[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Bcqf1Os.png[/img]
[h2][color=f26522]Aron Carvajal[/color][/h2][/center]
[hr][center][h3]~1510 | PARIS | FASHION SHOW VENUE[/h3][/center][hr]
France, huh. It wasn't really on his travel list back when he was alive but he'd heard it was a pretty romantic place. Not in that kind of way, more in the way that would make one of his supervisors go off the grid for a year to paint fields and pansies or whatever Frenchy flowers they had in the countryside as he sipped wine and left his department putting out flames for another three months.

...Yeah, this place probably wasn't going on the list any time soon.

The romance was particularly lacking in the place they landed - one side the mouth of a typical parking lot, the other a storm that seemed summoned from Hell itself. Except he knew that Hell wasn't a thing. Maybe. He didn't have time to have that philosophical crisis, what with his coworkers' faces tearing past him in a flash, accompanied by... huh, was that Miss Death?

[color=f26522]"Y-you saw her too, right?"[/color]

Instead of an answer, he received a ringing in his ears as Amelia shot overhead and hollered at a motorbike that was speeding their way.

Ah, that was right. Hell is other people.

She was tangible, for some reason. And that motorbike... was it slowing down? Did he have the time to check if it was slowing down? Panic snapped in and a machine gun fire of his Scale spell began spewing from his mouth repeatedly. He trusted the potency of his spell and knew it would slow the bike down to some extent but oh god, what if it wasn't enough? What if they both got ragdolled off the mortal coil and had to return with no results? That sounded like a pay cut waiting to happen.

He couldn't have them both getting wiped out before they even got to whatever mission they had. That motorbike had to stop. He felt his body moved on his own, the frigid Parisian wind tearing across his bare arms as he turned tangible. He ran towards the bike and [i]leapt[/i]. Some part of him thought it'd be a javelin-like motion, dropkicking the rider off the slowed bike as they raced towards Amelia. He knew what it was supposed to look like, had keyed it before even. What occurred though was more of an ass-forward mid-air cannonball that would soon collide with the hapless rider.