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There's heat on your back. Why did you think the smoke-smell was Ellery? It's too close! You pivot as Casey pivots and Jerry pivots and you see what they see: encroaching flames. A grass fire. The hunger dies stillborn: will it hurt you? Can you flee? You can't stop it. You start fires; you don't stop them. That's how it's always been.
That's ringing false. Why is it ringing false? You don't stop... you don't... you. You, Charlotte Fawkins, start fires. You channel the glorious power of The Sword, and you righteously purge the tainted world of its tainted...ness, and stuff. That's what you do, with The Sword, when you have it. In your own body.
You, Everard Kurz, aren't generally of much use. You've been crammed down deep in there, too deep to see, too deep to think, but your self-preservation runs deeper still. You put out fires. That's what you were hired for. Scouring the world clean is a bonus. You have Law carved into you, as deep as it gets, and the one that stands above all is:
"<span class="mu-s">[SINK.]</span>" You say it without knowing. You say it at Ellery, and the ground where he landed drops out: not crumbling, just sagging hard, like a rock in a blanket. He's in a hole now, a deep one. You're not sure how deep. You're not sure if manses have floors. You can't discuss this with Jerry or Casey, because you've unstuck something down in you, and now you can't stop the water coming out of your mouth. It tastes cold and fresh, for whatever it's worth, but it's pouring from your throat like a faucet on full, with no discernable source or end in sight. If you try to close your mouth, it fills your cheeks, starts backing up into your nose— when you start dribbling water from your nostrils, you relent, and spew it at the ground. You are getting your nice shoes wet. Damnit!
The thing is, Everard is unconcerned. Not like you're asking him, exactly. It just feels that way. There's no urgency here, not like the fire— which is maybe ten seconds away, though it's bound to avoid your new damp patch. Is this <span class="mu-i">normal</span> for him? How... your throat? You feel it. It's turtlenecked. Underneath that— you grasp it— is a valve.
Turn the valve and the water ceases. Your front is soaked. Five seconds before the fire hits.
>[1] Okay... fine. Whatever. Buy time for Jerry and Casey to do what they're doing: you'll turn the valve back and put the grass fire out with your mouth. It may be the stupidest sentence you've thought of this week, but you don't have time to quibble.
>[2] Come on. You're not doing that. Rush away from the fire, toward Ellery's new pit, and see what's going on (quickly).
>>[A] If you see Ellery in there, keep him in there until Casey arrives. You're sorry, but you can't let him blow up Headspace. That's for you. You called dibs.
>> If you see Ellery in there, jump in after him. You're not letting *Casey* deal with your sworn nemesis, not when you can give him a talking-to (or a whooping) all by yourself.
>>[C] Write-in.
>[3] Write-in.
