[ He doesn't know her. After that first night when she'd killed those thieves in the blackout, they'd only seen each other in passing. She was polite enough, and Adrian had returned the greetings in kind, but her smile still sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.
He's afraid of her, certainly, but perhaps not for the right reasons. Her words haven't left him: He who is brutal first often emerges the victor. What can he possibly say to change her mind, if the world has already left her with such a cold impression? Can he even be certain that she's so wrong, when his life has been so sheltered? It would make more sense to steer clear of her entirely, but the stubborn part of him still wonders: if really believes that, why has she spared anyone at all? Is this really her?
Adrian has stared death in the face often enough to recognize it when he sees it, and thoughts of speaking sense into her flee as she begins to move toward him. He reacts on instinct; light spills from behind him. His wings burst forth, spreading wide to pull him up into the darkening sky.
Raphael, show her your— A shard of red disrupts the spell before he can finish the cast, piercing through the center of his right hand mid-gesture. Adrian cries out, and after that instinct takes over entirely. She's incredibly fast, deadly and fluid, but he's dealt with that before. For someone so reluctant to fight, he's certainly capable of keeping a level head even when he knows he's far outmatched.
He uses his wings to avoid the edges of her blood red spikes, his fingers contorting with every cast even as his hand bleeds freely, staining the white of his shirt. He summons a wall of light to blind her, weaving out of her line of sight, only to pull white hot spears from his construct and hurl them at her when she tries to get close. Even still, he only aims to wound her, and not to kill her. She does not return that favor.
When he hits her, he can smell the chemical scent of burnt plastic, but it's not nearly enough to stop her. Adrian is more resilient than his delicate frame might suggest. He knows where he can take a blow to avoid a fatal injury if he must, but he still takes far more damage than he deals. Eventually, his hand seizes in the middle of a cast, and it's all the opening she needs to send her spikes through his wings and drag him down to the pavement, pinning him there. He doesn't get up again.
He coughs, tasting blood, fighting for breath. Punctured lung. A half-dozen wounds that have missed major arteries, non-lethal but non-trivial. That's not ideal, Adrian thinks dimly.
He can hear her footsteps moving towards him, even if he can't see her now. ] Don't... have to do this.
[ Whether she's the real Knave, being taken over by plastic, or simply a monster wearing her skin — there isn't much he can do, now. He might as well try to reach her one last time. ]
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He's afraid of her, certainly, but perhaps not for the right reasons. Her words haven't left him: He who is brutal first often emerges the victor. What can he possibly say to change her mind, if the world has already left her with such a cold impression? Can he even be certain that she's so wrong, when his life has been so sheltered? It would make more sense to steer clear of her entirely, but the stubborn part of him still wonders: if really believes that, why has she spared anyone at all? Is this really her?
Adrian has stared death in the face often enough to recognize it when he sees it, and thoughts of speaking sense into her flee as she begins to move toward him. He reacts on instinct; light spills from behind him. His wings burst forth, spreading wide to pull him up into the darkening sky.
Raphael, show her your— A shard of red disrupts the spell before he can finish the cast, piercing through the center of his right hand mid-gesture. Adrian cries out, and after that instinct takes over entirely. She's incredibly fast, deadly and fluid, but he's dealt with that before. For someone so reluctant to fight, he's certainly capable of keeping a level head even when he knows he's far outmatched.
He uses his wings to avoid the edges of her blood red spikes, his fingers contorting with every cast even as his hand bleeds freely, staining the white of his shirt. He summons a wall of light to blind her, weaving out of her line of sight, only to pull white hot spears from his construct and hurl them at her when she tries to get close. Even still, he only aims to wound her, and not to kill her. She does not return that favor.
When he hits her, he can smell the chemical scent of burnt plastic, but it's not nearly enough to stop her. Adrian is more resilient than his delicate frame might suggest. He knows where he can take a blow to avoid a fatal injury if he must, but he still takes far more damage than he deals. Eventually, his hand seizes in the middle of a cast, and it's all the opening she needs to send her spikes through his wings and drag him down to the pavement, pinning him there. He doesn't get up again.
He coughs, tasting blood, fighting for breath. Punctured lung. A half-dozen wounds that have missed major arteries, non-lethal but non-trivial. That's not ideal, Adrian thinks dimly.
He can hear her footsteps moving towards him, even if he can't see her now. ] Don't... have to do this.
[ Whether she's the real Knave, being taken over by plastic, or simply a monster wearing her skin — there isn't much he can do, now. He might as well try to reach her one last time. ]