#scxrytxles ; lewis

[discipulusmaleficus]

[ SHIELD ] — sender steps in front of receiver protectively - Lewis protecting Kal from Tess ;3

@scxrytxles - gestures.

Tessa hits hard, as always. The last shove sends his twig-light frame staggering backwards, hitting the wall with a crack hard enough to dent the plaster, magic dying at his fingertips. He barely stays upright, his legs threatening to collapse under him.

A soft laugh escapes from his throat as her boot-tread footsteps pull closer. He fixes his gaze on the wall behind her, tries -- he's not sure why he bothers trying -- to stay steady.

He does not expect respite. He doesn't expect help. He can't even be bitter about that anymore, really.

Lewis had been standing at her shoulder a minute ago, not his.

So when he sees a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, he twitches, anticipating the inevitable impact, broken bone or ruptured artery.

There's the briefest of scuffles as a hand grips Tessa's shoulder for the second time, as a body wedges itself into the narrowing gap between them. There's a pause, halting. Kal can't quite work out what silent communication passes between them in that moment, assumes the bulk of any disagreement will be resolved behind closed doors.

"Think he gets the idea, Tess." "Do you."

[writedisaster]

@scxrytxles says:

"I am the son of an asshole." - Lewis to whoever is funniest.

[ AtD V1 starters | accepting! ]

“… Okay?” Janet pulls her bubblegum into a long pink string, then snaps it back into her mouth. “Is it, like, always hereditary?”

[desertfragments]

❛ ohhh boy. you. fuck you. yes, you specifically. ❜ Lewis to Red. ;3

Something in Red twinges. It hurts. It curls around his arm, sinks its teeth into his shoulder and claws its way down his lung. Long roots have buried deep into his skin and he knows that being upset at Lewis is only going to make it worse.

He wants to scratch at his skin, pick his flesh apart- anything to crawl out of his body. Anything to escape this dread. But his fingers don't cooperate, don't move, don't feel anything but quiet static.

Red eyes dig into brown, and a thin streak of electric, flowering thought blooms in Lewis. [It was reckless Lewis[!]] A sharp spike of fear stabs through him, only visible on Red's face through a tightening of his jaw. [You could've died and-]

There's a swirl of deep sadness inside him. Red pulls away- trying to be gentle-- but the connection snaps, and red rust roots dig into the soft sand of Lewis.

He flinches away. It hurts. And it makes Red scared.

[justashadetalkative]

Lewis takes the cookie. He's too hungover to argue with her. "So you're telling me, a cricket floured this cookie." His attempt at a joke is shaky and pale, sort of like him. Standing here in the biggest, blackest jacket he owns and squinting in the harsh light of day.

He's not really that weirded out by it. He's eaten trash, before, so like-

Whatever, he bites it, tastes it. His expression remains neutral.

"Uh. Thanks for that." He says, as appreciatively as he can manage. It's not every day some Lady You've Never Met chases you down and tells you to try this, it has crickets in it.

"It's... good." He looks between the tupperware in her hands and her expectant face. She probably baked them herself. He thinks to himself.

"Did you, like. Did you bake them?" He asks, not knowing what else he could possibly say.

Mirian snorts. "Like shrimp fried rice?" she hazards. She's heard that one before, somewhere. "Think that works better with a verb."

She brightens up considerably when the stranger does actually take a bite, and outright grins when he says it's good. "Right?? You wouldn't believe how many people aren't even willing to try it. Like, I get it, eating bugs is fuckin' weird to most folk--and I like them, but even I'm not gonna say cricket legs are a plus--but by the time it's flour, it's like. What are you even worried about?"

She laughs a bit at the question. "Yeah, I baked 'em. I think there's a company out there making... protein bars, or some shit like that, but not so much with the baked goods."

Mirian's rambling winds down a bit as she gives the man a closer look-over. He doesn't look well. "You want another? You look like you could use..." He looks like he could use a solid meal, or maybe somewhere to lay down. "...well, a bit of protein probably won't hurt, anyway."

A different possibility finally occurs to her, and she sighs, running her free hand down her face. "And you're allowed to tell me to fuck off, by the way. Like. Most other people do. I don't take it to heart, promise."

