FAMFRIT vs. Party Two: Theo/Div.
It was her turn to holler in another language, but the choice words about Lady Finch were drowned in the rush of seawater. Divina struggled against Finch's grip, even as they were submerged. She'd had just about enough of being fettered in deep waters. But her thrashing was ineffectual. Skill in battle lost out to pure and simple fact: the fell knight was a waif compared to the broad berserker.
The salt stung her eyes and her wounds. The waves surged ever stronger. Despite herself, Divina changed tack. One hand found purchase on Theo's armor, the other tightened around Deathbringer's hilt—both held on for dear life. If he was heading for cover, she damn sure wanted to be there with him, to be there armed.
As soon as they were in the clear, she scrambled out of his grip and assumed a pale facsimile of her usual fighting stance. Everything bloody burned, but Divina shuffled onward. After leveling Finch with a glare that was more angry than grateful, dark eyes squinted into the Mist. "Where is it now?" she sputtered, every inch the grumpy, drowned cat.