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Eirdirsceol Etul Delaran didn't bother to use the door.

He usually didn't use doors in the first place, but it was usually a flippant and kind of pretentious disregard of a door that marked the usual air of his entry. This time, this one late evening, practically early morning, Eiry fell through the door in a fit. With his breath raking in from his lungs, drawing forth painful and wretched sobs, the ghost sigel found his way up to his brother's room, trying his hardest to keep silent enough so that he didn't wake the others in the household. Aphismet was probably sleeping after a hard day's worth of work and Isi was always upset, which meant that if Eiry did anything to peeve him now at this late hour, he would enter a commonly seen bent of rage, which was, in all honesty, not the thing Eiry needed right now. What he needed, despite their growing distance of late, was his brother.

He needed Rivener.

Forcing himself into his brother's room, he tried to press back his upset coughs long enough to figure out where his brother was situated, before he floated over and bent sideways over his brother's sleeping form.

In tandem with the blood dripping free from the trail traced out on his pale forehead, Eiry stared at his brother and shook him with his cold cold hand. His other hand was bent backwards over his head, holding tight to the muddy smear of red that had since matted into his hair as he floated and flew as fast as he could out of the city from whence he came. He didn't notice the blood dripping free from his forehead and onto his brother's face.

"Brother mine...Please, brother mine, hear me, waken, please...!" he whimpered, "They took it...They took it from me. Please, brother, waken, help me."

Eiry startled again when his brother finally reacted, snapping up from his groggy cone of sleep to look hard and grab at Eiry's shoulders. The Sigel, in response, gave a twitch and went intangible, slipping out of his grip and spinning away to the other side of the room. He was struggling to calm his own breath, still breathing hard and breathing faster still now that he had finally come to face his brother, his palm pressed up to his head where his bright red blood dribbled and dried. For a moment, he almost regretted awakening his brother. they had been growing separate for some time now, and there was no knowing if Rivner would still turn on him. What was this poisoning feeling? Eiry wondered, was this mistrust? Was this doubt? Did he doubt his brother?

Eiry gulped, struggling to tame his breathing long enough to string together a few wobbly sentences. "Hearnow," he started, reverting back to his frei's simple pairing up of words. It was a sign of his deteriorating state. "Lonelywalk did I have homebound, through streets old and streets dark, from work I came. Violin case in my hand, my bag of books in the other, my dead twigs and roots. The bus had longfar left, leaving me behind. I hurrywalked and sneakyslunk through the streets and alleys. Upon me, in the dark, without warning, without sound, a great hurt came from I kn-know not where. I couldn't hear it. I couldn't forecast the nature of my forthcoming demise and so my reflexes were sluggish and slow. No nothing became Eiry, no nothing at all. A crack was laid into my skull, a blast of white, and I straightfell to the concrete. Invisible turned I, delayed reaction, but my things did not. Whomever cracked my head with a leaden pipe made off with my precious collection, my precious violin! while I lay agape and bleeding in the pavement, like a shadow left behind."

Eiry sucked in a shaky breath, physically making the effort to come back to tangibility. He smeared his forehead with his blood as he tried to wipe off the perspiration gathered there and then he took down his hand, staring at the blood smeared there with the kind of look that suggested he realized that he was bleeding for the first time that evening. He gawked at his red palm for a while, a pale ghost of sickness crawling over his face, before he looked up, gaunt and grieved.

"Brother," he croaked, his voice sounding the familiar chime of a younger minty frei in need, "My violin is stolen, my sweet voiced violin and my books...Gone."

His voice began to wobble again.

The ghostly raevan wobbled from side to side, unsteady as he hung in the area, scrubbing uselessly at his hands. With the shake of his bangs, he looked aside, trying to remember the name of the streets that he was traveling on. He was spectacular at remembering directions, the names of streets and the buildings nearby, but for once that evening, he had to scramble and sift through his scattered memories for the right details. He clicked his teeth, pulled his hands up to his lips to nibble at his knuckles in thought before he remembered they were covered in his own blood and he brought them back down again, a frown pulling over his face. Pensive thought granted eventual answers, though, and Eiry looked up from his thinking stance to relay his recollections. He lifted his face just in time to catch the glow of an awakening computer.