[sleepinggrigori]

@scxrytxles (cont)

Lewis kicks the dumpster hard. He kicks it once, he kicks it again, and again, again, again, again until there’s a black scuffed crater in the old, filthy metal and his foot hurts and he’s panting, hard and unsteady. He swipes a fist against his face, catching a cold streak of sweat along his forearm.

“Fuck!” He shouts. Nobody’s here. He can fall apart, just a little, right? It’s okay to do that? It’s normal? He just lost his- “Fuck!” Mother and his “God dammit!” his brother and- He shouldn’t have come here, this was stupid, a stupid idea. He’s not back to his usual shitty self, he’s extra shitty, and extra stupid because he heard Charlie’s favorite song and now he’s unraveling, all scabs and tears and beer-on-his-breath and bruises.

It takes a moment to notice, to pry himself out of the heady haze of grief and disgust and childish “why did this happen to me?” but he does. He notices. Someone is here, someone followed him. He hears a footfall, then another, an awkward breath in. There’s a question trying to form in the silence and Lewis snarls to himself, humiliated, snatching his drink off the ground at his feet.

“Can I- Hah- can I fucking help you?!” Lewis chucks the beer bottle at the wall next to the stranger’s head. Not too close, hopefully (hopefully), he isn’t trying to hurt anyone, but close enough to freak him out. Yeah that’s right, I’m fucking crazy back off and go back to your stupid dumb-shit party-

The world spins and he leans into the wall for support, tries to make it look casual, and bitchy and annoyed instead of desperate and tipsy and out of control. “There’s a whole fucking party and you’re following me around, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

If he’s angry enough, if he’s loud enough, they’ll hate him, the way they’re supposed to and they won’t care that he’s shaking or hemorrhaging his dumb fucking feelings everywhere and they’ll turn around. Any minute. Please, just go, just leave him alone.

In the shadows, Xander hesitates. It had been an impulse decision to follow: he’d glimpsed a flash of a face almost like Jeremy’s, mohawk and a face full of metal, but this stranger was careening, and now outside, yelling and screaming. He thinks about turning around. He doesn’t need to involve himself in this; this looks personal. Why should he bother? There’s a whole party waiting, where he could be rubbing shoulders with strangers, having a good time, and promoting the band.

But before he can retreat, he’s noticed. The bottle explodes inches from his head--his arm flies up to shield himself--but rather than be any sort of deterrent, it steels his decision to stay. Lewis’s yelling is a challenge, and like fuck is he going to go running away from that. Besides, what he’s yelling is the dumbest shit Xander’s ever heard.

Xander steps out full into the light, mouth brow and shoulders set firm. “Hell yeah I followed you out here; you looked like you were about to collapse in there. You still look about five seconds from falling over. Now, are you going to try to pick a fight with me, or are you going to sit the fuck down?“

[quiet-psychic]

“I’m covered in blood for sexy reasons. Also I just got stabbed.” - Lewis to your choice ♡

"I... Yeah. Okay." Noel stares blankly at him for a moment, before shaking her head. This was just one of those things that might as well happen. Gods knew she'd seen plenty of stab wounds in her time.

She'll make a little motion, sighing . "You should still probably get medical attention for that... Or at least first aid." Which she could help with somewhat. She had picked up some things over the years.

[a-tesseractis]

@scxrytxles asked: "S'-Jus-like, I'm in a really good place right now?" Lewis slurs. He is face down on the pool table, trying to fish something out - was it a lighter or a quarter? Or… or maybe a… was it one of the pool balls??? - out of the side pocket. At the moment his fingers are tangled. But no worries. He'll figure it out. Probably. His other hand is awkwardly used to sort himself out, to sort of peel his hand out of the hole, and to keep his balance, and, uh, well, it's already up here so- "So, uh, I don't really, uh, get why people keep asking if I need help." His current positioning seems not to occur to him. Oh, man, it is like 10:24 PM.

Oh, this guy is completely lost, huh? Though he restrains himself, Cand couldn’t help but chuckle at the display, thoughts lingering on whether it’d be funnier to lay right on top of him or simply leave him to squirm around, dazed and confused. He denies the action for now, instead content to merely watch. Pool cue set aside - he’d offered the game earlier as a courtesy - the god makes his way to Lewis’ side. 

