The Grand Ball.

[Vanidor]

"Garviel." His voice was oddly serene, the cane in hand motioning towards the man and then the jade-tipped end was angled at the scene. The Companion so mentioned was halfway in motion to help the fallen Genny. The woman had landed at his feet, after all. But the command of his liege was the first thing he had to do. The order was simple enough in scope, but the dark-haired Companion didn't much like the scene before him. Silver tentacles and broiling light. It was a good thing Garviel wasn't much of a superstitious man. His sword was in his hand a moment later.

Steps would take that golden-garbed warrior as close to the midst of things as he could, weaving when needed to avoid a wriggling silver tentacle or two. His sword was angled, and he leapt forward. With one hand he swept his feathered hat from the crown of his head, throwing it as best as he could into the face of the madman, as if he could catch the thing. Maybe it would serve as a good enough diversion. Besides. His goal was to shove a good foot or so of fine New Dauntless steel into the madman, even if it meant his death.

As for Davien, he was momentarily stymied by the fact that James had been stalling his attempt to remove Lamai from the situation. The younger Companion would hear about it, certainly. If they survived anyway. But he had seen the motion of Christoph's cane, and he saw Garviel's maddened dash for Catch. He didn't quite know what he was up to, until he saw the hat-throw. Davien would rise up, quelling the sudden flash of ice in his blood at the Dragon-Kin's mystical awakening. His sword was gone, knocked away by the thrashing James. So he'd do the only thing he could think of. Leap to take hold of Lamai, and then aim to turn them in a 180 to push her away, and instead place his own head and shoulders in the worming silver madness.

Christoph, himself, continued to stand back. He was no warrior to throw himself mindlessly into the fray. But that was his wife. And the man on the floor... Bothered him for some reason. He did not know why, but he would slide the single knife he carried into his hand, the thing appearing out of the wide sleeve of his robe. Whatever it would take, yes? To draw attention away from the combat at hand. Dismissively, he would flick the knife at Thadius.

[Raven]

Sarcyn was pragmatic when it came to trouble. It -was- going to happen, every, single, time. It didn't matter how much you might pray or wish it not to be so. The best one could hope for, was that they were suitable prepared for every eventuality. Unfortunately there's not a lot someone like him can do to prepare themselves for silver tentacles that have a kick like a horse when they strike someone.

Not being prepared, however, is not the same as not acting. Sword would be completely forgotten about, he didn't picture it being very useful at deflecting such a thing and it would only get in the way as he'd spring forth and attempt to get Dulcie out of the way. While not exactly a great thing to do for his own personal well-being, half the reason he was there was to keep the innkeeper out of harm's way.

[Dulcie]

Sarcyn tried to pull Dulcie out of the way of those tendrils but there were so many that seemed to be coming from the mad man and there was such a flurry of things going on at the moment that it was hard to tell that someone was trying to pull her away from the fray rather than into it. As it was however her escort had at least succeeded in shifting her direction and instead of hitting her square in the chest the tendril caught her at the shoulder. Still, with the force that it hit her with it knocked her well back away from Sarcyn and somewhere into the dance floor. Pain blossomed in her vision and the green silk clad woman hit the floor with a thump and swoosh of fabric and body. It took her a moment in her disorientation to try to find her way upwards of the silk and the pain and all the mess of legs that were around her. She tried to blink a few times, to clear her vision and to try to make sense of what had just happened but oh her shoulder throbbed and it was hard for her to realize that the moan of pain she had heard was her own.

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Meanwhile across the room Fred and Genny were caught in the midst of people rushing towards the scene of the incident and she lost the link she had with Genny, the girl in white tumbling away from Fred in her black dress. Genny had tumbled one way, but the sudden rush of everyone else and the loss of her balancing partner had Fred falling in the opposite direction. Luckily her hand caught hold of someone, or something that she used to help herself straighten up and regain her balance. She could hear her name being called across the room and her green eyes would search desperately for her friend.

"Genny!!!" She called back desperately, hearing another voice calling for her friend as well.

[Tolleson]

With or without the help of the guard Genny was able to regain a standing position. The delicate fabric of the gown puckered and stretched over bent knees, her stance wide. Grace was hardly an option if she intended to remain standing. At first she had been looking for Fred. Like a sailor studying the churning sea, people fleeing, advancing, and some, like her, crashing to the floor.