Granted, Eiry had been spending more and more time getting used to the contraptions of the modernized world, but there was still no amount of exposure grand enough to cure him of his deep rooted fear. Those first terrible few hours after birth of being completely alone in a room filled with nothing but the clinking buzzing and beeping machinery had left Eiry with scars that might never be buffed away by the wear of time. He had, though, been able to teach himself not to run and scream at the mere sight of them, which was an improvement since his years as a frei, but he hadn't quite taught himself yet not to jolt and yelp when a machine buzzed back to life. It didn't help that his nerves were still on edge.

Eiry snapped himself back into intangibility and threw his hands onto his chest as he released a primal squeak of fear, but with a moment's quiet and repeated self-imposed mantras, Eiry was able to steady his breathing again and return his attention to his brother, leaning pathetically on the wall as he forced himself back into tangibility in order to work with him. Rivener was going to help him, but he wouldn't get far if Eiry didn't help him first.

Eiry, with a frustrated furrow of his brows, sunk against the wall, slouching with weariness. "The name of the ill encounter was that of Burrow, Burrow Street, in between the library and the bus mall. I was leaving from my place of work, latestay did I, shelving the books before their bedtime and cleaning up the day's memories of passersby past and I left from the back of the building towards the buses, those that I usually attend to go back home. There are many alleys between the library and the bus mall, many labyrinths of streets of which to take. Usually, I drift alongside the road of lights, but so late was it that I yearned for fast travel to return quickly home. Therein lies my mistake." Eiry ran his hands again through his hair, sticking it up with the blood dried in his fingers.

Then he looked curiously towards Rivener, tired and worn. "What do you intend to do, brother?"

Eiry didn't think much of Rivener's quiet dabbling with the cellphone, but then again, Eiry either paid too much attention to technology or too little. At this particular moment in time, Eiry was far too preoccupied with his own worryings and troubles to pay mind to the quick tip tap tap of Rivener's nails against the keypad. Had he been paying attention, he might have been curious, might have thought things through, perhaps even linked it back to the dreadful time where the Delaran family discovered the true nature of Rivener's business and work, the blasted bullet hole in Rivener's chest a pricey medallion to show for his choice in talent, but such thoughts were far from Eiry's tangled mind. He was too busy thinking of his precious violin, an instrument which he was using as a way to translate his need to express, since playing tricks and causing trouble was now no longer a cute thing he could pull off as a frei. He needed another outlet for the fast moving whirl of his mind and books could only entertain him for so long before he needed another one to satisfy him, but even then, he could only lose himself in the lands of literature for so long before he itched to do something with his hands. He needed that violin more than he realized it and, unfortunately, he was realizing it now.

Eiry hung his head, his mind fluttering with all the worries in the world for his violin, probably being banged up against walls and street corners, crushed in gripping hands. He felt his stomach seize up with worry, and he floated easily along with the push of his brother's guiding hands as they steered their floating parade to the bathroom. He looked up at himself in the mirror as Rivener ran a towelette under the faucet and pressed it to his face, a reflected frown catching Eiry's red eyes as he dabbed at the blood smeared across his forehead. A moment later and the cellphone rang again, this time managing to catch Eiry's attention as Rivener's own was refocused. Taking up the job where Rivener left off, Eiry leaned forward towards the mirror and stared at himself, pale and grimy with tears and blood. He was always unnerved when he had to face his own reflection. He wiped away the traces of red as best he could, dabbing up far into his hair where he winced when he traced his way over the fat lump that had grown into his skull.

Rivener turned to him after a few more moments, relaying the information. For a while, Eiry thought, staring at his brother through the mirror as he pressed the damp cloth to his head so hard that beads of water dribbled down his brow. Time was of the essence.

"Fleet footed, is it then?" Eiry said with a determined furrow of his brow. He wanted his violin back. He wanted it now. "Then let it be."

The way down through the dark and the dank left Eiry feeling more and more sullen. He was stepping back into the place of the mugging, willingly putting himself back into the same stage where the act had happened. He didn't believe in lightning striking twice, but he did believe in irony, which meant that Eiry was intangible the entire way through the downtown maze. He feared the wayward smack of a blunt object repelling off his head, the dull ache recalling the feeling with every thought that thudded against his skull. He hunched himself inwards, pulling himself tighter into the 18th century period-style coat. The collar offered him relief, a place to pretend to hide in, another nook inside the larger much more protective shadow of his brother, the scorpion sigel, floating before him with determined ill intent.

