[BlueInTheShell]

Whatever it takes...

Those were the words that Wisp flinched and glared at for a moment, before her features softened. Those words are what made dark mages turn towards more and more heinous things. Someone willing to protect another could damn friends, lovers, entire bands of people all considered allies to the pits in a fit of hellish eclipse. Playful eyerolls were met with a sterness that only faded when Arabella asked the perks for Wisp in being the translator. "I'm not the priority when it comes to the demon deciding it doesn't like the deal, and wants to murder you and Kastivi. I also get to simply study whomever is called without as much danger." A small pause and the Wisp shrugged her shoulders, leaning towards the Halfling and bellowing a few choice words, the language rancid and foul-sounding. It was as if Wisp had manifested nails on a board, combined with the cries of animals being wailed on with wooden boards. "....That's a small greeting. Just greet them with that, and speak normally. What it doesn't know it'll ask me," Wisp itched her head and blinked a few times, before continuing, "Most likely your torso. Organs have more value than thigh meat. Thigh meat is favored by unseelie."

Waltz beamed and nodded ferociously, the woman grabbing Percival in her clutches and pulling him to her side while she envisioned the trouble they could get into. "Well of course ah'm the best drinking buddy. Yah get all mopey because yah can't sleep with the barmaids, and then I gotta be all nice and indulge yahself. Ah think last time I didn't do that and you were -really- drunk yah cried." Probably exaggeration, seeing as how everytime booze was involved with the too it was a fleeting moment of quick scenes of lascivity. "Well, yah, I would love seeing you in mah parties more! Yah got those fancy words I sometimes get, and sometimes just nod and smile at, and it's nice instead of just the people who ah know just wanna punch each other to settle everything. It's why ah like yah book-smartsy kinda people more. Yah like talking things out." Deadwaltz chimed, "And when ah need to fwomp yah booksie people, ah win all the time."

Deadwaltz could make up most of the comments on Christoval, the woman squinting and furrowing her brow while the gears clicked and she understood him - Deadwaltz's face of concentration turning into one of understanding as she let Percival free from her grasp so he could instead stuff himself (Hopefully) between Wisp's thighs. Wisp was pretty to look at, and Deadwaltz knew it. "Ah think you'll do as good of a job with someone as Wisp does with the knight. He's alive, despite his happiness. Happy and code-following kinda people don't last long, Am Ah right, or am Ah right?"

Wisp was as serious as the look on her face and crossing her arms, the Dark Mage shook her head and rolled her eyes. "The Halfling doesn't need luck. She just needs to stop tripping over her own feet. You know Deadwaltz just as much as I do. Possibly more. You need to hit the Barbarian with a cobblestone that says 'I like you' for her to realize you want to spend a night with her." Wisp said, fighting back her own small fits of giggling. "You'll be fine, with one day of not-drinking. Besides, tomorrow I'll just send the kid out scouting again so you can keep your flask to your lips and your elbows bent."

Hands lit with energy, and the Halfling already on the bounce towards the Hellhound, Wisp wriggled her fingers, and adjusted her garb before stomping off in the directon of hellhound brays - Deadwaltz looking towards the group and itching her head, before cracking her knuckles. "Ah like punching and killing things from Hell. Point me where I can hit them!" Waltz said merrily, hopping up to her feet and tighting the string around her cloak.

>>>>>>>

For a moment, it looked as if the Hellhound was going to reach Kastivi - Claw after claw digging into bark and pulling the beast up towards the dark woman, before it's bulk brought it back down onto the earth below -the Hound snarling and spraying saliva and foam from its mouth. A few wraggles and calculations and the hellhound tried it again - making the same progress before, before its ears perked and the beast cocked its head to the side. The taste of blood and flesh were on its mind, and the being it tasted wasn't the woman running. It was the wounded man in metal - the hellhound trotting in a circle before setting off towards Christoval's direction once more...