Hands to himself. Claws card together behind his back, human guise starting to slough away. The place’s been empty for hours - the charade slips away. Wooden floorboards creak, dust settles freely, the place grows musty - another abandoned building most likely, settled far from others. Wrong. Not the place they started, or maybe it was? Unclear, the instructions got tossed back when the order came through.

“Really?” He leans down closer, smiles oh so politely, smells the booze on his new friend’s breath, “because from where I’m standing, you seem a little bit lost.” Salivating like Pavlov’s dogs.

[discipulusmaleficus]

@scxrytxles is having kal over.

Kalmar almost cringes under the soft (too soft) touch. Makes a disgusted sort of noise, buries his face again, but doesn't snatch himself free.

I don't know, says Lewis. Nothing's wrong -- More low, miserable laughter seeps out of him as he keeps talking, whenever he pauses or stumbles.

The memory is hazy. The feeling is the clearest part. "Ah, shallow focus," He murmurs, mercifully without thinking about it too hard. "Pot boiling over. Then flesh-hooked, then nothing but how badly it wanted to --" His blunt ungulate teeth dig sharp into the bones of his wrist for some moments. He tastes blood, lets go without argument.

Eager, he thinks, but it won't leave his throat. Enthusiastic. A sickly feeling like after forgetting to eat for too long. his brain overrun with imagined images and feelings and tastes he doesn't even like--

"It's," he starts again, and ties himself into an even tighter knot with a strangled whine.

He's scared. And ashamed. And he's an abomination. Who's scared.

[discipulusmaleficus]

[ CORNERED ]sender menacingly backs receiver into a corner . - Lewis

@scxrytxles - dire situations.

His shoulders jab sharply into the walls, and his head tilts back to meet them at a nonchalant angle, soft smile lingering on his face. A forearm jams itself under his chin, a diagonal strut.

Kal's down two knives and several cheap tricks. There's a tremor in his hands, an ozone smell to his sweat, a certain contrived set to his expression. These are the biggest indications of his growing fatigue. Somehow, he feels a terrified -- grateful -- certainty that Lewis can detect it.

"Touché," murmurs Kal. Waits for a moment to see what Lewis will do first -- shoot him, stab him, bite him (bad idea), knee him in the stomach -- bingo! --

Fragment of a laugh. In a split second, Kal dissolves grisly and organic in front of him, reappears a metre further away than he meant to, a few inches too high above the ground. (He could have teleported to another street entirely, made his escape. The thought doesn't even cross his mind.)

C-, he thinks. Clumsy enough that Lewis has time to whirl before he hits him, that it turns back into the sort of grappling bout he's definitely going to lose.

Kal responds on sheer instinct. He feels himself knocked back into the wall with enough force to break his shoulder, grabs Lewis roughly by the head, and lunges forward to kiss him full on the mouth.

[writedisaster]

@scxrytxles gets a gift for Lewis!

“Your old ones were, you know, your old ones were full of holes.” There's nothing fancy about the two pairs of socks in Charlevoix's hands: no cablework or cuffing, and the heel turns are serviceable at best. But the yarn is good, solid wool, and the knitting is tight and even and won't let the water in. “I can always, I can darn them, but I didn't want you to have - didn't want to leave you with nothing in the meantime.”

[discipulusmaleficus]

"C'mon, Kal. I'm not gonna let you drown." Lewis says. He's waist deep in the water, rocking with the tide as it pushes and pulls at his equilibrium.

"You can even leave your, uh, y'know. Layers on. If you want, though you might not like hauling 'em around after they get wet. The water's nice." Lewis' outer layers are crumpled up on the sand, just outside the reaching, foamy fingers of the surf.

The sun is setting, setting the water on fire with a sunset of sherbet orange and pale pinks. A few streaks of dusk purple.

"Please?" He asks, tilting his head. He puts out a hand in beckoning. "For me?"

@scxrytxles

Kalmar's sitting in the sand, folds of his cloak strewn across the ground like some mat of dried-out seaweed that washed up there, watching the water seethe and claw at the shoreline.

(It doesn't make him nervous. Shut up.)

