*Waves to Wyvie, huggles Ethicspawn and points again to the Recruitment Office *
Cerulean was spending a peaceful late afternoon in her garden. The spring air lapped softly across her face as she gazed dreamily at the heavens, sky-watching as usual.
A small speck of a dot flitted into her peripheral vision. She blinked and followed it as it grew larger and closer. It wasn't a bird or a plane. It wasn't a firefly, nor was it a stray sunbeam grown tired of its earth-warming trials. In fact, it looked rather like a human figure enclosed within what could best be described as a contraption.
Standing up quickly, she cupped a hand over her face to shield against the dancing light. Yes it was definitely a man, a hurtling man - to be exact. There was a metallic frame, her mind registered the glinting reflections. There was some form of pipe outlet, which looked rather like part of a primitive fuel-drainage system. She stared harder. Yes and was that a bicycle wheel fixed with a copper bolt to an ostrich plume?
Inside the mechanical wonder, wearing a flimsy harness and an expression of concentrated optimism, stood a map-rotating figure.
It could only be...
Cerulean gulped.
Having gulped once or twice more for good luck (and dramatic effect) Cerulean raised a forefinger and thumb until they panned over her estimated trajectory for the parachuting Ethics. She stared at where she imagined he and earth would introduce themselves. Were it not for fear of gilding the gulp-lily, the woman would have done it again. She studied Ethics and his gradient. She studied the position of Scarlett's Burger Lounge. She added two and two together.
*CRASH*
When the dust had settled, Cerulean was left with a dry tickly cough and a sense of foreboding. She smoothed her thoughts into soothing patterns, caressing each one into a position of reception. It had been a very long time, but she had been a learned Phantasm Mage after all. A simple scry was all she needed here.
The first energy-pulse was haphazard. It thrummed from her mind like a bird in flight, looping and wheeling in random directions. She focused harder. Cerulean drew from the sky, from the breeze, from the flutters of energy dazzling her senses. She pulled in, weaving and lacing each beat into a knot of magical light. As she exhaled, she simultaneously released the spell. A
soft mental click heralded success. A driving bolt of power darted towards her targets and she opened her mind gingerly to receive information from the enchantment.
There had been a violent explosion. A building had crumbled. Three ogres were limping away from Scarlett's premises with blood on their faces. Or was it ketchup? Cerulean manipulated the spell to effect a zoom. She encouraged the scry to trickle into the ogres' thoughts, but couldn't manage a repeatable translation even with the aid of a willing babel-fish and a decent online bi-lingual dictionary.
Sighing, she scried West.
The scry jolted and lurched within Cerulean's head. She gasped and almost lost her footing. Steadying herself, she pushed outward once again. It was crimson and it was fiery. It sizzled hotter than a salamander at a chilli-fest. Curses crackled darkly and a female hand curled around a gleaming weapon.
It could only be...
Cerulean blanched.
Hurriedly, she swung East, permitting the scry to develop. It magnified and locked, following the path of the vituperative Scarlett.
The scry settled over a gentle, puzzled being. Ethics was jotting figures onto a creased pad, happily unaware of a singed lapel and a fast-approaching nightmare.
Cerulean sucked in her cheeks and shook her head free of the magic. Pulling a shawl around her shoulders against the afternoon chill, she ran lightly down the terrace steps, towards the scene of the anticipated crime.
'Please let me be in time, please let it not be too late...'
Cerulean stopped so abruptly she spun on her heels.
A simpering Scarlett was discussing her tiger-striped outfit with an amicable Ethics. Cerulean looked at the erstwhile inventor in disbelief. How on earth had he calmed her? She watched her friend wiggle, giggle and repair her hair in one practiced motion. Harpy was still holding her cleaver, but its purpose was all but forgotten.
Behind the two chatting figures, a cartoon tip-toe caught her attention. Was that an almost-dragonic snigger she could hear. Was that scaly-ne'er-do-well up to his tricks again?
Cerulean stepped warily up to her girlfriend.
'I think, my dear, you'd be wise to investigate the Burger Lounge. Perhaps the day's takings weren't locked away yet? Or the food out of reach of thieving fingers?'
'Bugger off', hissed Harpy. Have you seen the size of those muscles?'
'But I really feel that your business is susceptible right now. The Lounge stands in ruins... why just anybody could be dashing in there and making away with your secret recipe.'
Harpy's brain switches into overdrive. On the one hand she has the undivided attention of this handsome inventor fellow. On the other...
Ethics Gradient and Cerulean watch quietly, as Scarlett races as fast as her spiked heels will allow her towards the Lounge's Vault. Her copper hair fans out behind her like a glorious sunset, and her crimson micro-uniform jiggles under the pressure of her sprinting assets. Suddenly a piercing shriek cuts through the afternoon as Harpy spies a cackling Wyvern.
Wyvern is fluttering a piece of paper and poking his tongue out at Harpy, whilst galloping away from the Burger Lounge. Scarlett gnashes her teeth and swerves away from her restaurant to pursue him.
'Gimmee back my recipe, you filching, thieving, geld-grubbing gargoyle'
Scarlett increases the pace, but fears that she's not gaining any ground. Glancing left and right, she takes mental note of a short-cut through a small field. If she can hurdle the gate in this outfit, negotiate the fence on the other side, and take the rough path back to the main road, she'll come out ahead of Wyvern, thereby cutting off his escape.
Cerulean and Ethics follow the activity with amusement. Ethics focuses on the limping ogres who will meet Wyvern as he corners the next bend.
'I wouldn't like to look anything like a Burger Entrepreneur, judging by their expressions', he whispers. They both gaze soundlessly at Wyvie's plunder.
Indeed, the ogres do not appear to be happy creatures. One is clutching his stomach and wincing. One is muttering McExpletives, while the third is merely bent on extreme and mindless brutality.
Cerulean, however, seems more taken with the soft snorting sounds coming from the stall in the corner of the field. She looks at Harpy, who is even now traversing the fence - a snapshot of crimson - she next turns her gaze to the bull emerging from the stall...
'Well this should certainly be interesting'.