With barely the peace of mind to speak, she would offer a quick 'thank you' nod to the guard who was already preoccupied with his own duties. Regardless, Descant was nearing and offering, it seemed, to help her regain her senses. Clearly disoriented, there was a wash of recognition perhaps even comfort that spread across her face and into her body. Yet the distress that she had been through was apparent as a few of the flowers that had been so delicately pinned in her hair had come loose, tangled and swimming in the sea of red curls cascading down her back and over her shoulders.

So many people, so much was happening, even as Descant neared and she reached out to him, as if he were a life preserver; her eyes frantically searching the room. Where was Fred, and, "w-w-What is wrong with Catch?" Barely a whisper, the words could have been the wind in the trees. Surely that was a question the entire town had been asking since he'd appeared.

[catch]

Everything became clearer, sharper. There was a flare of pain along his back as tendrils slammed against Zilliah's shields with a sick, crunching noise, as if the tendrils had flexible, very real cartilage to be broken, as if they were no longer - or never had been - ethereal. They did not bother striking again, even as the twisting things snapped back into place with another gut-wrenching sound, but they twisted about the floor like silver snakes, lurking, threatening.

As Catch slowly came back to himself, he caught glimpses of the man, now. The fellow, not creature, that he held in his hands. Every line of his aristocratic face, the prow of a hawkish nose, and those wild eyes, full of shadow and smoke and the depths of the Lake when night came upon it. The chaos around him was nothing. He had all the time in the world. Hesitant, Catch took a hand from the man's throat, and ran the pads of his fingers over every, fleshy bit, feeling the surface of flawless skin, pressing just hard enough to feel the teeth under those lips.

Something white lurked just out of his field of vision, twining sinuous around legs frozen in flight, fight, or spectating.

It hurt, this fire. The smell that came from smoldering flesh managed to be a sweet one, but there was no mistaking the way the tentacles writhed and twisted, their invisible mouths open to screams of agony, and the ones who blossomed back to life from that cleansing fire darted, twisted, around Catch, unwilling to face the angered she-Dragon. And what was she doing, mingling with these people, these crawling things that deserved to labor under an iron claw?

Catch heard his name, but it came slow, thick, hardly distinguishable from any of the other noises that plucked bluntly at his ears. His chin, his eyes came up, but all he could see around him was a black smoke, the faintest outlines of others, screaming to the sky. Lamai, twisted and fallen at his side. Would she ever fling her arms about his neck? Would she kiss him, now? There was the face of some reptilian beast, that flickered in and out of the smoke, and he knew it came from it. Her. He knew her. Little flame-tongues, furnace stoked. He kept the fires at the Dagger going, you know, with an axe and bodies on the chopping-block that screamed with each, heavy fall, stacked to the ceiling.

Just a minute, Miss Drache, he told her. I'll come fill the fires for your little flame-tongue in a minute.

Catch stared at Drache, his lips curled and his eyes blazing with that colorless, colorful light, and he opened his mouth as if to retort, to say something. All that emerged was an animal noise, a wild howling of multiple, bestial noises, of a wolf's howl and a whale's song, the bugle of an elk from the north, and he twisted his head away to stare down at the man again, to run his fingers through Thadius' hair, as if nothing at all were going wrong around him, like nothing was going to pieces. There was nothing else to fill the man with. So Catch filled Lamai.

Catch tasted each strand of hair, and it gave him time to marvel at how he felt, at the way time seemed to be nothing. It all felt so natural, to have those running away and those drawing close. But he didn't know this man, and Catch gently put him down. he was aware, vaguely, of all Ser Elliot had told him, that he musn't touch. But he knew Miss Lamai wouldn't mind, and it worried him so, the way she lay at his side. Something must be wrong, he could feel it as a sudden, sharp pain in his belly. So he bent over her, and touched that golden hair, and he turned her face towards him to see what was wrong. Where was the Forest Lord?

Hypnotized by the dragon, by the fires and embers that swirled around her with vengeance and death, there was very little to stop the golden Garviel in his task. In fact, it was almost easy, the way that sword slid into Catch as he stared down at Lamai, letting Thadius crumple where he stood, or run. Just below his rib cage, enough to feel the scrape of bone as ribs passed on either side of that good, New Dauntless steel. Like whips the tendrils snapped at the man's face, tearing, gripping at his body, trying to fling him away as others gripped at the sword. With the same strength they ripped it free, smeared with red blood with a colorless sheen, and Catch's blood spat onto the floor. Once, twice, it went, and then there was simply nothing. The wound had healed, and the tendrils snapped the sword, scattering the pieces in the air. And all the while, that colorless power was pouring back in to Lamai, filling her cup with an ocean, more and more until it spilled out of her and hissed on the floor, smoking Catch's blood.

