[center]Orion[/center]

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Orion was happy enough observing the two women chatting, and as such didn’t feel a particular need to interrupt what might become a budding friendship. He didn’t feel a need to make an ass of himself by speaking too much: especially when his mouth could be used to eat any one of the delicious sweets in his little pouch of goodies. He had near enough finished with the hard-boiled sweet and was contemplating which would be his next delight.

Then he saw the trap being sprung.

He didn’t know what to think of the whole situation: nor did he have time to really dwell upon it. Action required reaction, and unlike the two ladies; Orion had no easy way of dealing with the incoming missile. He saw the dust canister fly past first, and was reaching for his weapon when Arara blasted another projectile away with minimal ease. He felt himself scowling at the situation: the fact that polite conversation had been ruined by something like this was enough to make the Faunus want to pop a nerve.

The last projectile was incoming, and Orion knew he’d have to deal with it himself; as much for pride as for practicality. He flicked his weapon into its full form with a motion of his hand: the rectangle that had hung at his side rapidly flicked, extended and twisted until it formed an impressive Polearm. He held the weapon in one hand as he watched the trajectory of the incoming missile with a care and precision [i]”Here it comes: can’t slice it, so that means a thrusting attack; got to be careful not to split the bag too much…Now!”[/i] at his own internal monologue’s behest, Orion thrust the Polearm forward and impaled the gloopy projectile mid-flight a few feet from Orion. He grimaced as a few speckles of…whatever it was, splashed against his arm and shoulder. “Damn it all. I used too much strength.” He said with a sigh, slightly annoyed at his inability to control his own strength in a pressure situation. Precision remained his weakness, it seemed.

Orion used his Polearm to fling the projectile off of his blade and back into the forest, before turning his back on the scene and following Reya and Arara.

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[Center]Issac[/Center]

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Isaac was slow to respond to the approach of Tarkus and Morella’s interest, if only because of the musical overture that distracted him so. He noticed the man walking towards him, and took off his headphones in time for the man to ask if he was sick. Isaac didn’t know where the sudden concern was coming from until he noticed that he referenced the little ball of spit on the ground. Isaac put a hand to his temples. “I’m fine, not that you need worry yourself.”

He was about to give his name to the strangers when he saw the trap activate itself. He swore under his breath, wishing he had his BUTLER unit. The weapon was still sealed up in his luggage, as security had insisted. “This is a damnable inconvenience.” Instead of withdrawing any of the two golden dagger-like weapons on his back, the Youth concentrated a fist full of Aura into his fist: control and strength mixing as he slammed one of the projectiles into the ground. The goopy thing popped when it hit the ground, splashing some of its contents onto his shoe: which caused a twitch of anger to roll across his face.

“When I found out which moron organised this little episode. I swear on the Markeel name that I’ll personally extract an apology from his broken jaw!” Isaac didn’t hide his rage, and momentarily he’d forgotten Tarkus and Morella as he stormed towards the auditorium.