan losing his father the way he did, did you ever do business with the factory? I suppose not, I mean, it wouldn't be often that one of the workers there would need armor or anything, would they?"

Blake exhales through his nose in a snorting fashion and ignores the question about the factory to bluntly ask, "If he thinks you're so fuckin' wonderful, then why do ya 'ave this manner about you like there are a plague o' thoughts about what he's doin' right now? That's why you brought up the factory so fast. You got the same crawlin' to your skin when you speak of him that women do when they think their husbands make up excuses to sneak out to the Dovetail or off with another woman." Blake frowns, but it's slight. "Afraid he's found a pretty distraction to keep his cock wet 'til you're fully recovered?" Putting the heel of one boot over the toe of the other, he slowly starts to worm his right foot free as if he's just making casual conversation.

Confusion sets in and Luna shakes her head slightly before staring down at Blake. "What are you going on about? I brought up the factory because Marcus owned it. He just recently died, you idiot." She rolls her eyes and adjusts the fabric on her shoulder, suddenly self conscious about her scars. "By the by, I don't have that manner about me at all." At least she didn't.

Suddenly she stands and brushes the front of her dress, then the back, smoothing out the wrinkles she might have gotten from lounging. "You're a horrible man, Blake Esho, here I was trying to comfort you in your hour of need with wonderful stories to help you on your way to recovery and all you can do is sully my love's good reputation."

"That is your goal? Bringin' me comfort?" There is a brief pause of thought at this, as if she's given him no sign to that effect. "I thought ya came out 'ere to try and get some revenge arse." Blake holds up a finger to try and stop Luna from the denial of this; indicating he understands now that it isn't the case, and this time he doesn't fall over as his index extends. "Try this then. Put down the fuckin' drink for a moment, help me get these contemptable fuckin' boots off since I seem to only managed to get my foot stuck in there, slide me that bucket o' water from the next room and, if you still want to help," he has to suck in a deep breath to continue. He cringes as he does so; obviously hating showing signs of weakness or not being fully up to par. "…There's on more thing you can do for me, and it doesn't involve my cock, so lower your fuckin' hackles, woman."

She hasn't really, given him a sign that she's helping him at all. She's freeloading his wine, resting at the edge of his bed, using him as a sounding board for her brilliant exploits. Nowhere has she actually helped him at all. Save for not noticing him looking at her legs.

Luna turns to give Blake a look down her nose. Her visage set into the curled sneer of upper class that would rival anything Helen Rowntree could come up with. "If I was going to punish Duncan in that way, I'd pick a much better man than you. Algernon Fogg would be at the top of my list of men to run to if Duncan ever gave me reason to doubt him, which he hasn't." Of course that would mean running away again, since Algernon is gone. She'd have to find him. A feat, since no one has managed it yet.

Waving those thoughts aside, she complies with Blake's request. The sneer turns to an ugly grimace as she unlaces the boots and then peels them off the armorer's feet. She might gag, just a little. Feet are gross, especially unwashed ones. Immediately she goes off to find that bucket of water, crook of her sleeve to nose, trying to regain her noble composure.

The bucket is found, her hands are quickly dipped into it and washed, then dried before she lugs it back out to him. Not giving any indication that she'd touched it at all. "Here's your water, I hope you don't choke on it."

Blake doesn't look hurt when Luna informs him he's not at the top of her potential Other Men list. In fact, he looks fairly amused, if in a tired fashion. "Already got one all picked out then, aye?" The smell of his sweaty feet is muted by the fact that he bathed earlier combined with the permeating scent of iron, copper and their alloys that fills the shop. It may not be for the reasons most would guess, but he actually seems to have good hygene. His face was shaven a day or two ago, his toenails are trimmed, his nails are clean of the filth that layers beneath those of most smiths. If not for dressing like lightly armored infantry and cursing like a sailor on a daily basis, he would likely get a lot more attention from the women in town.

When the water is brought to him, he looks at Luna with an eyebrow raised. "You think I leave my drinkin' water sitting around in an open bucket all fuckin' day? …You see the gnats in there, aye?" He points at the surface, which only has a dozen dead gnats floating on it. "I 'ave some plumbin' ya know." He undoes his belt, drops it (and the sword it holds via frog) on the bed and then begins to tug his armor off. "Grab one o' my rags and help me scrub this shite off." What he refers to becomes apparent as he starts to lift his shirt. Arcane runes cover him above the waist.