"Wolf-keeper."

Catch looked sharply up, a hated, mocking voice using such a familiar term, and the Wolf was there, standing over he and Lamai, his coat shimmering white. He was beautiful, as if someone had taken the moon to Kacela, but Catch knew what he was. The wolf's eyes were still milked white from age, and the teeth that lips pulled back from were rotted, thick threads of diseased, slick venom dangling from it's jaws. Catch grabbed Lamai, held her firmly to him, ready to run, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Look down," the wolf suggested, and though everything Catch was begged him not to, screamed and resisted, Catch 's eyes, his head moved of their own accord. There was a hole in his belly. As Catch stared at in in horror, the wolf's laughter filling his ears, the very tips, rounded and bristled with sensitive fur, started curling out from the ragged hole.

"Siub Nfas'nn suggoth yo-lossha amsdus..."

There was nothing. No light came from Catch's head, no whip-like tendrils sought destruction and flesh. There was only Catch, looking around himself wildly, scrambling back from Lamai and Thadius and nearly slipping on his own blood. His belly hurt. The addled man wraps his arms around his midsection, his eyes blank and wild as a mad beast's. There is blood on his hands. There are those that are fallen and moaning. There is Miss Drache, still flaming, still glowing. His lips twist and work, trying to form words that wouldn't come. They were all staring at him, those that weren't moving to catch him, to hurt him.

They'll throw you down a hole, the wolf slithered mockingly in his ear. They'll build iron bars around you. You're dangerous. You're like that Baie.

Catch found his throat, found his breath, and he knew what he had to do.

"I'm NOT a Baie!" he screams at the spinning faces, and then he turns to run, crashing into the crowd, an irresistible ship's prow against the waves. He did not push to hurt. He only used his bulk to run, to force people away. Blinded by his own tears, Catch bounds for the grand, beautiful door.

[Drache]

To the fiery half-breed, the touch of silvery tendrils was like static across her flesh. It wasn't exactly painful but it put her teeth on edge and made her muscles twitch. Moving closer was distinctly unpleasant. As was the frustrating fact that she didn't quite understand what was happening.

So she circled slowly around the scene, watching, waiting, disturbed by the way the addled man toyed with the elfkin he had strangled like a child who had broken a toy. The pale body seemed lifeless, and Lamai seemed likely to follow suit. Her pupils narrowed to slits and they flicked briefly towards James, wondering at the nature of the connection between his mind and the fallen Healer.

Catch's lip-curling grimace turned in her direction, the eyes blazed and he bellowed at her and the feral beast inside the half-dragon responded in kind. Her wings spread slightly in a jerk and she growled back. 'Yesss, watch me,' she thought as she saw Davien move in to retrieve Lamai.

But she stayed back, wary of the silvery supernatural tendrils and the sinister leaking of power. It had retreated from her heat for now, but she didn't know how long that might last. Interfering among so many people could be a disaster. She was afraid of the madness inside the man and watched his eyes turn and his body posture at things that were not there. 'What are you?' she asked with her scrutinizing gaze. 'What is it that you see?'

A flurry of movement nearby and one of the golden men struck with a sword, and then was ravaged by silver flails in turn. Drache reached almost instinctively for Garviel even as Catch's tentacles tried to fling him away. Her hot touch passed to the human a shield similar to her own. A wildfire that spread across his flesh, burning nothing except Catch's feelers before they could do irreparable damage.

She screeched with pain as shards of steel sliced through her wing membranes, the part of her body least protected by the spell called Mirror-Scales.

And then Catch was running and she looked after him with loathing before turning her attention to the human in her claws and the hot blood trickling down her wings.

[Lamai]

There was a bad mixture of unfortunate events. Lamai's first awareness of Davien's presence was when his arms wrapped around her and pulled her out of those tendrils. So little was known about her particular skill, and she spoke even less of it. To have those tendrils wrapped into her mind was dangerous. James was the one who knew it best..

.. and as those silvery tendrils were yanked out of Lamai's head by Davien's twisting body, it was mind-linked James that suddenly collapsed to the floor. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he was the one that suddenly had the blood trickling out of his nose.