Lewis, of course, makes fucking around out there seem like the most natural thing in the universe. Lewis, of course, has literal gills.

Kal glances over his shoulder once again, scans the place thoroughly for anybody who might -- gods forbid -- see him. He sighs, long and heavy.

FINE, says his face. For you. But I refuse to enjoy it.

He shucks off the two layers of robes -- too many not-waterproof things in his pockets -- exposing his bony, engraved arms. Deliberately and methodically sets about taking his boots off -- the leather has suffered enough. He'll keep the undershirt on, obviously. And the trousers, and the socks.

At length, Kal creeps forward, coming just close enough for the water to run over his feet. (It's cold, is what it is.) You'll catch your death, echoes a chiding voice in the back of his head.

He takes a few more steps, immediately decides he doesn't like the way it's pulling and pushing at his ankles, like a breathing thing that wants to take him under -- he's still not fantastic at walking -- and marches onwards anyhow.

"If you drown me," he says, "I will be very annoyed with you."

[discipulusmaleficus]

✵ IF You are still accepting, for anyone that tickles ur fancy

@scxrytxles - impressions meme!

ALICE.

Their first impression of your muse: Oh that thing's weird. Might as well investigate.

Current impression: Most trusted and appreciated of Friends.

Are they attracted to your muse?: She's cute!

Something they find frightening about your muse: Have you SEEN her doing magic

Something they find adorable about your muse: Her hair and her clothes and the way she talks and the way she moves and again, she's cute

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: Yeah.

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: Yeah.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Idiosyncratic, politely.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: No, because she would probably just act sad about it. And he doesn't want her to leave again.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Yeah.

NIL.

Their first impression of your muse: Why are you Looking at me like that. if you start Diagnosing me I am going to shove your head into a blender

Current impression: Excellent blood mage and complete fucking lunatic who goes around giving free help to Just Anyone, apparently. and also like. some kind of Authority Figure you can form a mutual friendship with and whose love and support isn't contingent on you doing exactly the right thing at all times?? he doesn't know what you'd call that, it's wild

Are they attracted to your muse?: Not particularly. Is nursing more fanboyish admiration and deferential respect than he'd like to own up to.

Something they find frightening about your muse: If Nil stops helping him for any reason, he's pretty sure he's fucked. Still Does Not Like incomprehensible medical devices.

Something they find adorable about your muse: Quilts!

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: Probably. Gets the feeling Nil would prevent that from happening.

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: Sure, he can go Do Things. (Nil's only sometimes embarrassing to be around in public.)

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Unbearable. <3

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: He'd punch him again! Just for fun.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Has hugged him. Feels kind of self-conscious about initiating it.

LEWIS.

Their first impression of your muse: Oh This Guy Is So Cool. This Has To Be The Coolest And Prettiest Guy Here. Hello Your Aura Is So Shiny. I Like Your Piercings. Can I Sit Here And Look At Your Face. Can I Touch Your Fa

Current impression: I hate you. You're the most important person in the universe. I need to set something on fire.

Are they attracted to your muse?: kal vc: haha not at all <3

Something they find frightening about your muse: He keeps letting his guard down -- even as he becomes increasingly aware that this man could literally bite his hand off -- and he's not sure why. Also he's full of Bugs now and we know how Kal feels about that

Something they find adorable about your muse: Those lip studs bobbing up and down. Bioluminescence. Likes teaching him words.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: Yes. ರ⁠_⁠ರ

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: Sure.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: …Difficult.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: And worse~.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Yes.

CHESTER.

Their first impression of your muse: Hey so why are you covered in stitches and also a cat? Please tell me about this in great detail. …No? OK.

Current impression: Fine? Kind of uptight. Not sure what his issue is, the safety pin thing was weeks ago c'mon

Are they attracted to your muse?: Nah. Too skinny.

Something they find frightening about your muse: He's a Large Predator and also actually understands the legal system.

Something they find adorable about your muse: Chasing of small woodland creatures. :3

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: Not particularly likely.

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: That sounds like it would annoy Chester immensely. So sure.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Kitten. >:3

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: Feels no particular need to. Doesn't think it would get much of a reaction.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: That also sounds like it would annoy Chester immensely.

TESSA.

Their first impression of your muse: Bitch.