"Algernon was mine before Duncan came around, he said he'd be mine after." It's all she has to say about the missing man.

Blake's personal habits, whatever he does with his drinking water or wherever he gets it, don't much concern Luna. She levels a look at the armorer, another one down her nose, and raises a single eyebrow in a sharp hook. "I don't think so," her flat delivery is coupled with a crossing of her arms. "I stopped giving other men baths. Unless Duncan starts wetting his cock someplace else, as you so elegantly put it, I'll not be starting a new business with you." Of course she's still bitter. "What did you go and start scribbling on yourself for anyway? Have you decided to join up with Fletcher and don't know how to go about it?"

Most of it is concealed by Blake slowly pulling his damp, smoke-smelling shirt over his head, but Luna might catch the end of him rolling his eyes. "What do you care what I painted myself for? Or were you just lookin' for another excuse to judge yourself superior to my lowly fuckin' self." He sounds as if he wants to spit as he says that. "If I was tryin' to fuckin' seduce you or get my kicks out o' this I'd be goin' about it a lot differently, believe me." Topless now, he reveals muscles that are no new news in town and what looks to be numbers and geometric shapes that cover the top of his stomach, his sternum and the center of his chest. "I don't play games."

He balls up his shirt, dips it in the water and begins to scrub at the oily substance on his chest with weary limbs, but is slowly managing to smear it around and away. Finally, the last part of what she said penetrates his thoughts to reach his mind. "What? I feather my own arrows." Clearly he doesn't know of Fletcher or didn't understand the question.

"I don't need to look for an excuse," Luna sniffs as she tosses a rag into the bucket. It must be for Blake, because she doesn't go after it. Instead, she turns her back on him and his muscles and goes searching for some of that plumbing that he boasted about earlier. She doesn't look past the wine bottle, though, because her cup is filled again (only a few large swallows this time).

Leaning against the drawer she locked Pighead in, she sips from her cup and stares at the blocked window. "It's such a shame, this little hovel you call a home. You should hire someone to keep it for you. Tend to the grass so you don't set it on fire again, keep the corners free of cobwebs, let the light in…" There's so much she could pick apart in this place (kill the ugly toad).

There aren't any signs of plumbing in Blake's humble bedroom or in the shop itself, but in the third room where the work takes place there are chimneys, workbenches and piping all nice enough to make smiths of any kind in other towns (and maybe even Dornie itself) very jealous if they knew of it. The tiny bathroom adjacent to it is nothing special, but looks functional if in need of a good scrub like the rest of the building.

Blake's voice can be heard from his bedroom. "Offerin' your services as a maid?" he asks dryly; assuming Luna to think far too much of herself for a job like that. "I did hire someone. She was a clumsy, useless cunt. I told her to get a job at the Dovetail, but I think she left town in shame at the mere thought of bein' nothin' more than a tight piece of arse to grab at. Bitch broke-" he stops there and clamps his lips tight as if the very thought upsets him to silence.

"The Dove is a jewel," Luna snaps back. Though Blake wouldn't know it, she's quoting someone else, someone of better station than he. "It's not a place for just anyone to go to if they can't even clean for a bastard such as yourself. You think the women there don't have skill at anything but to giggle at being pawed at?" Another sniff outward and curl of her lip in a sneer.

No, she's not looking for a job, apparently.

She sips from her cup and then sets it down on the sideboard. The drawer is given a good hit for measure and she moves to the window to clear it of obstacle. When the bright afternoon light pours into the room, she stands in front of it, akimbo. Like the hero she is. Saving a man from darkness.

"I did not hire her to clean. Fuck." Blake sounds annoyed. He doesn't realize he's speaking over the sound of the plier drawer Luna closed sliding outward with slow, cautious stealth after she moves away from it. "I only hired her, because apparently Master Brown offered her the fuckin' job already. Didn't want to explain to him why I turned the bitch away. What makes you give a fuck anyways? If you're just goin' to poke about my home and be an arrogant little snot about all you find, then-" The sounds of wings flapping up towards the rafters can suddenly be heard in the background, but turning to look will only reveal an open drawer sans Pighead. "-just find yourself a more worthy abode to look down upon." Blake can be heard flopping back onto his simple bedding heavily.