Lamai, on the other hand, lifted her eyes to stare up at the robed vision of her husband. He'd come. He'd come to see her. He could almost feel the caress just inside his ear, the murmur of his name, and then her eyes slid closed. The healer's head slumped back against the Companion that had rescued her.

The chaos certainly disguised the fact that Thadius' flesh proved to be quite capable of being split open by a knife. The healed nobleman inhaled sharply as Christoph's blade struck true, but even with that blade buried in his midsection, he was able to get up and retreat. His eyes watched Lamai a moment longer, and then he was turning to disappear into the crowd, clutching that bloodied knife.

[Raven]

Descant would be there as a rock of calm amongst the swirling bedlam. Quite a feat considering the fact that Genny herself would overshadow the slight bard, tall as she was. Things had quickly spiralled out of control and all of the hard work he'd gone through to get the Ball had been so adeptly unravelled. He'd lament that later. Now, he at least had some purpose, with Genny under his dubious protection it was just a matter of finding their mutual friend Fred. Of those present it'd be that pair that Des would be most worried about.

"Genny." Not the usual soft spoken voice of the bard for this, now it'd be the voice of someone who demanded attention when he spoke. "Are you alright?" By this stage there wasn't a lot of reason for them to fight the flow of fleeing people. At this rate the flurry of activity would soon die down and all that would be left was the people caught in the aftermath of Catch's burst of crazy.

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Sarcyn fought down the urge to bare steel and chase down the fleeing madman. It took a considerable amount of effort, despite seeing what had happened to the last few people who had so directly tried to interfere. A rather animalistic snarl of frustration and then the mercenary would whirl about and stalk through the slowly thinning press of people. The fact that she had been knocked back meant that the path he needed to take was linear in nature. Allowing Sarcyn to find her without having to resort to bludgeoning people clear.

Which isn't to say that the journey wasn't without incident. Somewhere along the way the lacy crap at his throat had been ripped clear away. Whether that was because of some blessed twist of fate or a moment of pent up frustration being released, Sarcyn would not ever reveal. While the bard may radiate calm, the mercenary projected the threat of impending violence upon any that dare disturb him or his fallen companion. His black clad form would come to a crouch beside the fallen innkeeper and hands would be seeking to keep Dulcie from moving.

"Hold still." The mercenary would make to assess the damage done before he'd do anything else.

[Suede]

Well hadn't this proved to be quite the delightful display? The tailor had to admit that despite the fact anything he might have done at the ball would have been vastly overshadowed by Catch's suddenly snapping, it had been quite fun to watch. He took a moment to muse to himself on what sort of value the man might now have, and the best way to approach him with an offer. Perhaps the tailor simply needed more beetle eyes.

Oh, no matter for the moment. Catch had fled and chaos had been left in his wake to observe. The tailor swept his cane across the table to noisily clear a space he immediately hopped up to sit upon. Legs were crossed and one hand disappeared into his pocket to extract a small liquor flask. As he worked the top off he took a moment to take in the stumbling, the bleeding, the possible fighting to soon escalate. His then drifted over the rest of the crowd, to the duke, to the random folk stopped about the room in fear or curiosity, and some friends of his who'd hunkered away from the center stage to the safety of various torches and braziers lighting the room.

Suede rather blatantly began to pour whatever was in his flask into the punch, wondering if anyone would even notice him at the moment as he did so, a small smirk flitting across his lips and his legs kicking about slowly.

"I love parties!" His words were so sincere it was disturbing.

[Vanidor]

Christoph watched the eyes of his wife close almost dispassionately. She would know otherwise, of course, but to most the Ambassador was as frozen as the wastes of New Dauntless. Those pallid eyes flicked towards Garviel, who was just now righting himself thanks to the assistance of the Half-breed. The man was a mess, his fine golden coat shredded and the silvery-chain that was sandwiched between layers of fabric revealed. Several of the chain links were torn, and there was dampness at the side of the man. A thin tendril of crimson that wormed down his left side and pooled at the heel. Garviel closed eyes a moment, opening them again as Christoph handed the man his cane. There was a nod of the head, a glance for the instrument, then he would start for the door. The Madman was gone, it would seem, but someone had to recall the airship to retrieve them.

