Round 185 Transcript

The guards' eyes flicker to Jeane's wet jacket, their expressions unreadable. One of them takes a step closer, hand resting on the grip of his gun, as they ask in a flat tone, "What are you two doing in there?" The shed's creaking and the distant hum of emergency services fill the air. Jeane's shield magic stutters, its glow faltering for a heartbeat before stabilizing once more. She forces herself to lean against Silra, their bodies almost touching despite the jacket separating them. The cold draft seeping through the gap between the jacket and Jeane's skin sends a shiver down her spine. Silra's fingers tighten around the wrench as she eyes the flickering blue light of Jeane's unstable magic. She takes another cautious step forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle the guards further. The air is thick with tension, and for a moment, it seems the guards might decide to enter the shed. A loud creaking sound echoes from outside, followed by the screech of metal being pulled away from the shed door. The guards' attention is momentarily diverted as they glance at each other, their faces expressionless.

Jeane grits her teeth against the cold seeping through every layer of skin, her shield magic flickering ominously. Five minutes? she hisses back to Silra, you drive a hard bargain, rogue, but fine—five minutes before I freeze solid or this shield gives out. She forces herself closer, hating how the wet jacket squelches against their bodies but knowing her core temperature is dropping fast. And if those guards get any closer, I don't care what kind of distraction you have planned—I'm not going down for corporate crimes when there's a demonic conspiracy to uncover here. Her crimson eyes lock onto Silra's teal ones as she mutters darkly, So don't fuck this up, because if we're both arrested, I swear on my ancestors' graves that I'll make your last few days very… uncomfortable indeed. Got it?

Silra's teal eyes flicker between Jeane's crimson glare and the guards now visible through the cracked door. Five minutes of this 'arrangement' is more than enough time for me to get us out through that east hatch, she repeats with a trace of irritation, but if you start glowing like some kind of cheap streetwalker demon before then, we're both fucked. Her slim fingers tighten around the wrench as she gauges the flickering blue light of Jeane's shield magic. So keep it together, princess—a current runs beneath her pragmatic tone—because I'd rather not spend my night explaining to corporate thugs why two women are huddled together in a freezing shed. She shifts slightly, trying to angle their bodies so Jeane's wings are less obvious beneath the wet jacket. And as for creative ideas—Silra's pointed ears twitch at Jeane's warning— I suggest you focus on maintaining that shield long enough for me to actually do something useful instead of threatening me with… She trails off, her teal eyes narrowing slightly. What exactly? Torture by paperwork? Death by committee meeting? Do tell.