"I'm trying to help you, but you don't make it very easy." The horrible thing about it is, Luna might actually be telling the truth on that. She looks up at the rafters and cringes a little, it wouldn't be unlike the horrible little familiar to drop something unsavory on a sweet woman. So she moves toward the door. "You could stand to be a little nicer to people, Mister Esho, it would help your reputation immensely."

Pulling open the door, she edges under the frame, safe from Pighead droppings. "I could give you lessons, we could trade for some of those other hides you have. I'll wager that your business would improve if people were more pleased by your disposition."

Blake is topless on his bed with his chest and stomach red from being scrubbed for some reason. He has a little more color and seems to be recovering at a good pace, as might be expected of someone that ran themselves to vomiting or worked too long in the heat. He sits up suddenly and raises his voice; sounding gruffer than usual. "The business is doin' just fuckin' fine, and I don't need etiquette lessons from the likes o' you… drinkin' the most expensive fuckin' wine in town without askin' - was gonna trade that! -, givin' advice that isn't wanted. If I wanted someone to clean this place up or nag me about it, I'd get me a fuckin' wife!" His tired annoyance has shifted into grumpy anger. "Don't need anything from another man's woman; includin' you takin' out your fuckin' need fer some cock out on me and my home!" As if this wasn't enough of a rant, he adds, "There's a lovely selection of hammers in the back; find yourself a thick handle to loosen up that cunt and spare the world your fuckin' scorn!" He's panting by the time he's finished.

The door opens once more and Beisdean walks back in; now a marten sits on his shoulder, which greets Luna with a "Tch!" and little flick of the tail.

"I see you're feeling better, mate," the medium says good-naturedly, a brow lifting at the language coming from the man on the bed. And his current topless status. "Was just checking in, thought I'd let you know the fire's all out, see if you need me to run for the medic or whatnot, but it looks like you two are having a lover's quarrel or something, so I'll just see my way out, aye?"

He looks from Blake to Luna and back, trying to figure out just what he's walked into, a shake of his head indicating he can't quite figure it out, and he turns back to the door. "Try not to kill her. The Rowntrees are having a bad week, and the ginger'll string you up by your balls I think."

Luna seems nonplussed by Blake's rant, it's a typical thing when dealing with the armorer. "I can't see how your business is faring just fine, you treat everyone in Dornie as though they're your personal doormat. Whatever little monkey you've got growing off your ass, you'd be better off shaving it than letting it grow." The way he has been.

Beisdean suddenly in her face gives the blonde woman a start and she jumps backward, once again in the line of fire from overhead birds. Darklight gets a smile and a scritch under the chin, his mage gets a glare and a hit in the arm. From her injured one. And immediately afterward, she cups her opposite hand to her shoulder. "He should string you up, Baizey Skye, for even insinuating such a horrid thing. If my help is going to be maliciously attacked, I think I'd rather just go back to the castle. Goodbye, to the both of you."

Blake has gone from ranting to muttering under his breath as he tries to recover it, and he's getting out of bed to presumably close the door after his departing guests. "Aye," is all he manages at Beisdean, and nods at Luna without looking at her. "Take that holier-than-thou piece o' fuckin' work with you."

Pighead, however, has other ideas. He swoops down from the rafters in the form of a fat, ugly bat to screech at either one or both guests to hurry them out. As he passes, a snide telepathic message is sent from one familiar to the other, "My mage has much bigger balls than your mage. He would impregnate this female far more often than yours could manage." Rather than flap away, he remains just a little out of reach as if trying to provoke a fight.

"I'm going first," Beisdean says, perhaps a little immaturely, apparently forgetting he ever had a purpose of visiting the armorer at all. As the bat thing swoops his way, he swats at it.

That's his companion, warns the marten, even as the creature speaks to him. Go ahead and hurt him, but killing him will make that man odder than he already is. Pighead's words aren't passed along to the mage, but the marten's dark and golden fur darkens as it turns to feathers; he launches off of Beisdean to take to the sky and leave the bat behind. To Pighead, from a further distance, he replies, My mage doesn't wish to do anything of the sort. She's enough of a child without having any of her own, in his eyes, and he has more burdens on his shoulders than he wishes to add to. I wonder what yours feels he has to compensate for, having you to speak for his manliness.