Davien would continue his hold on the Baroness, face scored here and there from the caress of the silver tendrils. His heart beat fast, but he kept the grip on the slender woman. He would rise slowly, keeping a tight yet gentle hold all at the same time. Christoph would step forward, his hand raising to gently caress away a broken free lock of hair. "Take her outside to Garviel. Your blood before hers." The shaken Davien would nod his head and move away slowly.

Christoph would make one more step, kneeling to press fingertips to the neck of the fallen James. Lips would purse a moment, then a sigh. He was certainly about to get his robes dirty, wasn't he? Words, then, would have to pass to the younger Companion. Not that Christoph pulled him up just yet. He would turn, bringing his eyes to sweep over Drache, with a quick flick for Descant.

"My apologies, Madam. It would seem that my wife and I must depart for the evening. Perhaps you and I can continue our discussions another time. Perhaps..." He paused, then glanced at James. Yes, that would do. "Perhaps you can look over Sir James here a day or two, it may do him some good to rest a time under the care of someone with the proper... abilities. And see to it he is not bothered by aught that would cause him distress?" Here, his eyes flicked towards the half-drake. A half-smile then and a slight bow of his head. Though eyes would flick once or twice to ascertain the motion of Davien towards the door. And make certain naught else would happen to him, or his precious package.

[Drache]

It wasn't quite bedlam. The Ball had barely gotten started before Catch had quite effectively destroyed the entire proceedings. People departed hurriedly, but as yet no one was being trampled underfoot. There was a bottleneck at the front door where the people leaving met those who were still arriving, but it wasn't the sole entrance to the building and those still sorting themselves out on the dance floor would quickly find themselves mostly alone. There were some people who stood around to watch with morbid fascination, some who would willingly put up with the disruption for the sake of free food and drink. More than one person partook in the tainted punch, but it was the liquor bar that drew the most attention, the poor designated server fending people off with a stool as he tried to pack everything up.

The swirl of people wasn't too much for the half-dragon to bear, and neither was the lacerating throb of her damaged wings. Her distress was evident only by the strong flare of her nostrils and her stiff bearing. There was blood. Her own, Garviel's, someone elses. The tang of magic. She scowled at Garviel with some concern as he moved away leaving bloody footprints behind him. When it appeared he would at least make it out the door without collapsing, she glanced around with eyes narrowed, calculating, watching Davien move off with Lamai, Descant assisting Genny, Sarcyn with Dulcie. As usual, when it came to her own needs she only had herself to rely on. Blood snaked down her wings creating a pattern of bloody veins on top of the shimmering gold.

Standing almost protectively as Christoph bent down to check on James, she flicked an irritated claw when he addressed her. Her response was curt, but not unkind, assuming a practical sort of familiarity for the moment. "Call me Drache, if you please, Chrissstoph. Sssee to Lamai, I am worried for her too." Of course she was worried. The kind Healer held the promise of sanity when it came to half-dragon's unborn.

His request for her to care for James was met with a brief hesitation and a flick of her tail. "I do not believe I am the bessst one to look after him. I know little of his abilities or how my own might help. I am no Healer...."

And then a look of realization flickered across her eyes as she understood what the Ambassador was asking. She scowled with displeasure and snorted. "I sssee."

She eyed him thoughtfully, snapping her teeth, and looked ready to refuse. "Know thisss, I do not take on sssuch a tasssk for jussst anyone. Dissscussions we -shall- have or I will be mossst annoyed." You owe me, Ambassador. She realized that if she was going to take James from this place she didn't have time to find Des and commiserate over the fate of the Ball. Out of everything, this irritated her the most. She glanced at the Bard with an expression or yearning only Christoph was close enough to see.

As she bent down to hoist James off the floor, she wondered how 'distressed' he was going to be when he woke up deep underground in a dragon's lair. She didn't know the fleshling well at all. This also meant that her own injuries would have to wait tending. Her poor wings. There would be scars. Why did she always end up babysitting humans anyways? She sighed and shifted his unconscious form into a more comfortable position. It wasn't the human's weight that made the task difficult, just the unweildiness of long legs and a limp shape.

Once her conversation with Christoph was over, she looked about once more. A server she had helped hire for the evening picked that moment to scurry by and she reached out to catch him, her tail nearly clotheslining him. The man almost lost his footing anyways under the sheer intensity of her gaze. The combination of her irritated visage, her elaborate jewelry, her exotic dress, her torn and bleeding wings, and the limp body in her arms made for quite the intimidating combination.