"Rivener..." Eiry tried to say once, his voice drowned by the darkness of the night. "I..." But before he continued, he swallowed his words and kept quiet. They were on a mission after all.

They came to a building, what Rivener said was the first address on the list, and Eiry gave a nod of his head. The directions were simple, the intent curious, and none the more dangerous than the breaking of a few little laws. Eiry had already learned the law of stealing, but he was yet to come to terms with the theory of private property or illegal entry. He nodded at Rivener and floated up to the building with the careful wibble wobble and float of his wings, like a spirit in the night, burning dim with the light of the will o wisp.

There was only one thing to do. Push in, check, and push out. Nothing. Eiry had sneaked into the flat only to find an abandoned place, forlorn furniture and sleeping appliances. Eiry floated back down to Rivener and shook his head, a signal of their failure. That was not the place. With a quiet agreement they moved onto the next one, the next address, and the place after that, until they came to a shady part of town that even Eiry didn't remember. It was colder there, somehow, and Eiry puffed breaths of his own heated air into the night as he squinted at the windows hanging four stories above them. They were lit. Just barely, as if by candlelight, but they were lit. Someone had to be in there.

Eiry motioned for Rivener to stay put before he crept up the side of the building, more stealthily this time, an easy thing for a prankster of his caliber to achieve. He sidled up and, with a quietly held breath, he pushed his face inside, through the structure of the very wall, and opened his eyes.

"So, you little s**t, where's the money huh? You think you can test our patience like this? After all we've done for your a**? You think you can just disrespect us like this and get away with it?"

Eiry gasped. He stiffened, his outline of a body revealing his surprise to the waiting and watching Rivener below. He motioned quickly with his free hand for him, before, with a slink, he pulled himself inside and into the floor, disappearing into the grain.

He was one with the floorboards. There could be no distinguishing Eiry from the element in which he immersed himself and rightly so, he would need it if he were going to pull off the ridiculous plan that formulated in his head. Of course, growing up, Eiry was a selfish kind of frei, whining for attention with his pranks and mischief, thinking of only himself and not the respect for people and other people's things, but it was a lesson he was still slowly swallowing. He was learning to be better, better in Isi's eyes anyway. He advocated caring for others, helping them when they needed it, not all the time, but just when it was most essential. So it was that philosophy that had taken over Eiry's thinking now. There was a man in trouble and, if Eiry was thinking right with that bump in his head and all, this man needed help now.

His life was in danger.

Eiry moved himself closer to the man closest to the one strapped in the chair, his threatening stance too close for comfort. He needed to do something. So it was with a lift of his hands through the floor, intangible and hardly visible, Eiry took hold of the chair's back legs and pulled.

"Where's the money?!"

"I don't-WOAH!"

The chair slid backwards a couple feet, dragging its hostage along with it as it glided out of knife range. The thugs lifted a bit from the couch, now sitting on its edge instead of back and reclined, and stared. The one holding the knife, looked towards his thugs and then back again towards the man in the chair.

"Get back here, Tony. Where do you think you're going? How did you do that s**t anyway?" asked the man as he stepped forward again, moving with the malice of a raptor closing in on its prey. He cocked his head, staring with a mean frown at the man who looked about himself with terror.

"I don't know! I don't know!" squeaked Tony. He gave a helpless wiggle. "I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"Sure as hell it wasn't!," barked the man with the knife. He leaned forward again on his toes, bringing the knife up to his face as if he were about to throw like a dart into the soft flesh of Tony's chest. It was then at that moment, that he was suddenly dragged knee deep into the floor boards. He lurched forward, losing his balance as he caught himself against the ground and looked down at his knees, started so much so that he let out a yelp of surprise. He quickly replaced the feeling of fear with anger though and stabbed the switchblade into the ground, as if knowing that something beneath it was attacking him. He struggled to wrench himself out, pull himself free, but he was stuck. Lifting up his head, his bangs hanging in a fray about his face, the man growled and yanked his blade out of the floor, and without a second's thought, made to throw it straight into the chest of the trapped Tony.

