[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]The Maw [/center]
[center]Lvl 7 (51/70) -> Lvl 7 (52/70) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 424 words[/center]

Waving to the two on the mountain as he ascended, Geralt mentally thanked Mirage for offering his assistance in the form of platforms to ease his climb. The sooner they all got through this mess, the sooner they could go about solving it. Not that he had much of an idea of how they'd do that yet. His vast repertoire of knowledge was only useful if he had time to [i]think[/i] about what the hell they were dealing with. 

Still, now that he was able to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, Geralt's spirits had been boosted just a bit, even if he was dealing with pun-slinging miscreants for allies. Mirage and Nadia's brilliant plan was to launch her towards their goal in what appeared to be some kind of wheel made of a material he vaguely recognized but didn't really fully understand yet. 

Their plan underway, Mirage turned to Geralt to confirm that he had his own plan for what the two of them would do, but he was interrupted by their tormentor deciding that it had had enough reacting. That boded poorly for their continued survival, but at least Mirage had the decency to grab hold of him and make sure he didn't go flying. 

Grunting, Geralt stood and quickly checked to make sure the [i]thing[/i] hadn't caught on to their presence, satisfied that they were safe for now. "That was too damned close." Getting his bearings now that he wasn't worried about their imminent demise, Geralt nodded and reached for the box, only pausing when Blazermate arrived to help. "Welcome back." The child Witcher sarcastically commented without much venom. 

He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to risk being thrown, a method of transport even less controllable than jumping, but Mirage was already making the choice and firing on Bongo Bongo to distract it. Whether that was a good idea or a suicidal one remained to be seen, but Geralt wasn't one for letting opportunity pass him by. Besides, he still had those scissors if things really got hairy. 

Nodding to Blazermate, he held tight to his scissors and one hand and kept his concealment 'blanket' secure against him with the other as he soared through the air, praying that he didn't die an ignoble death to the sea of junk he was soaring over. 

Oh, who was he kidding, at least he probably wouldn't get stabbed by a pitchfork this time if he [i]did[/i] end up dying. That would have to be enough.