"You and the ressst of the waitssstaff were paid for the entire evening. Thisss party is over. Ssstart cleaning up." The last thing she wanted was to be blamed for leaving the hall a disaster area, and she didn't want poor Des stuck with the tattered remnants of his Ball. That would be like adding insult to injury. Her tone brooked no room for argument, not that the man seemed keen on offering any, and he scuttled off to follow her orders.

Seething, the half-dragon moved to the center of the dance floor away from everyone else and focused her power, looking down into Jame's unconscious face. 'Porting with a human was always a pain in the tail. With a concussive whoosh, a pillar of fire consumed them both and when it died down to harmless nothingness, they were gone.

The golden bangle she had given to the Bard flared with a red light and grew warm to the touch.

[Dulcie]

The black and gold clad carpenter steadied herself on the wall as she watched people practically flooding out of the ball, shouts being made here and there and some man near the punch who looked far too pleased with it all for Fred to be in any way comforted by his smile. Over the crowd her friend's head was sticking up a little, Genny being as tall as she was and Fred would rise to her tip toes and call to her.

"Genny!!" She called out, seeing the other girl now and what appeared to be a glimpse of Descant. Considering their location however Fred was having to make her progress towards them upstream as it would seem, sticking to the walls where she could keep her hand against it and slide past some of the bigger people who were moving her way and around her. She was at least fairly used to the crowds of the docks in New Dauntless and she'd weasel her way between one person and the next until she'd arrive by the duo with a bit of huff and a stagger, her green eyes looking at her friends, verifying that they were alright.

"Oh I'm so glad you're alright!" She'd say to Genny and Des both as a pair, but it would be Genny that she would reach for and try to wrap up in a big hug as the crowd moved past them.

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Dulcie was still trying to make sense of what all had happened a her hand trying to sweep aside some of those many skirts that had flipped about and surrounded her in so much fabric, her mind a little cloudy as the pain made it difficult to think. She was even about to go so far as to try to use that very same hand to find the ground to push herself back up when there was that dark gloom of shadow about her and strong hands that suddenly seemed to be holding her still. For the very briefest of moments there was a hint of panic and a feeling of tension from the innkeeper where Sarcyn had taken hold of her but as he spoke she relaxed and began to remember exactly where she was and bits of what had happened. His insistance that she stay still was met with nod, and a slightly pained expression as she took a breath in.

"What happened?" She asked softly, her hazel eyes finally finding their focus as she turned her gaze towards her escort. She remembered pieces of what happened after all, her approaching Catch and then being thrown across the room, though exactly how it happened she honestly couldn't be sure of. "Catch? Is he alright?".

[Tolleson]

Genny's eyes tore away from Catch and the quickly unraveling scene to take in Descant as his voice demanded her attention. Her right hand took his without asking, slender, delicate, long digits grasping for him, reactionary and afraid. As Winifred neared her other hand wrapped around the girl greatfully, pulling her into them both. "And we you," she seemed to be answering for them both, whispering a hesitant reply directed to Descant, "Yes,.. but Catch is going to--". A burst from the direction of Catch interrupted her. Garviel had been quite near when Drache had shielded him, the sudden light and flame causing the girl to flinch and recoil even protected as she was now closer in Descant's arms. Her eyes, the trembling green leaves caught in a summer storm, looked to Descant's calm facade for comfort but they would not linger long enough to find it. Her vision darted then to the yelling and fleeing Catch, the craddled and carried Lamai, and the falling James.

Not a moment of hesitation was given, provocation at hand, she abruptly ripped herself free of Descant and Fred whom had only just found her. Pushing, shoving her way past the thin layer of people still between them and ground zero. Chistoph was already beside James, asking the beautiful half dragon if she would tend to him. But it didn't matter. There hadn't been time to be polite, to ask if she could be there, to cry, or even to breathe. Everything was frozen inside her chest from the moment she'd seen him fall, blood escaping him. If Christoph had managed a glance at Genny's face as she interrupted the scene it was an expression of pure heartbreak, though she looked at no one but James. Air had turned to ice in her lungs, piercing her heart so instantly it had become a great weighted stone. Crumpling down even before she'd stopped moving, her dress billowed out as the momentum of her movement swished it around on the floor, she knelt beside the fallen James. Her hand was cool and fingers running from his jaw up the side of his face and wiping away the blood with her thumb. And there for the first time was the urge that Catch must have had when he first saw her; she wanted to put the blood back into James, to make it stop.

