Très bien indeed. Hanako’s French was more comme ci comme ça, but her baking was truly delicious. Limen was visibly satisfied, and his belly even more thoroughly so. Perhaps he could move in with this young youkai and have her stuff him with pastries and pies forever, should he ever get too lazy to forage for food. That sounded pleasant.

The supernatural screeching was far less pleasing, though. A barrier around his head didn’t reduce the volume any, nor did it shut out the 21st century atonal music that had emerged from the rocks. It was compelling him to come closer, but to call it a ‘siren song’ would be an insult to the creatures of myth. The rock-song was music only in the broadest sense, and this was coming from someone who had witnessed John Cage perform live.

If only to shut it up for a while…

Limen took the risk. Forming gloves — no, an entire hazmat suit around his body, just as a precaution, he scooped up a handful of the rocks and shovelled them into his backpack. There wasn’t anything too important in there, thankfully. Then he enclosed the whole thing in a spherical barrier, and then a back-up barrier. And maybe another four for good measure. Let’s put a little distance too; keep it about a metre or so away. [color=ffbf69][i]Just precautions.[/i][/color] Surely nobody would notice the perfectly reflective ball following behind him.

The additional croissants Hanako had proffered were as tempting a sight as any, though not as coercive as the rocks were. Maybe later. For now, Limen wanted both hands available to hold on to her as he took his place at the very back of the motorcycle. He didn’t have a helmet, after all. Not even Da-Xia had one, for that matter, despite wearing some sort of full body suit.

Safety wasn’t the Hunter’s forte, was it? Nor, it seemed, was observation. Limen hadn’t heard of boys being called ‘maidens’ since the Great Vowel Shift. Was it perhaps an obscure dialect of some variety? No one in their right mind would ever mistake him for a girl, after all. Not that it bothered him all too much either way, but — hmm. This lady [i]was[/i] the one who had started the fire, was she not? Could she have possibly…

Nah, no way. Dialect it was.

[color=ffbf69]“I’m ready. Where to, ma… non, [i]notre[/i] chevalière servante? I haven’t got a house to go to.”[/color]