[hr][center][h2][i][color=#4682B4]Vigilemon[/color][/i][/h2]
(And Shiv not immune to support flame)
[b][color=#4682B4]Location:[/color][/b] Gateway
[b][color=#4682B4]Skills/items used:[/color][/b] None[/center][hr]
The little wisp stilled.

Newborn.

The word caught somewhere strange, in a place too new to name and yet old enough to sting. Her flame flashed pale for a heartbeat, blue deepening at the edges like it offended her. Which it did. Small she was. New, perhaps. But something in her spark bristled all the same, a quiet flare of dignity gathering beneath the surface of her soft-burning shape. The helmet tipped forward on her head, less lopsided now by sheer force of intent.

Beady eyes fixed on Dominimon, flickering with something that may have said [color=#4682B4]“I beg your pardon?”[/color]

Then she felt it. Some shift beside her. A tension. Faint, but enough.

Vigilemon drifted at once toward Shogo’s side, close to his shoulder and the hand that bore the silver watch. This time she did not orbit aimlessly. She held her place there, warmth pressing gently outward, tiny body angled toward Dominimon in a stance that was almost absurdly small and yet plainly defensive. The flame around her burned cooler, more focused. Watchful.

Only when movement stirred at Vemmon’s side did that hard little instinct loosen.

Her gaze turned toward the crouched human beside the damaged Digimon, one knee to the ground, sharp voice edged thin by strain as strange light spat across the device in her hand. Vigilemon watched the woman’s mouth move, watched the clipped frustration in every line of her body, the way tension held itself together through sheer spite and refusal to break.

The wisp hovered there for a beat. Then she floated nearer. Not close enough to intrude, but enough for her natural warmth to reach; soft and hearth-like against the cold bite of panic trying to pass itself off as irritation. A silent and gentle offering.

[color=#4682B4]“Help.”[/color]

Siobhan’s shoulders eased by a fraction before she caught herself at it. The spreading warmth felt as though someone had put a comforting hand on her, and for once she couldn’t hate it. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the little flame, then back to Vemmon.

[color=#FF9966]“Right. Cheers.”[/color] The words didn’t come easy, but snapping at something that looked like it was about to cuddle any argument into resolution felt petty.

Vigilemon dipped once in the air, helmet flopping crooked again.

Then her eyes settled on Vemmon.

The stillness in her flame changed shape. The defensive curl in it softened into something quieter as she took in his ruined form, the way something had survived and yet had not escaped untouched. Her small body lowered in the air, warmth now turned toward the wounded shape on the ground and the human trying stubbornly to hold the pieces together beside him.

[color=#4682B4]“Hurt. Save.”[/color]

For a moment she simply hovered there, between tension and injury, between the living and the almost-lost. Her flame flickered with that instinctive feeling of duty.