063 [location: the workshop (locked-ish for Ettie shenans) ] we had darkened doors

[aintnoconvict]

Okay maybe something weird is going on, or several unrelated weird things. One being Sherlock's...whatever, no one's reported running into either(?) of him so that mystery remains. Glitch is maintaining his skepticism.

There's also the mystery of Madelyne's creepy gift-giver, which at least has given him a non-Sherlock related excuse to try and keep tabs on her. Friends in need and all that.

Less mysterious but infinitely more tiresome is the aliens' latest art installation, which he is giving all the attention it deserves: none whatsoever. Instead he's at the shop, hunched over a drafting table and working on a design for a remote controlled flying thingy which can maybe give him a better look at/study of the lighthouse beacon.

(Glitch is going to be building unmanned drones, Taxon. Enjoy that thought.)

So yes, there he is, going about his business and contentedly ignoring the crap out of everything. What can possibly go wrong?


OOC: There will be need for intervention at some point since ninja vs. demon is not a fair fight, though I have word from Dien that anybody turning up will make Ettie scamper out of a desire to not be seen. Yep.

Comments

[aintnoconvict]

"Valve!" Which is to say Glitch is prioritizing NOT having literally all of his life's work going up in flames. Again. Good news is his voice is closer so they're likely heading towards each other. "Bot...bottom of the st-"

Muffled hacking here. He's stopped moving for a moment to cover his face with his arm, catching a few slightly-filtered breaths.

"Bottom of th' stairs t' the office, gonna be to your left. Red wheely thing." A pause. Yeah. "Race ya!"

[smecker]

Paul grits his teeth and wonders how much Glitch would fight him if he tried to just drag him out of here. Probably way too much. Fuck, fine, fucking valve it is.

That coughing doesn't sound good. Who knows how much smoke Glitch has inhaled. He grimaces again at the 'race you' thing.

"How about 'oh hell no', just concentrate on getting the fuck out of the smoke, Glitch." Like the OZian needs more brain damage. "I'll-- OW, christ-- find your damn valve--"

And crawl into things in the process, apparently.

Groping ahead, his eyes beginning to water from the smoke, Paul thinks he sees something red and round. "Got it. I think. Tighty-righty or lefty-loosey?"

[aintnoconvict]

"Right!" There's even a little hand-painted (by DG) sign, not that one can really see it at the moment.

What one may be able to see is movement along the floor from out of the thickest smoke, flame, and steam. Glitch's waterlogged curls flop around his bloody face, his right forearm is pressed against his nose and mouth, and he's hauling himself along with feet and left elbow.

"I've got to--" He looks around as best he can, thinking frantically of what to save. So much is likely gone already, plans and prototypes and materials...he looks up the stairs towards the office/lounge/sanctuary and shakes his head, knowing it's hopeless but maybe it'll be spared.

"--borrow your tablet, they need to know there's--"

More coughing, re-prioritize: don't die, escape, warn the city. He shakes his head and keeps crawling toward the front of the shop.

[smecker]

"Right." Paul grabs the wheel and yanks, turning it until it doesn't turn anymore. He looks around for Glitch-- sees him getting out of the smoke-- aw fuck, Paul registers blood; in the moment he can't tell how bad it is but there's definitely blood.

"Fucking Christ, c'mon, sport, out, out, no more smoke breathing for you--" Quick ground crawl towards him, and Paul will, if necessary, drag him outside, fumbling for his tablet as he goes.


[And then to here!]