"James?" The ice began to melt, her frozen heart began to beat around the shard, every contraction a paralyzing pain, fear of the worst rolling in the pit of her stomach. But it wasn't just melting, it was burning, her face was hot; great globulous tears welling and falling from her onto his chest, on his neck, on his cheeks.

[Raven]

Ahh. Such a brief reunion, there wouldn't even be a chance to offer words of greeting and reproach to Fred for not being worried about -his- condition. No, Genny would be tearing away from the pair and launching herself to the side of the fallen James. There'd be a moment of consideration, a detached look within hazel eyes which would flee as fast as it had found that moment of purchase. Attention would shift to Fred, though he figured it'd be a pointless waste of time for him to point out. "You should go to her and help her through this."

She'd need a friend and Fred would fit that particular role far better than he would. There was a range of other considerations to be made, Drache hadn't made it through proceedings unscathed, servants would have to be rounded up before they could run off, injured had to be ferried off to be tended to by healers. His ohsocarefully planned and much slaved over Ball had turned into a ruined mess.

[Drache]

It wasn't quite bedlam. The Ball had barely gotten started before Catch had quite effectively destroyed the entire proceedings. People departed hurriedly, but as yet no one was being trampled underfoot. There was a bottleneck at the front door where the people leaving met those who were still arriving, but it wasn't the sole entrance to the building and those still sorting themselves out on the dance floor would quickly find themselves mostly alone. There were some people who stood around to watch with morbid fascination, some who would willingly put up with the disruption for the sake of free food and drink. More than one person partook in the tainted punch, but it was the liquor bar that drew the most attention, the poor designated server fending people off with a stool as he tried to pack everything up.

The swirl of people wasn't too much for the half-dragon to bear, and neither was the lacerating throb of her damaged wings. What distress she felt was evident only by the strong flare of her nostrils and her stiff bearing. There was blood. Her own, Garviel's, James's, omeone elses. The tang of magic. She scowled at Garviel with some concern as he moved away leaving bloody footprints behind him. When it appeared he would at least make it out the door without collapsing, she glanced around with eyes narrowed, calculating, watching Davien move off with Lamai, Descant assisting Genny, Sarcyn with Dulcie. As usual, when it came to her own needs she only had herself to rely on. Hot blood snaked down her wings creating a pattern of bloody veins on top of the shimmering gold.

Standing almost protectively as Christoph bent down to check on James, she flicked an irritated claw when he addressed her. Her response was curt, but not unkind, assuming a practical sort of familiarity for the moment. "Call me Drache, if you please, Chrissstoph. Sssee to Lamai, I am worried for her too." Of course she was worried. The kind Healer held the promise of sanity when it came to half-dragon's unborn.

His request for her to care for James was met with a brief hesitation and a flick of her tail. "I do not believe I am the bessst one to look after him. I know little of his abilities or how my own might help. I am no Healer...."

And then a look of realization flickered across her eyes as she understood what the Ambassador was asking. She scowled with displeasure and snorted. "I sssee."

She eyed him thoughtfully, snapping her teeth, and looked ready to refuse. "Dissscussions we -shall- have or I will be mossst annoyed. I can take him to the Rememdium." If she was going to take James from this place it seemed she didn't have time to find Des and commiserate over the fate of the Ball. Out of everything, this irritated her the most. She glanced at the Bard with an expression or yearning only Christoph was close enough to see, except perhaps for the arriving Genny who only had eyes for James anyways.

She stepped back a little to make room for the distraught redhead, any plans she was making to get James out of here stalled temporarily. A server she had helped hire for the evening picked that moment to scurry by and she reached out to catch him, her tail nearly clotheslining him. The man almost lost his footing anyways under the sheer intensity of her gaze. The combination of her irritated visage, her elaborate jewelry, her exotic dress, her torn and bleeding wings, and the limp body in her arms made for quite the intimidating combination.

"You and the ressst of the waitssstaff were paid for the entire evening. Thisss party is over. Ssstart cleaning up." The last thing she wanted was to be blamed for leaving the hall a disaster area, and she didn't want poor Des stuck with the tattered remnants of his Ball. That would be like adding insult to injury. Her tone brooked no room for argument, not that the man seemed keen on offering any, and he scuttled off to follow her order.

She watched him go, and then, hesitating to interrupt the crying Genny, her gaze settled on Des once more.