lick by lick, out went the fire, leaving nothing but smoke in the back of her throat.

giggle, talking; damask, listening, sinking deeper and deeper into abject dismay — because, wait a second, these were kids? raised in isolation, given no education, destined to die? had she just flat-out missed that part? (ah, yeah, actually. you did. that was kinda the point. didn't really consider that there might be something important squirreled away in all that scary death talk, did you? so!, now that we know ...) this was a mistake. every seething word in her head; those three naked teeth; seizing on a couple of strangers, forcing them into outright paralysis — all one big mistake, and right then, her grandmother just had to say it again, a punch with a letter on all four knuckles. this time, damask couldn't not flinch.

she swiveled her head a little, just enough to watch the survivors in her periphery. sora spoke first, all the fight gone out of her, sounding more tired than anything else; next, morganite, sincerely repentant. damask spared a peek at eythan, caught in a paradox of lingering rapport and a new wave of guilt. he had every right to be upset with them, but, well, that worked both ways. (lot more complicated than you wanted it to be, huh? and, ahh ... there goes charles. buckle up! it's about to get worse.) "the blood of so many innocent lives lies on your doorstep." (cool it, cool it, keep it cool.) "too many have died." (you've heard it already. handle yourself.) "watch your family get eaten," he was saying, (let's try not to shake, now,) and "used like puppets," (come on!, it's not that bad!, it's only mass murder!,) and she had her magic at the ready, her wings, her legs, to do what exactly she wasn't sure but she could not hear another word —

and yet, her father beat her to it. a flick of his pinions, and charles fell silent. damask's gaze flashed over to auré. (oh, shit.) (that's not good.) (fellas and folks, we have a new low.) here were a few words he brought to mind, in this moment: helpless, despondent, and downright exhausted, all of him sagging with sadness and defeat. he'd done the right thing, casting the spell — it showed some authority on his part, and charles had truly left him no other choice. but everything else, how he looked, how he sounded ... (there's a stutter. pause, pause, backtrack. not one, not two, but three pleases, on top of several priors. more trailing, more stops and starts, a question he should've phrased as a statement or nixed altogether.) in conclusion: he wanted out. this meeting had him feeling trapped. damask stopped her talons just short of tapping, once again aware of the pain in her chest.

now she wasn't sinking so much as she was spiraling.

and was no one else seeing this? giggle offered her son nothing more than a passing look; eythan got one, too, followed by the survivors, who were also given another advisory note. and that was it. even kerberos — sweet, sweet kerberos, all nudges and kisses — was doting on everyone who could've benefited except for auré. and, yeah, that kind of support wouldn't have been exactly ... appropriate in his case, but — there was, at least, one very obvious thing that he needed, and was no one else willing to say it in no uncertain terms?

(you gonna keep on sitting there, or you gonna get up and go?)

she glanced around, glanced around, ever-so-discreetly. sure enough, no one was watching. (and why would they be? even ashtoreth has said more than you have.) all right, back to auré. a beat of hesitation, voices humming around her, and ... the accipiter finally, fleetingly let go of herself — eyes yawning wide, brows pushed together, lips parted in a just-ajar frown. this was an expression that said, loud and clear: hey. you don't look good. can i do something? would that be okay? yes? okay. with this message sent and received, she wiped her face clean and molded it into stony resolve.

damask stepped quietly up to her feet. twisting over her shoulder, she regarded each of them in turn, the lost souls, the big tourists: sora, catatonic; morganite, shivering at the edge of the crowd, hiding away what must've been tears; and charles, fallen to the floor in a rasping, shuddering heap. he wanted to leave, he said — no, needed to. (see? kids. a bunch of traumatized, disillusioned children. and what can you do to make it better? nothing. not — a — thing.) an invisible string tugged at one side of her mouth; she snipped it away as quick as she could. "now's a good time for you to bow out, if there's nothing else," she told them, quietly and levelly. not too much intensity, which could've been mistaken for aggression, and not too much sympathy, which could've been mistaken for pity. "look after your brother. look after each other. all right?"

here, she dedicated a moment to nemo and pumpkin, huddled together apart from the others. for them, a shake of her head, followed by a firm nod: not you. you're good to stay. and man, how awkward those two must've felt, how forgotten — pumpkin especially, with his siblings behind him and a world of unknowns ahead. some welcome they'd been given. absolutely embarrassing. the newcomers were owed some attention, soon — along with an apology. but first, this conflict needed resolution.

a black-and-white wing swept out to indicate the bonebound at large. (but not anyone in particular. eyes on the three. don't look at him. do not look at him.) exhale. right ...

