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Never transform again, Lieutenant Buddingtonite had told her, and I will pretend this sordid ordeal never happened. Laney thought of that sometimes, when she considered what she should do on a particular evening and a part of her said, you should be out on patrol. That was always when she thought of Buddingtonite and the choice he'd given her, or the other encounter she'd had after that one. She thought of them when she wanted an excuse not to go out.

It was hard, with no one else minding her, no teammates or leaders she owed anything to, to make herself do it. There was no one to say whether she was doing too much or too little -- and while she didn't want a leader coming along and giving her more of an obligation to meet other people's expectations, it would've at least been nice to know how often other people went out and looked for monsters that needed destroying. It might've shushed the voice of guilt in her head whenever she considered staying in on a given night.

But she always thought of Aquarius after she thought of Buddingtonite and Schorl. Every monster she might encounter (not that there had been many) was a monster that could've attacked Tara if she'd left it to roam around the city. Every danger she didn't prevent was a danger that might fall to someone she cared about instead. And Tara had already been fighting for so long.

So tonight she'd forced herself to go out and patrol for youma, having skipped it for the last two days. It seemed only fair.

So far, she'd had no luck in locating any. The city was fairly quiet, and she'd only gotten a few odd looks for her attire. Perhaps she'd call it a night soon.

The plaintive mewling from a tree caught her attention just as she was walking past a small park nestled in a single city block between some storefronts and an apartment complex. She drew closer, looking high up into the branches for the source of the sound.

A mottled brown cat looked back down at her, eyes glittering in the dark. "You sure did get yourself a ways up there, didn't you?" she asked it, looking around for any branches low enough for her to climb her way up.

For the most part, she supposed she was out of luck on that score; Destiny City kept its trees fairly well-trimmed to avoid lawsuits where passersby might poke their eyes out on low-hanging branches. Still, it occured to Hvergelmir that there was more than one way to skin a cat -- or, in this case, rescue a cat.

After all, wasn't she a superhero now? Didn't Superman rescue the occasional cat stuck in a tree?

A well-timed leap brought her up among the branches, landing on a sturdy one near the cat. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as well-judged as it was timed, and she managed to conk her head on another branch in the course of things. The tree swayed with her weight, and she grabbed out frantically for a few more tree limbs to steady herself until everything had evened out.

The cat was now just a few branches away, and it hissed reflexively when she reached for it.

"Oh, come on, buddy," she bemoaned the rejection, "You're the one who invited me up here."

After a few minutes of suspicious glaring, the cat seemed to make up its mind; in a few quick scampering footsteps, it had closed the space between them and let itself be lifted safely into her embrace. Its claws dug fiercely into her bare shoulder. Considering how frightened it must have been, though, she decided not to say anything about it.

Getting back down was easier, the ground making for a rather straightforward target. She lifted the hem of her dragging skirt with one hand, keeping the other around the cat, and -- bending her knees like they'd been taught in gym class years ago -- she leaped back down to the ground rather fluidly.

"And there you have it," Hvergelmir told the cat, prying it off of her torso and lifting it in the air to look at. "Human elevator service, presented promptly on demand. Limited engagements only."

The cat regarded her with complete disinterest and not a jot of thanks. It squirmed in her arms impatiently till she let it go, then took off down the street at a dash. Ah, well.

Hvergelmir took a few minutes to shake out her dress, plucking stray leaves and bits of tree detritus from her hair and clothes. She supposed she ought to head home after all -- it didn't seem like she'd be running into any real work tonight. Hvergelmir did her best to pretend she wasn't relieved.

Hvergelmir looked over, startled. She'd noticed something, a weird sensation she hadn't really given thought to, because she'd been busy with the cat -- and then, just a few minutes later, this man had appeared out of nowhere. A Negaverser, she assumed: he had the general look of it, like the others she'd met.

She didn't see the point in lying. If this war really was about distrust and misunderstandings, as she'd begun to understand that it might be, adding more falsehoods to the pile wouldn't help anything.

