Everything seemed to break at that moment, the situation escalating to the point that if one were to slow time, they would come to appreciate the little details in this image very much like a viewer admiring the work of a truly talented artist. How were things supposed to go from here? Surely, it was expected to fall to chaos in the blink of an eye with the gun now out of Mr. Clearwater’s hands, but surprisingly, to the majority of those in the room, that assumption couldn’t be anymore wrong.

It was chaotic, but at the very least, it seemed that things were in the midst of settling down - not because those caught up in the event had won peace, but because it had fortunately been forced on them. It was one forced turn of events that they had no plans of complaining over. Now, at least, the young ones would not have to worry themselves over deciding how they were going to approach the matter as their biggest worry now was convincing Mr. Clearwater to let them off the hook. It was not as if they had planned to keep Gore a secret, but rather that the time of which they had gotten Gore to Kalandor was inconvenient for an explanation. 

Sigmund noticed Gore’s exit, then, but knew it best not to follow, still trying to calm his father. “But.. Dad.. you’ve thrown it down, haven’t you? We can’t risk hurting anyone else. Who knows.. it could have hit one of us..” The last bit, he murmured under his dad’s heated gaze that told him very clearly, that now was not the time. It never was, if Sigmund were to have a say. It was always the seriousness that his younger brother seemed to live for, and he wondered if it was the panic that had set Eric to speak and stutter when he usually wouldn’t. Couldn’t blame him, Sigmund supposed with a sigh, moving to help out with his mother. He knew, as they all did, that she was going to be okay, but whether or not she would actually be so with the situation concerning Gore, was another matter in itself. She was almost like a ticking time bomb, if he had to make a comparison.

_

At least half an hour afterward, Rosalie found herself sitting at Mrs. Clearwater’s side along with her step-brothers, as it was their fault, waiting for her to wake up. It was a quiet wait that made the ticking of the clock appear much louder than it was, but neither seemed to mind as  they were all lost in their own thoughts, their own musings over what had just happened. The girl stole a glance at the brothers, wondering if either one of them was going to speak and break the silence that hung over them like a dark, and heavy storm cloud. There was even a little thought of amusement that there was a mini dark cloud hanging over John’s head, as if a flash of lightning would be the trigger needed to set the man off. Maybe one of them moving would set him off and this was proven when his eyes flickered over Sigmund shifting casually with the sharp gaze of a hawk. Biting the inside of her cheek at the thought, Rosalie turned her gaze once more to the floor, suppressing a sigh. Unfortunately, no one spoke, silence beginning to quickly overstay its welcome.

It was not until Mrs. Clearwater had stirred that John spoke in a grave voice directed at the three younger adults in the room. An explanation was obviously needed, but perhaps it was the fact that distressing the older woman was not a good option at the moment so the talk over the Blood Dragon had to be pushed back. Rosalie excused herself, exiting the house to find Gore there to greet her. She wasn’t afraid of him. Not at the moment. Instead, she was mad - furious, even- and it showed in the way she held herself, in the way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath she took in an attempt to calm herself. She had so many questions buzzing around her head that was almost as loud to her as a hive filled with bees. 

The young woman heard her dragon say something, but it wasn’t registered by her brain at the moment. She aware he had said something, but was busy with her own thoughts and feelings to acknowledge it at this point. It seemed that Gore might have understood, too, for he trailed off and had stopped to instead let her speak, it seemed. That might have been a bad idea on his part. Rosalie bit her lip, daring to glare daggers at the dragon who had saved her, who had helped her back home and who had caused most of this to happen.

“What on earth is wrong with you?!” Rosalie snapped, stare as accusing as the finger she jabbed in his direction, daring to size the taller and more dangerous one with a huff. “Why couldn’t you just stay out of sight for a bit? We didn’t sneak you all the way in here during the night only to be shot at the next morning! That explains why Spike was in such a hurry to leave..” She growled, holding her hands to her face for a moment as she tried to think through the rage and panic she was feeling. “Idiot, idiot, idiot...” she could be heard hissing under her breath. “We were supposed to tell them in the morning.. without one of them holding a gun.” She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Bah! Why didn’t you leave like Spike did? Why did you stay like that?” Rosalie demanded an explanation much like her step-father did. Whether she was going to get one, however, was up to the Blood Dragon. She hoped he best knew she wasn’t in the mood for him to be dodging questions left and right when he could have taken the time to dodge the bullet, instead.