[h3] Ranch House, [/h3]

As soon as Specter had relinquished his hold on her, Hel rushed behind Spire.  Her hands clasped the back of his coat and, unusually, she seemed genuinely afraid. Robbed of her power, she was little more than a child, after all. It was only in moments like that that the girl truly seemed to resemble one. She didn't express joy or excitement like a child. She'd learned very little about those things in her short life. But she'd learned an awful lot about fear. 

Mags recognized the object that had dropped to the ground, taking a moment of relief that it wasn't a real grenade, before reaching to pull the goggles from her forehead over her eyes and the shemagh round her neck across her nose and mouth. She took the time, whilst obscured in the smoke to turn her attention to the spike of wood sticking through one arm, and pulled it free with a curse. Warm blood drizzled down her sleeve. Hopefully wasn't going to kill her imminently. That would be an issue. Regardless, she had shit to do. Stuffing the papers into the messenger bag she was carrying, Johnny's assistant started forwards out of the cloud and made some advance toward the farmhouse. 

[color=a187be]"Wanderers! Listen! I get this had started out on the wrong foot and everything but...listen you really might wanna think this through! Your powers don't work and the people here are armed. If this turns into a fight it is not gonna be pretty! There's still time to talk this over."[/color]

One had to give her credit in some sense that an individual who was ostensibly unarmed, and already leaving a fair blood trail, was stepping up into clear view to give an ultimatum. It either came out of supreme confidence or a complete disregard for her own safety. Or both. Maybe that was what you got from working for Sweet Johnny for a few years. Enough arrogance to stare down an enemy...or sufficient weariness of life to expose yourself to potential attack.