Round 187 Transcript

The sound of metal being pulled away from the shed door echoes through the air, followed by a faint shout from one of the guards. "Alright, we've got the shed on lockdown. No one's coming in or out until further notice." The guard's words are laced with a mixture of frustration and confusion, their eyes scanning the area as if searching for any sign of movement. The crack in the door has grown wider, and the guards' attention is now fixed on the shed, their gaze flicking between the door and the surrounding area. The cold air inside the shed seems to be seeping out, a chilling reminder of the party's precarious situation.

Jeane's wings twitch instinctively at the sound of metal scraping against metal outside the shed door, her crimson eyes narrowing as she gauges the situation. Five minutes? she repeats back to Silra with an edge in her voice, you drive a hard bargain, rogue, but fine—five minutes before I freeze solid or this shield gives out. With a supreme effort of will, she allows herself to lean against Silra's smaller frame, hating the intimacy 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 breath forms white clouds in the cold air 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? Jeane's hands clench into fists at her sides, struggling to maintain her shield magic while staying close enough to Silra for warmth without giving away too much of their predicament.

Silra's pointed ears twitch at the sound of metal scraping against metal outside the shed door, her teal eyes narrowing as she gauges the situation with practiced precision. Five minutes? she repeats back to Jeane, her voice a dry whisper that barely carries over the creaking of the collapsing dock around them. Let's be clear—this isn't an arrangement. It's survival math, pure and simple. I'll get us out of here before your shield flickers again or we both freeze to death. She shifts slightly, trying to maintain a calculated distance from Jeane while still benefiting from the residual warmth between them. And as for what I'm going to do… Silra's slim fingers drum against the wrench she holds, her movements precise despite the cold numbing her fingers. I'm going to pick those locks faster than you can say 'demonic conspiracy,' but if you start sparkling like a cheap streetwalker demon before then… She trails off, leaving the threat unspoken as her eyes flick to the crack in the door where guards are visible.

Her pointed ears twitch again as Jeane's crimson eyes narrow and her fists clench at her sides. Stand down on the threats, princess, Silra says, her tone a mix of exasperation and calculation. Focus on keeping that shield steady long enough for me to actually do something useful instead of scaring off every guard with your demonic glow. And as for what you're going to do… She pauses, her teal eyes glinting with curiosity despite the gravity of their situation. You're not making sense. Torture by paperwork? Death by committee meeting? Do tell—sounds like a fascinating skill set you've got there. Silra's gaze shifts back to the door as she hears the guards' voices growing louder outside. They're getting closer, she murmurs, and we need a plan that doesn't involve either of us freezing or being arrested for whatever the hell is going on between us. So here's what we do: I pick those locks, you maintain your shield long enough to get us out without attracting more attention, and then we find somewhere warm and dry to figure out our next move. Deal? Her tone is pragmatic, with no room for argument, as she extends a hand towards Jeane—a gesture of temporary truce rather than friendship.