#aaltumiter

They were moving too fast, maybe.

Like they’d collided one day and had somehow wound up permanently entwined, stuck somewhere in a fog of infatuation. But she couldn’t help herself, really. She felt better close to him. Safe, and warm, like she’d found solid ground for the first time in ages.

She’d have hesitated, normally. To call someone when she was teetering on the brink of a breakdown. When her fear had gotten the best of her. It usually felt better to hide it away. To tuck herself into her tub and emerge a week later like nothing had happened. But her instincts had begged her to call and drag him in. So there they were, tucked into an empty tub with her head on his chest, and her hand up his shirt so she could feel his heartbeat. He was there, and safe, and solid.

Oraia was no stranger to fighting. Her mother’s knife, Hemhemet [battle cry] had been gifted to her when she was just a few centuries old, & not long after that, Artemis herself trained Oraia. Much later would come the times when the goddess would intervene to defend others, which led to her meting out her own personal brand of justice for a while. But she’d mellowed out. She used her resources to help people through the power of social work & repatriation. Sometimes, yes, her missions would pit her up against monsters & vengeful spirits—but at least, she knew when those battles would happen.

She definitely didn’t expect to be ambushed on the way to a meeting with a client, especially since she used portals as most of her transportation. Whoever had found her had to have either used magic to track her, or they happened upon her by chance & eagerly attacked the foreign supernatural aura.

Oraia was faring well enough against her attackers, though her chic summer suit was torn in several places, & ichor was dripping from both a cut on her shoulder & a scrape on her arm.

“For your information, I’m this uncoordinated all on my own, thanks.” She heaves a sigh. Not at him, of course, but the situation was frustrating enough without the teasing.

Maybe frustrating wasn’t the right word. Embarrassing — that was it. The kind of embarrassment that made you want to curl up into yourself for three days until everyone forgot who you were. And the pain wasn’t exactly helpful.

“I understand that you have some kind of — hero complex, but I was handling that guy just fine on my own…”

She wasn’t actually. Frankly, she hadn’t even noticed the bartender was a demon until she was two drinks in - it happened sometimes when she was distracted. Some of them blended in well. Sometimes she needed the amulet just to see things clearly. And so sure, maybe she’d gotten herself into trouble, but she’d have found a way to wriggle herself out of it — probably.

Throwing her can of pepper spray hadn’t been her best bet, maybe. But the effort had to count for something.

Alec sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at his parabatai. "You don't need to remind me," he grumbled, a hint of irritation flashing in his pained blue eyes. He’d been the one who dug Jace out from the rubble his evil double had left him in. He’d drawn the iratzes, plus the Sangliers* rune when—