The moment the knife left the hand of the man, a hand appeared in the air and caught it. A moment later, the rest of the body attached to the hand bled through into reality, and Eiry gave a low and terrible cry. He had caught the knife by the blade. Sinking into the world of physical things, Eiry began to gasp harder, blinking a bout of tears as he stared at his hand. The blade had cut deep into his palm and blood was now trailing down his wrist. Blood. Eiry couldn't help but stare, get lost and transfixed in that fresh color, like it was a new and unprecedented thing. It was terrifying to him, and with more and more understanding he looked at the blood dripping down his forearm as not just color, but life, and he grew terrified. Was he losing life every time he bled? Was it emptying out of him?

Pale, Eiry lifted his blood red eyes just in time to see the other two thugs in the room lift up off the couch and come barreling towards him. Despite the terror stapled into his face, he did his best to twist his muscles into the most grim and terrible face he could pull, a ghastly image of horror, and he turned it upon the approaching men, aiming to frighten them away. But they still came. Eiry lifted his voice again and screamed, blasting the room with such banshee noise that the windows rattled.

If that wasn't enough to call for his brother's help, Eiry would have to talk to Rivener later about his apparent deafness.

There was very little time for Eiry to think, and while he was a quick thinker, he was never one for battle. His mind didn't work that way. He thrived on tricks and thievery, leading one to believe one thing over another. Unlike his brother, he was all but unversed in fighting etiquette, and the few excursions they shared together was mostly carried through by Rivener who flexed his muscles and powered through the obstacles. There had been only once where Eiry had put up a battle, an actual battle, and that was with Rivener, but he didn't know what he was doing at the time, he had no control. He was struck ill with the virus. Now, with this man coming at him, wielding a glinting blade and cutting it across the air as if to literally slice the distance between them in two, Eiry was trapped. Well, not necessarily trapped, he could run, he could always hide, but for some reason, Eiry couldn't convince himself to peel away. Rivener had just burst in through the window, screaming such words that it actually hurt Eiry to hear them, and behind him, still stuck in his chair was Tony, screaming bloody murder. If Eiry moved, if he ran, then that man would be defenseless. At least Eiry had some semblance of defense. It was time to use it.

The knife swung through his torso and it was only because of Eiry's natural instincts that he swung into intangibility before his ribs could be sliced into. He stayed put though, letting the man squish up against him as he twisted his face into a grimace of terror, fully intending to use the tricks up his sleeves, but he knew that scare tactics alone wouldn't be enough to defend himself from this man. This man wasn't like any other scared person Eiry had interacted with before, this was a man with a knife and, while he was scared to hell, he wasn't scared to use the knife against him. Drawing on his magic, dampening the flare of his fiery wings, Eiry gave a terrible inhale and then another scream, squeezing his knife wielding hand against the blood that leaked between his fingers as he squeezed the moisture from his blood red eyes.

A fire exploded from Eiry, from little orbs of light that spouted forth and then burst into a supernova of colored flame. The man, nearly sinking his blade into Eiry's side, was suddenly swallowed up in the ghost flame. He pulled back from landing his fatal blow in Eiry's ribs at the last moment, reeling backwards as his body was blanketed in flame, and threw his arms about, frantically trying to pat out the flame. He whirled, swung, and collapsed onto the carpet, rolling himself around in a desperate effort to save himself, but what he didn't notice in his frenzied panic was that he wasn't burning alive. There was no pain, no curling of the fabric and no blistering of the flesh. The flame, like Eiry's ghostly self, was intangible, an illusion, giving him no harm but only the harm that he perceived. But kick and struggle and scream did he until, his knife still clutched tightly in his hand, he slapped his fist and the blade into his gut. Then he could feel pain, real pain, and he froze, breathing hard as he slowly collapsed into shock.

Eiry, in the meanwhile, wobbled in the air, feeling the physical drain of the magic he had just called upon, combined with the drain of the wound in his palm. He watched the man flail about and stab himself with shock, as if mirroring the fright portrayed by his enemy, before he looked up at Rivener.

"...Rivener...?"

What was that raevan doing?