Current impression: Bitch.

Are they attracted to your muse?: UNFORTUNATELY.

Something they find frightening about your muse: Half of his support network is in love with and/or works for her. He doesn't know how to make her stay dead.

Something they find adorable about your muse: Well. He'd like to see her in panic attack mode again~.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: She's one of the few people he's still tempted to murder. (:

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: In a manner of speaking. Well, if he's ever in fighting form again.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Bitch. Stubborn.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?: Mhm.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: Seems foolhardy.

[discipulusmaleficus]

chair: [ Lewis ] brings [ Kalmar ] a chair when they’re having trouble standing

@scxrytxles - disability starters.

Never has Kalmar felt so victimised by stairs. Never has walking down to Lewis's little apartment felt quite so much like tripping into the pit of an antlion.

One hand plants itself casually on the kitchen countertop, every joint in his arm trembling almost imperceptibly as he tries to hold himself STEADY.

Lewis doesn't ask. He doesn't even tell, really. He presses his lips to the cusp of his neck and his jaw, and then he vanishes. The world is spinning a little too much for Kal to dare turn his head after him.

What seems like a scant moment later, the seat hits the back of his calves, and he topples backwards into it with all the dignity of a ragdoll.

He stares blearily up at Lewis. "Fuck you," he whispers.

[discipulusmaleficus]

“So, what now? You’re sorry? You’re just gonna stand here hating yourself?” - Angry ghost Charlie

@scxrytxles - halloween kills 💕

His initial thought is to make some snide comment about sitting here hating himself, but the vantage point is wrong. He's still in the room Nil laid out, but his legs seem to be holding him, foggy and half-tangible but painless. Does that mean this isn't real? That he's somewhere other than where he is? Is he just better at standing up without a goddamn brain? He doesn't know.

He's laughing. He keeps laughing for rather too long. (The sound doesn't reach his own ears.) His head pounds. Hangover.

Like he hasn't tried, hasn't been trying, like he hasn't resolved to kill himself, and Lewis, and Red, if it means fixing one fucking thing for once in his life --

Okay, so maybe he wouldn't be placated by that.

"I'm not sorry," he says (?), don't put words in my mouth. That's a lie, and a pointless one, because the feeling is seeping out of the walls, the ceiling, (his soul's outer membrane) like black, sticky mud. Sorry, sorry it's turning out like this, sorry I fuck up everything I touch, sorry I exist, sorry you ever had the displeasure of meeting me -- "I..."

Silence.

Kalmar tries to think of any reason he might be pleased with himself right now.

Another thread in his fraying tether snaps, another wire in the cage encasing him. not to worry ! easy to replace ! He goes to leap at the spirit, take him by the immaterial collar, but what happens is more of a full-body twitch, a wave of frustration, DON'T TOUCH OUR FUCKING STUFF.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, Charlie? Shoot myself in the head?"

[discipulusmaleficus]

melt - muse a holds muse b’s face gently, drawing circles into their cheeks with their thumbs - Lewis, in either direction.

@scxrytxles - gentleness????

"He~ey, Theseus."

Fuck, is it good to be out. Fuck, is it good to be seeing him again.

One of the things Kalmar has learnt in his time freelancing is how very easy it is to poison and/or curse an unsuspecting target.

Lewis was passed out sleeping in some random civilian's bed, tonight. They will be soundly asleep until a sensible hour, when the sun has risen fully above the horizon. He's made sure of that.

He will wake to Kalmar smiling inches from his face, gently fondling his cheek, paralytic venom flooding his system. His heart and his lungs are kept moving by a small spark of necromantic control, by a whim, and Kalmar hopes to hell he knows it could have been far worse, if he'd felt like making it that way.

His face is warm, almost hot against his eternally-freezing hands, the mage's legs straddling his. & he looks beautiful, irresistible as always through his dull eyes and slack jaw. (Kalmar doesn't look good, he knows, more waifish and inhuman than ever, insect-bites dotting his dead-white skin.) He - fuck, he's never had impulse control - he leans in, presses his lips ever-so-lightly to the other man's.

"How are you going?" He asks, sweetly. Slips Lewis the service of his mouth for some moments. His grip tightens. "Enjoying spending time with your girlfriend?" And also whoever the fuck this is?

