#baronyofthesilverwolf

"I'm tryin' to keep it here, right?"

"Batter up" Gwen whips the spear, not to hit with the point, but with the main wooden part of it trying to knock it into Jeremiath's mouth

She gives the Stirge a WHAP that sends it flying, snapped back on the tongue like a rubber band pulled too taut, and into the gaping mouth of the BullFrog! Now, Jeremiah here is an exceptionally large BullFrog, but even he has bit off possibly more than he can chew. His rubbery lips clamp down on the monster, several pointed legs with wickedly barbed hairs on them sticking out, and he tries to GULP a creature at least 2/3rds his own size.

It's touch and go for a moment, but then the legs stop flailing and twitching, and with a few more snaps, there is no more Stirge... just a VERY round Bullfrog with odd lumps and an extremely tired, yet satisfied expression.

"joy to the world! Jeremiah, you did it!"

BLINK.

"What the fuck just happened?"

"It was a stirge.. one of the glamour suckers and.. oh.." An embarrassed look "You.. probably wanted a sample of it"

Chime... Chime....

Thistle finds that there are soft, belling tones looking for her attention. They're no longer zipping around, but are gathered on the ground, little lights flashing softly.

She crouches to check. "What?"

Oh, there is another never here. It's hard to make out who it is, but a crumpled form lays in it, with a hole through their middle, neatly pierced by what was likely a stirge spike. The little little puddle of ichor, not quite blood, gleams with a lemony-golden hue.

"...no...."

She scoops up the form. "No, no, no, no..."

Citron? It cant be Citron...

"Get it by the fire maybe it's not dead" She says

There is still a hint of warmth in the tiny body. Tears burn at the corners of Thistle's eyes. It's not fair. It's not FAIR! The stupid idjit didn't do anything to deserve this.

Life, chimerical, but life none the less, is fleeting. If only...

...Something occurs to Thistle. Something deep deep in that itchy part of her head that she can't scratch, the lobe of her medula oblongata that told her that she could factor glamour into flame.

She can fix ANYTHING. Citron? Citron isn't a thing... but if she was, if she was made of parts that made sense, tiny gears and sprockets, wires and sparks instead of organic, confusing, and messy bits...

...Thistle has tools. She can fix this.

She has glamour, and the little sillies are made of glamour, she's felt it... how different can it be?

Not her car tools, no, but something more delicate. Her jewelers kit, perhaps? Ideas flood her brain like sparks in a forge.

Gwen? She sees Thistle, her eyes bright, lost in thought.

The nocker stumbles to her feet, and takes off for her studio at a flat run. "You stupid IDJIT, what were you thinking? You weren't thinking, since you all share one furkin' brain cell..."

That DeBuke clay, pulsing with glamour...

"Thistle?"

She'll need to be quick, quick and precise! First, to stop the bleeding... a cold feeling in her stomach, and she shakes her head, dashing it away. Think logically! A leak, a coolant leak. Close the ruptured valve, then bypass with a sprocket... she has pieces, a rolex that Aiden said didn't keep time any more, jewelry that Bluebell had cherished then promptly become bored with and left behind, the tiny, tiny screwdrivers she uses for tightening eyeglasses...

And the clay, yes.

Muppet races along underfoot, yet managing not to be tripped over. That is his super power.

Thistle doesn't respond to Gwen, she's muttering her ideas in a stream.

The door to her studio is left hanging wide open as she searches for supplies.

A basket is upended, contents spilling. A vase is knocked aside and crashes into pieces.

The other two nevers, the blue one lands on Gwen's shoulder and chimes a sad question into her ear.

The green one zips to follow thistle.

"I have no idea.." She tells the little one "But Thistle seems to be... I'd swear it was like a vision quest"

"Okay, okay, let me patch this in and..."

"(&&*^^%^%& murberfurbbin' fanny flapjacks, this is... I gotta..."

She moves to the studio doors and closes them

She's using a set of jeweler's pliers to set a delicate cog from the (now smashed) Rolex.

Time passes. It creeps forever for Gwen, but seems not but a moment for Thistle.

A battle between inspiration BURNS in her mind, begging to be spilt forth, and desperation that screams in defiance, that the night shall not yet have this one.

Memories she can barely grasp, present for a moment then zipping way, guide her fingers.

The broken and crumpled shape of the neverlander reforms under her hands, slowly, but steadily. Here a tiny cog, here the smallest droplet of gold, melted with a soldering tool...

There, a stone from one of Bluebell's jewelry pieces...

A pair of earrings, in fact...

"You dumbass, thinkin' you could fight off some scuzzy Level 8 encounter! You ain't got the sense god gave Helen Keller! Don't you furkin' DARE bleed out on me, or I'm gonna..."

As she swears and jabs with her tools, there is a CLICK!

Then, a soft, tick, tick, tick... barely audible, she has to hold her head just above the workbench to hear it

tick, tick, tick... a heartbeat rhythym.

Her pointed ear hovers a centimeter above the Never's chest, listening. Thistle herself holds her breath.

tick, tick tick...
And faintly, a slightly metallic, but still recognizable...
chime?

"Yes!" She cheers, though tears are escaping.

"You (*&&^()( IDJIT! You almost died! What the (BEEP) (BEEP) (REDACTED) were you thinking? You should have gotten ME! You're the size of a mouse's fart!"

The clay has been smoothed over the little Never's form, hiding most of the clockwork. Crumpled wings are carefully reinforced with fine silver wire, and affixed with citrine teardrops on her back, which pressed together, look like a heart shape.

Thistle does notice now that when she added that last piece, she used the mechanism from the watch - it will need to be rewound from time to time. A small price to pay...

"What ...what did you do?"