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Idiot. The Grand Inquisitor evidently tolerated [i]something[/i] he shouldn't, because this guy's gloating was just going to get them both killed at this rate. Selling Lyra out to save his own skin was nothing compared to the stain Quinn had already inflicted on his family, and it wasn't like this guy was the type to play it safe; Count Astorio was eyeing them both like a choice cut of meat even before the inquisitor went and pissed him off. 

So now Quinn was soundly back in the rebels' camp. Not that it mattered because one of these people was going to kill him and he'll go down as a cautionary tale for his nephews and grand-nephews about what happens when one doesn't do as they're told. The rebels would probably lament his heroic sacrifice or some other disingenuous garbage. Not even the mercy of a death unmourned and unremembered would be granted to him. Quinn dared to take his eyes off the vampires long enough to shoot a resentful glare down at the blue-haired prisoner. Didn't look like something worth dying for.

Whatever self-pity he could wallow in was cut short as Lyra dashed forward recklessly. The violet-haired boy wasn't sure if he should shove her back or stand dutifully still like the inquisitor had wanted. At least the vampire would've put him down clean. Despite how badly he wanted to meet his end with dignity, Quinn winced as she neared, clenching his eyes shut and tearing his gaze away. She screamed some incantation and suddenly the crackling of lightning near his ear erupted into the explosive death throes of unstable magic. Something shoved him, and he simply reacted on instinct. The earth's tug on his body shifted, and Quinn flung himself along a random vector as he flailed an arm at the limb that had restrained him, aiming to bat Hasgad away before he could grab something else. He smacked unceremoniously into the floor, probably a wall in reality, a cough escaping him as the impact knocked the air from his chest. 

His eyes blinked open as a wave of heat reached him from afar, finding himself now gazing up (sideways) at the conflagration of the two grappling mages. Waves of pain throbbed across his back and side as surely as the searing lashes of an unmade spell still stung in jagged lines across half his face. The temptation to simply lay there and catch his breath was strong, but he had enough lucidity to realize he was essentially strung up on the wall like a giant target at the moment, and he promptly dropped back to the actual floor as gravity corrected itself, collapsing first to his knees and then to his hands.

[color=a366ff]"Ba- back up... you idiot,"[/color] he wheezed, probably nigh-inaudible over the roaring flames. She had no reactionary gap. If he warded her attack, there wouldn't be time for Lyra to avoid the next bolt. Was she just gambling that she was too valuable to kill? That'd be worse; [i]she'd[/i] be the new hostage and they'd have to play the same game over again. 

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