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Dr. Mallory was about to respond to Chic, when his thought process- already resembling a stock holder meeting in a tanking company, all shouting and waving of papers, name calling, bickering, and one very exasperated bloke in front of the lot of charts no ones looking at- ground to a halt. The committee process had realized, vaguely, that some new paperwork had been slipped onto the table when no one was looking, and the fellow who had actually picked it up to give it a look was screaming and setting off rocket flares.
He looked, slowly, over to Claire- eyebrows not so much raised as left in place while the rest of his face retreated, pupils seeming to have contracted down to inky sepia lttle dots one crossed gaze away from forming a confused ellipses all by themselves.
"...Time... machine?" he asked, slowly, and ina tone that could be easily misconstrued as 'calmly'. He staed down at the floor for a moment, little logical wheels turning in his mind.
Eustace caught Chics eye, and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders up into the air. Ravel was in a state of stunned panic- Eustace didn;t *know* Ravel yet, but he knew the look. It was the look of someone too clever by half who wasn't getting nearly enough sleep, when far too much had been dumped on them all at once.
"Jäger Männer! Was machst du denn da stehen wie Schafe, meine Männer von der Jagd!? Wenn Sie, was gut für Sie, dann werden Sie immer die Funken aus dem Boot-Attacken auf Stein 10 Sekunden vor, hören Sie mich? Holen Sie sich das verdammte Stück Maschine richtig! JETZT!"* he roared, Hand snapping out to point in (what he hoped was) about the right direction, eyes alive with fire, once more seeming to grow by a foot as he fully settled the mantle of command over himself, like a familiar cloak. It wasn't *just* the sudden echoes of the Heterodyne, by half. There were some *advantages* to the unique situation he labored under, and one of them was knowing *the* tone of voice that could reach down inside the complicated machinery of *any* army man, especially THESE army men, find the little lever (usually labeled 'De Boss') and *yank*.
Hard.
It was a Wulfenbach thing.
By the time Dr. Mallory looked up, Ravel, at least, would at a dead run, Claire carried over his shoulder if necessary.
Florian let out a startled squeak as he was caught up by David, too stunned by the long, cold look down a gun barrel to protest0 even if he;d had the physical fortitude to shake him off, some things require years of experience to recover from quickly, or at the very least, require one to be an absolute *natural* in the world of high violence and dashing Swashbucklery. Let alone actually think events through.
As it would happen, Florian was, in fact, just that.
Which was why it only took him about five seconds to, with great force... hold *on* to Davids shoulder, while still kicking in the air a little bit.
"Left! Take a left!" he hissed, trying to glance back to see if Thorns was following them.
Thorns was. Not with a roar. Jager or not, he was a Sturmvoraus. A Sturmvoraus did not, instinctively, waste time by screaming when someone they loved very, very much was suddenly picked up and carried away. All available oxygen was needed for two things.
One was running, very fast.
The other was thinking. Usually, but not always, about sharp things. Sharp, little things, and all the time in the world to use them.
While all of this went on, Fredric and William had made their way, with care, down through the castle floors, dodging and bypassing traps with some effort- Fredric had a lot of power, but little technical skill (with magic, anyhow), and William had great skill, but not much power. And neither wished to risk damaging the castle. The effort to do so had left Fredric panting a little, while William re-checked their direction.
"Blow this fr' a game of soldiers... we;d get a lot more done if I could just power *you* up..."
While all of this went on, Shadowy gently tucked teal into his hands, covering her ears from the noise. He had not seen nor heard the man who spoke like this, but rather *felt* his arrival and departure, like a pocket of nuclear winter in the ambient temperature of a warm summers day.
He pressed back to the wall from it, trembling and cradling Teal to his chest.... regret sank through him, heavy as lead. He'd just... just... break it off. Somehow. This was more important... much more. His dad had always *warned* him that time travel could be hard on the heart.
He was so distracted he didn't notice when Young James was approached by a boy in a suspiciously animated black coat, with glowing red eyes set on black- who was promptly tackled, with a jubilant cry of "Noodle boy!".
If he had, perhaps he might have reflected a little on why his father, Shao Dee Vee Ran (of the ancient like Vee Ran, notorious dark magicians and thgs of south east asia), had said that so *much* in his life.
Meanwhile, Andro sat by the time machine, and carefully adjusted the mechanisms, now and then. He had Laitu on his lap, and wondered, to himself, what that chiming glowing bit in the water was. It seemed to be... dissolving, he supposed. Or sufficing, at least. Little thread thin mists of light winding from it out in a complicated five dimensional maze of paths, coiling away into nothing, or meeting up with themselves...
Time changes a person. And, sometimes, a person can change time.
(*What are you doing standing there like sheep, my men of the hunt?! If you know what is good for you then you will be getting the sparks from the boot tacks on stone ten seconds ago, you hear me? Get that damned bit of machine right! NOW! )
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"Only If It's Funny".
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