[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qSXKgkY.png[/img]
[sub][@Estylwen][@Nanaya][/sub][/center]
As twisted and disturbed and populated as Ciara’s mind was, however, Otis did not receive any of that. He was a magus of the arcane, after all, not some primal numbskull or a deluded occultist. The essence he manipulated held strict guidelines and protections. Only thoughts were shared, not the mind that projected such thoughts, and when the dark-haired girl agreed, he turned, prepared to leave.

[i]“Heeeeeey!”[/i]

He was not going to turn for that idiot. He was, perhaps, even in the mood to finish what the statue clearly could not. The revolver clicked, cycling to its next bullet with musical precision. The winged knight had flown back up, his partner had disappeared into the shadow. His opponent was fumbling about, as if wholly unaware of the situation he was in. Soaked to the bone, having lost his stock of potions. All the Strigidae would have to do was turn around quickly, fire for center mass. But…

The Chef looked like it may present a greater problem.

[b]“Potions go into glass bottles because glass is non-reactive and transparent. Easy to identify and no chance of the concoction changing over long periods of time.”[/b] His eyes etched the image of the doors that the Mannekins came from into his memory. A spot to return to, if something unexpected happened to his partner. And as for this one? He slipped his hand into his bag, retrieving a small ball wrapped in plain wax paper.

[b]“Catch. It’ll help with the pain.”[/b]

It wouldn’t. It was just hard candy. But if doctors could lie about it, so could Otis.

[b]“I’m going the opposite direction. Keep up and explain how your shoes work. Is it a magical tool? Your Ethos? Or just magic? What ‘words’ constitute it? What’s your name? I thought Wingram took only the elites, but you seem lacking in that eliteness, so what are you good at?”[/b]

Each question was punctuated by another kick against the ground, Otis clearly accelerating away from all the trouble behind him to go the exact opposite direction that the sign recommended. Whether wing-boy kept up or not was up to him, but if he didn’t? Well, maybe he should’ve taken his time on that bridge instead.