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Not many things ruffled Ezra. Not visibly, anyway. When his wife told him she was leaving he had only nodded his head as if he had anticipated it. When his father was found dead on Christmas morning he hardly reacted at all outside of perhaps the merest twitch on his lip. He rarely jumped at loud noises or cheap movie scares. The few times someone took a swing at him in anger he even managed to no-sell the hit. So when a giant hellhound burst through the dining room wall, destroyed the fireplace, and sent ash scattering across the room all Ezra did was raise his eyebrows, tighten his grip on the knife, blink, and thanked God that he didn’t shit himself.  

A whirlwind of action unfolded around him, which gave him ample time to subtly step back and away from the fighting. If he was cowering he didn’t show it. Ezra stood with his back against the wall and arms folded, tapping the blade of the knife against his shoulder. If anything it appeared as if he was observing and analyzing his family, their supernatural experts, and the psychopaths that had raided his house. It was hard not to only focus on Tuyen’s shadow or Shane as they boxed with a couple of demon dogs, but Ezra forced himself to look beyond them to the three hooded figures who had stepped in behind the big distraction. 

It became apparent that the one in the middle was calling the shots. Ezra took a couple of slow steps off of his security wall and felt the weight of the knife in his hand. Normally chef’s knives weren’t meant to be thrown, but a Masterpiece operated out of the realm of normalcy. It was perfectly balanced and wonderfully sharp. He tossed the knife and caught it by the dull side of the blade. It wouldn’t even be a challenge to sling it across the room and bury it into the ringleader’s heart. With the slightest hint of a smirk he lifted his hand, lined up the shot, and nearly got knocked down as a chained up Daniel was dragged past him.

By the time Ezra corrected himself, a wall of flames had emerged between him and the dog whisperer one of the others had called Morgana. He made a note of trying to commit the other person’s voice to memory. Justin leapt through the flames after the intruders, but to Ezra the most immediate threat was the house fire. Raymond was beginning to smother the flames with stones—stones that he got by tearing up Ezra’s goddamn floor. There was more than one reason why Ezra had wanted his family to leave it up to the experts.

Ezra heaved a sigh, shook his head, walked over to the overturned table, picked up one of the unbroken chairs, and sat down. He flicked his eyes over at Aileen, who had arrived late and almost looked eager to throw herself at all of the pishy caca the moment the fire was tamed. Ezra ran his hands through his hair, rolled his neck, and then chucked the knife across the room. It soared straight through the air before burying itself harmlessly into the wall near Raymond, far away enough to not seem threatening but close enough to get his attention. Ezra cleared his throat.

[color=darkgray]“Raymond, I appreciate you taking initiative, but maybe we can assign this to someone better suited for fighting fires. Wouldn’t you agree, Oscar?”[/color] said Ezra, turning and glaring with sunken eyes at his brother who could literally create water. His spell faded on the knife as he shifted in his chair, bracelet glowing a slight orange as he began to channel the spell back on himself. [color=darkgray]“The rest of you, please realize that this house is very old. Obviously defend yourself, but don’t bring the roof down while we’re all on the inside. It kind of...defeats the purpose.”[/color]