Beisdean, for his part, is already striding far from the house, letting his long legs put distance between himself and Luna and the armory.

A bat.

Both of her arms curl over her head to protect it before Luna shrieks and cowers to the ground, it's more than a passing fear of the creature that Pighead has chosen to take the form of. Paralyzed, she only manages to stave the loud screams when she closes her eyes and takes deep shuddering breaths. If the familiar was trying to hurry her out, he did the complete opposite of the right thing.

Any passing remarks to anger her, for obvious reasons, go unheard.

Blake has been focused on one thing the last few minutes, and it wasn't his familiar. In fact, he hasn't given the creature he affectionately refers to as 'fucker' or 'fuckhead' a thought at all since he was assisted inside from the disaster of his ritual. Yet the very instant he hears that shriek of terror it all comes flashing through his mind: The discussion about the mark Luna wears. As the memory floods his mind, adrenaline floods his body. Even only partially recovered from his extreme exhaustion, he goes from just standing to sprinting the few steps over to Luna….

Pighead is entirely unaware of the psychological trauma he is causing. In fact, he's forgotten about Luna entirely and is telepathically shouting back at the other familiar spirit. "My mage could slay you with an arrow as he fights off your mage with his feet and mates with his woman at the same-"

Blake leans down over Luna to cover her with his own body; attempting to scoop her up in his arms and hold her to him without thinking of it. "Pighead!" He snaps upwards with neck strained; his raw throat giving his voice an extra edge of intimidation. "Go!" The bat pauses in defiance, and Blake repeats in a roar, "GO!"

It falls to the ground as it shifts to a rat and scuttles away under a bench.

The shrieks from the building have Beisdean turning back, the door flung open, expecting to find something horrific happening — for a moment, he scowls at Blake, before he realizes what it's about. The bat.

He stares at Luna held by Blake for a moment, his brows furrowed. "Your familiar is a nutjob," he mutters to the other mage, before tentatively touching Luna's arm. "Lu. It's all right. It's gone. It's a small one, a wee one, nothing like the one that hurt you. It's all right, aye? You're safe here. That one's dead. It won't ever hurt you again."

He glances to the door, then back to her. "You want me to see you home, or do you want to stay here?"

Darklight, now perched on the roof, ignores the other familiar, instead nibbling at his talons with his beak while he waits for his mage within.

Bats. Touching.

Two of her least favorite things in succession.

As much work as Duncan has put into making the woman comfortable with it, he couldn't have possibly forseen this instance. Blake's bare chest finds itself the new owner of a set of four parallel scratches as Luna fights off his 'protection'. She's sorry immediately, as both of her hands fly up to clap over her mouth and she backs away, into Beisdean's hand. Hers goes up again, ready to rake across more flesh. It's a mistake she doesn't make twice.

"Just get away from me!" Her desperate whisper is hoarse, from choking back a threat of tears. She races toward her bicycle, but being in less than perfect disposition to actually ride it, she grips the handlebars and walks it toward the road.

Blake was reacting rather than thinking, and Luna's response to that reaction is causes his eyes to fly open wide and his teeth to clench. He doesn't cry out in pain, but his lean, muscular frame almost seems to grow as he flexes; hands balling into fists. He looks angry, surprised and (to anyone that happens to be very perceptive in that moment) plotting as he recoils back from the woman. His lips are forming the word Leave! but no sound escapes his throat as he sees only her retreating figure. Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, he stands and takes the door in his right hand. There is half a second's warning before he slams it shut. The last thing seen in the narrowing light from the beautiful day before it closes are dark eyes with a matching expression and droplets of blood begining to drip down over torso.

The raven on the roof flutters down to land near Luna's bicycle, though far enough away that it's not coming down directly upon her; feathers turn back to fur and the marten scampers along at Luna's side. Behind her, Beisdean follows at a distance; he'll follow her to make sure she gets back to town safely.

As the two leave, a noise can be heard reverberating out from Afanc Armors despite the sturdy construction and insulation: The sound of a man releasing a single scream in frustrated rage without holding back.