"... and let us do the same."

a moment of silence. (and for what, you ask? this disaster of a meeting, that's what.) damask lowered her muzzle and ducked away towards auré, outspread wing folding back into place. he might've succeeded in hiding his heavy heart from the others, but not from her — never from her. silver eyes snagged on every little tell: the cant of his head, raised as if in prayer or a plea; the strength of his grip on the floor at his feet. she could almost see the white in those knuckles. he started, stopped, coughed ... and, of all things, he apologized, as if any of this were his fault. as if his (no one else's?) hopes for today hadn't been altogether dashed, his spirits crushed along with all the rest. that sigh, that tremor, the diminution of his voice — the sheer weight this had put on his shoulders ... she felt it on hers. the bird of prey bit lightly at her lip. she had this knot she couldn't choke down — frustration, anxiety, anger, frustration, bitter as vomit in the back of her throat. (this was easier when you had someone else to blame.)

and no, for the record, they hadn't discussed everything they'd needed to — or at least not everything auré had told her about, not in the depth he'd intended. this wasn't real closure. he was cutting off the event; he had to, and not just for the sake of the big tou — ... (survivors? that the word you're looking for?) ... survivors.

she lifted her head and leveled her expression as auré stepped down. he brushed into contact with his mother and his brothers as he went, then arrived alongside her, eyes meeting: his like liquid, hers like metal, glinting with mustered-up strength over the quieter worry swimming underneath. her brows furrowed into a tight crease, slightly upturned. another sigh from her father, and that was all the inertia she could take. without missing a beat, she pivoted and shadowed him.

somewhere behind them, giggle was addressing the survivors once again — offering up her fortune-telling services, of course, or a taste of her ever-effective advice, the old talk-and-listen. man, was she still trying to get through to them? the alleged seer could read an omen in the fall of a bone, but she evidently couldn't read a damn room, even with its contents shuffling away. or keep track of questions she'd already asked, questions their very weary-looking guests had already answered. or, as of this latest directive, respect the space her son, her — her ████ so palpably needed. (hey. watch it, kid.) as she and her father neared the back of the crowd, damask shook her head just slightly down at the floor, peeking over in nemo's direction. this one had a distinctly polite sort of air about him, and it sounded as though he actually had been listening: he hesitated, expressing concerns, attending to the smaller bird in his feathers. no big deal, then; he'd take auré's word over giggle's. right? up until ...

"i'm going with the ████."

the word all but shuddered into her ears. she stopped mid-stride, one foot hovering over the ground. a momentary pause as nemo fell silent, and then she stepped into a half-turn, drawn upright, intercepting any advance on her father. nemo stood taller — (heh, by a lot) — but something in her face contradicted her height, steely and steady.

"our seer is mistaken — she must've misheard. stay here, as he said, and he will come back for you. giggle can take care of you herself in the meantime." her voice came soft and near-impossibly rapid, quick as a warning, dialed below anyone's hearing save for nemo and pumpkin's. the accipiter's sights flickered past them and settled on giggle, if only for a second. it was emphatically a look, not a glare, and there was emphatically no heat or fury in it — only cool intensity and a trace of reproach. this was not true of what laid behind it. back to nemo, back to pumpkin. a little quieter: "thank you for coming. it wasn't supposed to happen this way."

and that last sentence almost, almost crackled. she buttoned up, set her jaw, and turned back around with a shuttering blink, already away, not waiting for an answer.

he's my son, damask, giggle had told her once, and it'd almost been a weapon then, because — what were you meant to say to something like that? and yet, here she was. blind. it didn't take an eye like damask's to see that auré wanted out; the last thing he needed was a couple of strangers on his heels, talking at him, asking questions, looking for guidance he wasn't ready to give. he hadn't said it in as many words, but he shouldn't have had to — it spoke for itself in his features, in his voice, in his premature retreat. knowing giggle, there would be some confusion, maybe some annoyance, that look on her face that she got whenever damask so much as tried to show any — (shut up. stop it.) thump, thump, thump went her pulse, kicking at her ribs, at the blade of jasper inside. thump, thump, thump. (whatever happens, you don't care. got it? just as long as no one else follows him. remember that other thing giggle said right after — the real weapon? do you need a reminder? do you? no? okay! here it is: it's not about you.)

(or is it?)

(are you just looking for someone to hate other than yourself, you royal little mess? that really is what this has all been about, isn't it, ever since you got a chance you could jump on. well, learn a little something from eythan and swallow it.)

she picked up the pace. a few bounds later, she was back at auré's side, forcing down her nausea, the thrumming pain that hadn't let up in her too-tight chest. "hey," damask said, keeping it low, just above a whisper, and she was all his — her ████'s.