He’d literally just been fucking thinking that it’d been too damn quiet, and then suddenly a metric shitton of noise erupted from outside and he was grabbing his ax and heading out into the fray. This is what I get for thinking, he thought in disgust as he dodged panicked civilians trying to run away from whatever it was that had decided to attack the Faram damned city this time. If he was a more pessimistic person, he’d have thought Something’s attacking Emillion; must be Sunday, but he wasn’t that far gone.
Yet.
Give it a few more months and he’d be there, he was sure. And for fuck’s sake, didn’t people know how to move the fuck out of the way? Wasn’t there some sort of emergency plan? With how often shit seemed to target the damn city, he’d have thought there’d be one, but another civilian ran practically right into him and he had to steady her so she wouldn’t fall flat on her fucking face and get trampled. Like she’d nearly done to him.
He was starting to be fucking gentleman in his old age.
Among those looking to evacuate to the nearest safe place was a blonde scholar, her lunch delivery long lost to the throngs of people rushing past her. With everyone in such a panic, how could anyone keep their mind straight? Ridley sucked in a deep breath, running against the current, aiding anyone who stumbled or fell with steady hands. That much she could do, at least, while she pushed toward the clinic.
Her mind was in near disarray when she slammed into Jareth, hands coming out to settle herself so neither of them fell. "I'm sorry," she stammered, eyes going up to his face and shimmering with recognition. Wasn't this man with the EKP? His name, of course, escaped her.
Jareth looked down and held back the muttered curse that he wanted to utter. A kid. Great. And a tiny one at that. She was going to get lost in this damn crowd if he didn’t get her somewhere. Why was he always the one that got stuck with the goddamn kids?
“You okay?” he asked, pulling her off the side and looking around. With his luck, the next one he’d see would be his damned squire or his squire’s squishy brother. Fucking bards. Nothing but trouble. The moment that thought was fully formed, as though summoned by it, Pyr turned the corner into their street.
He was wearing the pair of claws Peony had got him for his birthday (a small blessing, that he'd been carrying them inside his bag when the monsters had started rolling in — not that he had engaged any of the enemies, big and scary enough that he knew all the training he'd been doing wouldn't do him any good). People were screaming and running all around him, and in the chaos he had lost sight of the thing he'd been following: the familiar sight of Juliette's ponytail swishing back and forth as she made her way through the crowd, no doubt somewhere she could be of help. Pyr hoped that didn't mean the frontlines, but his hopes didn't matter much in the insanity unfolding all around him. He looked around, but instead of Juliette his eyes found another familiar silhouette: Ridley, and next to her, Jareth. He couldn't help a relieved smile as he made his way over to his mentor, to help however he could.
"Jareth," he breathed out when he reached them, keeping an eye on their surroundings, "what's the plan?"