Cylus 20, Arc 717
The earth-rattling crash was enough to violently tear Max from Emea. The woman jerked awake into a sitting position, eyes dilated and heart thumping wildly in her chest as adrenaline flooded involuntarily throughout her body. If it weren't for lulling rumbles of thunder that occasionally invaded her dream, she might've mistaken the frightening sound for some great heathen busting down the damned door. The storm had started as most did. First came the ominous thunderheads rolling over the island. Next came the thick drops of rain which pinged like rapid-fire upon the roof in a soothing, sleep-inducing rhythm. The hail, however, had changed the game. Every once in a while a particularly loud thump had roused her from sleep, indicating the size of the ice chunks had increased. The last crash, however, was no massive piece of hail.
The bloodcurdling screams that followed had Max turning to look down at Merces with quizzical alarm. She threw off the covers and jumped from her paramour's bed, flitting about the room to clothe her naked figure. In less than a bit she was throwing open the shutters blocking her view outside the window. Her eyes widened. Panic urged her to turn back around, to shout out to Mercy a description of what exactly she was witnessing. Firelight had filled the room the moment she discarded their obstacle to viewing the outside world, however. There was no need to explain what was obvious to them both: Almund was on fire.
"Fuck!" Max let the curse slip with a mix of both awe and anxiety. At this point her conscious mind was not the one with the reins. She stared out toward the house down the street filled with shrieks and flames alike, turned with wide eyes to meet Mercy's stare, and threw open his door without warning. The Rusalka was out the door and down the street before even she knew what she was doing. Did she even feel the icy rain as it came to rest upon her skin?
"Please!" a little girl yelled into the night, collapsed just outside the blaze consuming her home. "Someone! Help!" Max came upon her quickly. Gods, she practically fell over as she tried to bring her sprint to a halt when she spied the child in the dark. The young girl reached out and clutched Maxine's hand, big eyes staring up at the Mixed Blood with an existential fright that was uncomfortably familiar. "Please, Miss! Me mother and me brother!" The Rusalka's brow furrowed until she followed the girl's pointing finger back toward the burning house. She bit her lip. She had a basic understanding on how fires worked. Worse, thanks to Merces, she understood how they could kill. With every trill she debated the flames were surely spreading. Her eyes glanced from the roof, the point from which the fire seemed to start, down to the door of the domicile.
It's not your problem, Max. Fuck it. It's not your problem. Go home.
The little voice of rationality failed, and the next thing she knew, she was busting through the door of the partially engulfed Almund home to race against the flames.
The earth-rattling crash was enough to violently tear Max from Emea. The woman jerked awake into a sitting position, eyes dilated and heart thumping wildly in her chest as adrenaline flooded involuntarily throughout her body. If it weren't for lulling rumbles of thunder that occasionally invaded her dream, she might've mistaken the frightening sound for some great heathen busting down the damned door. The storm had started as most did. First came the ominous thunderheads rolling over the island. Next came the thick drops of rain which pinged like rapid-fire upon the roof in a soothing, sleep-inducing rhythm. The hail, however, had changed the game. Every once in a while a particularly loud thump had roused her from sleep, indicating the size of the ice chunks had increased. The last crash, however, was no massive piece of hail.
The bloodcurdling screams that followed had Max turning to look down at Merces with quizzical alarm. She threw off the covers and jumped from her paramour's bed, flitting about the room to clothe her naked figure. In less than a bit she was throwing open the shutters blocking her view outside the window. Her eyes widened. Panic urged her to turn back around, to shout out to Mercy a description of what exactly she was witnessing. Firelight had filled the room the moment she discarded their obstacle to viewing the outside world, however. There was no need to explain what was obvious to them both: Almund was on fire.
"Fuck!" Max let the curse slip with a mix of both awe and anxiety. At this point her conscious mind was not the one with the reins. She stared out toward the house down the street filled with shrieks and flames alike, turned with wide eyes to meet Mercy's stare, and threw open his door without warning. The Rusalka was out the door and down the street before even she knew what she was doing. Did she even feel the icy rain as it came to rest upon her skin?
"Please!" a little girl yelled into the night, collapsed just outside the blaze consuming her home. "Someone! Help!" Max came upon her quickly. Gods, she practically fell over as she tried to bring her sprint to a halt when she spied the child in the dark. The young girl reached out and clutched Maxine's hand, big eyes staring up at the Mixed Blood with an existential fright that was uncomfortably familiar. "Please, Miss! Me mother and me brother!" The Rusalka's brow furrowed until she followed the girl's pointing finger back toward the burning house. She bit her lip. She had a basic understanding on how fires worked. Worse, thanks to Merces, she understood how they could kill. With every trill she debated the flames were surely spreading. Her eyes glanced from the roof, the point from which the fire seemed to start, down to the door of the domicile.
It's not your problem, Max. Fuck it. It's not your problem. Go home.
The little voice of rationality failed, and the next thing she knew, she was busting through the door of the partially engulfed Almund home to race against the flames.
Boxcode Credit: Poppy