"I think we might have some shit to discuss, yes?"

[discipulusmaleficus]

Kalmar rounds the corner at the worst possible time.

Although, that may only be from his perspective. For It, the timing is quite convenient. Serendipitous, even. Recognizes him through the haze of someone else's eyes. Its bones creak audibly. The mask-like face tilts on the decrepit, crooked neck. Another heavy (but silent) slap of four clawed hands against the floor drags it closer, broken legs trailing uselessly behind.

If Kalmar was going to run, the moment to do so has quickly abandoned him. The long, curling body shifts, rises on its twisting spine and it reaches for Kalmar with long, spindled arms. It lifts him from the floor, the black points of its claws digging into him like a pin cushion or a stress toy. It seems to test his weight in its hands, bouncing him up and down like a toy or an apple.

Kr-a-k-ck! The head twists again. It has no eyes, and yet it seems to follow his every twitch and movement. It has no mouth- Oh, no, wait it definitely does. The mask lifts and a second, gaping maw is revealed. A deep black hole with with the thick, pearlescent something dripping from its jagged, bone white teeth.

Ебaть, Kalmar's voice says. The unmoving face seems to smile. The claws tighten. Something cracks.

Хмариноньки-хмаринки, химерні. It says, again with Kalmar's voice. It lifts him high into the air before bringing him sharply down against the glossy, polished floor.

Maybe you could stand to show some fucking patience,- Kalmar's voice warps and shifts, going breathless and tearful and Alice, Kalmar? Sir? before it goes once again still and silent as death.

The Husk stares at Kalmar, helpless and trapped beneath it.

Then. It lunges, jaws wide, for his throat-

@scxrytxles - shenanigans

The Thing holds him like a toddler holding a doll, fused hands clasped carelessly about his midsection, one arm held against his waist. He has already taken a few steps past terror, everything etched into the space about him like it's in newsprint. It is speaking to him in his own accent, and he barely remembers saying that, and he certainly doesn't remember it sounding like that.

Alice's voice pricks at him like a needle, and then it goes silent. He is staring, still, fixed on the damp, rainbow sheen of its teeth. It strikes him that perhaps this is what he deserves, what is needed if not what he wants. Precisely how this is meant to go, ignominious and painful and all too well suited for a life as pathetic and scraggling as his. You couldn't get out, not even with this much help. Didn't even help him make it out, I bet.

It is striking, unfurling its jointed neck like a snake. It's quick, too late now to react. There's no time for him to begin to think about what to do.

He's on a street corner. A stranger is asking if he knows what time it is. He asks them if they think time is real. They look deeply unamused.

He's twisting, jamming an arm at least elbow-deep into its maw, letting the momentum of its latest lunge carry it forwards -- moving with strength he definitely doesn't possess. Blunt, irregular nails claw at the tender tissue inside its throat, and scorching heat starts to leak out from his palm, flames starting to crawl over his skin somewhere he can't see.

Lewis is carefully wiping dried blood off the back of his hand. It stings.

For a moment, it's hard to say if it feels it or not. Needle-sharp teeth snap implacably shut on his arm. Its claws dig into his skin, breaking through the rough fabric of his robes, and he feels the stupidly familiar sensation of a couple more of his ribs breaking. Some asshole is laughing.

He's looking at the weakly-writhing body of the classmate he once teleported into and dimly trying to remember her name.

The spell accelerates, flames starting to lick out from between its teeth it takes only a glance on his part to make them flare up, taking in most of its mask in a moment. His skin starts to blister through the protective field that usually keeps him from burning himself.

He's trying to snap a safety pin shut. Fumbling. He's sitting cross-legged on the frostbitten ground, trying very hard to think about nothing. There are gunshots.

It makes a noise like several noises combined, and thrashes, first loosening its grip and then throwing him clear. He glances off the wall, skids along the floor. The pain of the impact is irrelevant. So is the black starting to creep in at the edges of his body's vision.

Kalmar brings a hand to the shoulder of the bitten arm, sharply orders the blood not to bother going in there, and slams magic into the rest of his frame as he pulls himself to his feet.

Well. Fire, he can do. It seems to work as a distraction, at the very least.