Once out of the sewer, Austin realised he was wearing a tatty jacket that was once fancy and most likely very expensive. It was completely ruined. No longer a trench coat...more a scarf...
Gale made him rest by the road side after he had done enough complaining and crying over what turned out to be a broken leg. The redhead heaved a sigh. "Don't think you should walk any more, Aus."
Austin didn't appear to be listening. In fact, he looked like he was going to be sick, and Daemon was backing away. Gale quickly wished he had done the same when Austin did indeed throw up over the two of them. The men both looked in dismay at what now coated their clothes and then the Necromancer gave a sheepish grin in response to the Elemental's deadly glare.
Daemon rolled up Austin's trouser leg. "Ooooh dear..."
Gale looked and pulled a face. "That looks...deadly..."
Daemon bit her lip. "Gale...I don't want him to die..."
"This road is never open, this sort of thing, he's too late for Mortal help and there's no way we could possibly get him help from a Mage..." He shook his head. "Austin?"
"Mmm?" The English Necromancer raised his head, having lain straight on his back after vomiting.
"I'm going to see if I can get any help...you need medical attention, and I'm going to find someone..." He turned to Daemon. "We can't let him just die like Aleron Hadrian down below...I'll do my best to find someone..."
The female Necromancer nodded, gripping her best friend's hand. "Stay strong, Baritone..."
Three people had been walking for a very long time. "My feet are so sore! Can we find somewhere to rest, Millie?" Ursa Borealis moaned. Mildred Firestone shook her head firmly.
"There are a lot of dangers circling us right now, Ursa."
"Like?" He spat back.
"Like that friend of yours who wants you kind of dead."
Ursa stopped, looking confused. "Which friend is this?"
"Fred Mould...something's happened...he's no longer on the astral plane...he's gone...I think someone tried to bring him back..."
"...I'm dead..." He reached into his (stolen) satchel, hand closing around a (stolen) flintlock pistol. He was wearing a (stolen) red coat, very similar to the pirate-like coat Ricky Sloth wore (in fact, the exact same coat off the man's back) and had freshly combed his hair with a (stolen) comb. He had given Ricky and co a good run over while they slept. His eyes locked with those of Franz Ransom. Franz said nothing. He hadn't spoken since they had lost sight of Mortis and Jayden. Mort had Wilbur again. He clenched his fists and nodded to a point ahead of Ursa. The Australian Mage turned and saw a man lying alone by the road. It was dark and cold and he probably would have died if those three hadn't turned up. Millie frowned as Ursa rushed forward, checking the man's pulse. He didn't know the man at all. The clairaudient then hurried as best she could in her heels, removing her cloak, which was of a dark shimmering material that blended well with shadows, and draped it over the man in hopes of warming him. Franz knelt beside him, tucked the cloak around him and lifted him up. He wrinkled his nose at the smell the unconscious man gave off. "He's been through the wars, Millie...looks like he's been left for dead...smells like he's been sick on himself..."
The redhead with the braces rolled his hazel-green eyes. He had quite an overbite, was in a relationship with Nyx Winterwash, was tall and skinny and normally quite a nervous and fidgety person. This was, regrettably, obvious the day he stood there, shivering, holding the Tommy Gun and trying not to look up and meet the eyes of this young lady before him. "My name is B-J Maleficent...what's so funny?!"
Pixie-Twist Destiny raised a hand to stifle his laughter. When he realised he was in trouble he swallowed anxiously. "Uh...nothing...what does the B-J stand for...?"
"...Can I call you Wilhelmina?"
"What?...Oh, whatever, sure, just...don't annoy me!"
He nodded, keeping his eyes down. "You...you have a job for me?"
"I have a problem I need a little help with..." She went over to the crib in the corner. "You've done nice work so far. You could only get one of the Grand Mage's children?"
"The others were, uh, being watched...there were American council members there at the time as well...it was difficult enough getting the hospital wing clear but for the child..."
"They'll be looking for her..."
"I kept a low profile. Nobody knows I'm even in the country, apart from yourself and Arduous..."
B-J nodded, sizing up the smarmy American. He had betrayed many sides more times than anyone could count out of his pure cowardess. She wasn't sure how much she trusted him, but a clever amount would be not at all. Antonia-Lily of Ireland was fast asleep. It was easy to hear that she was struggling a little to breath. She hadn't been ready to leave the hospital yet. B-J turned back to Pixie. "I have a proposition for you..."
Austin Baritone came round, just as confused as he had been before, when Gale had been looking at his broken leg. The difference was now he could swing that leg off the sofa he was lying on with no pain whatsoever. He frowned, drawing the shadow cloak, as he almost instantly dubbed it by the way it looked and the way it moved and the way it fell across him. It was nice and warm, though. He still wasn't used to nice and warm. He took a look around this strange living room, feeling a little dizzy, and very hungry and thirsty. He could smell peaches. It took him a moment to realise it was him that smelled of peaches. He wasn't wearing the clothes he had been wearing before. No, he was wearing a burgundy shirt and denim dungarees. He took a deep breath in. "Huh."
"You're awake." Came a surprised voice. Australian. Baritone whirled to face the man. A redhead with blue eyes and tanned skin.
The redhead followed the line of sight of the Necromancer, leading him to the ornate flintlock pistol in his grip that had once belonged to Garnet Dorado. "Oh, uh, don't worry about this...I was just putting it in a drawer...over there." He pointed with the gun. Baritone nodded.
"Could I...see that?"
The redhead shrugged and tossed it over. "It ain't loaded." He called lazily when the Necromancer caught it with a definitive air of fear. Baritone turned it over in his hands, curious. He had never held a gun before, but he liked it. Once he had worked out how to fire it, he turned to the redhead. "This yours?"
"Nah. Owner's dead." He replied, shrugging. "You want it?"
Baritone nodded, and slowly poured his magic into it.
"Your girlfriend's downstairs, by the way."
He looked at the redhead like he was nuts. "I don't have a girlfriend."
"Called 'erself Scaroe. Necro. Certainly said she was your girl."
((I have decided my murderous trio each have an ornate signature weapon, even though Gar prefers killing via garrotte, his is his pistol. Mort's is, obviously, Wilbur. Jayden's? I'll think about it...something like a knuckle duster comes to mind, but I want something more deadly...))
((Garnet's pistol...like, because I showed you all Wilbur before...and I guess now it's Austin's pistol...blame Derek...))