"I know someone who's a senshi," she said. "She's a friend."

She stepped back into a more defensive posture. Hvergelmir had had pretty back luck with Negaversers so far.

Hvergelmir didn't have much time to consider a great deal about the situation. The weapon the stranger carried seemed like something out of a funhouse horror movie -- and she might've spent more time reflecting on that, were it not for the fact that the great pink scythe was coming at her at a very fast and extremely unsafe speed.

She was saved not by any skill or combat experience, but by simple human reflex -- as fast as her opponent could swing his scythe, the rush of adrenaline in her veins was just a bit faster. Hvergelmir fell back just time to avoid being cleaved in half, tumbling over backwards in the folds of her voluminous skirts and smacking into the ground hard enough to leave dirt and grass stains on her clothes.

She did her best to scramble back to her feet as quickly as she could manage, too terrified to think beyond the simple thought get up and run, you'll die if you don't run.

Hvergelmir screamed. "Stop!" she yelled desperately. "I don't even know you. Stop!" Maybe it wasn't the most sophisticated argument she could've made. Maybe there were other heroes with more experience, ones who would've thought of something more courageous to say, or had the presence of mind to do more than hold her distaff out in front of her like a fly swatter. But none of them were here. There was never anyone teaching her anything she was supposed to do, no one to tell her how to react when crazed soldiers with pink scythes tried to disembowel her. She was probably going to die looking like an idiot.

There was something very wrong with this man. There was something very, incredibly wrong with this man and he was trying to kill her and Hvergelmir had no idea what to do.

His scythe clipped her on the arm before she could quite get away, drawing blood; she screamed in pain. It wasn't a cut deep enough to kill her, or to take her arm off, certainly -- but she wasn't accustomed to fighting, and she wasn't accustomed to pain. To Hvergelmir, what she knew was that it was deep enough to hurt, and it was bleeding, and he was planning on doing worse.

She swung out with her distaff, delicate wooden thing thought it was, but that only brought her into the path of Labyrinthite's kicks as she struck out at empty air. This time, Hvergelmir fell down hard, the impact jarring her injured arm, and her opponent was too close for there to be time to get to her feet and get away again. Instead, she gave into her last, most desperately human instinct in the face of certain danger: she curled up into a ball on the ground, trying to wrap her arms protectively around her head, and screamed in pure terror.

Hvergelmir was so far gone with terror that it took some time for her brain to register any awareness that something that come between her and the Negaverser, or to halt her screaming. A voice finally cut through the haze, one she didn't recognize, and then a flash of light warmed her closed eyelids, then the voice came again, addressing her.

She opened her eyes and looked up through her arms to see a man standing over her with a large shield upraised. He hadn't been there a moment before -- but she was certainly glad he was there now.

"Yes," she stuttered, trying to clamber back to her feet behind her newfound protector. "I can stand -- I'm o-okay -- "

Hvergelmir wasn't actually very okay in the broader sense, no. She was terrified and quailing behind Camelot with, quite obviously, no intention of offering any help now that someone better-equipped was in the picture. But she was on her feet and she wasn't dying, and she certainly felt much better about having Camelot in between her and Labyrinthite's scythe.

Camelot hated inflicting pain, but if it came without cost, left no scars, and could not take a life, he supposed it was the best trade off he was going to get. He watched as Labyrinthite struggled with the effects of the Terra Viridis Crystal, then retreated, letting out a short breath of relief. He knew he could stand against a Captain, but that did not mean he wanted to: not with an injured Page to worry over.

He could not ignore that the threat lingering in the air unsettled him. He just had to hope that kind of a threat was one made in anger, and forgotten in the scheme of things. He would hate to see what that weapon became should the Captain see General.

"Go slow," Camelot said gently, turning his attention fully on Hvergelmir. He smiled at her gently, kneeling beside her. He banished his shield so he had more room to move, standing as she got to her feet and putting his hand on her arm to help support her. "Do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you."

His green eyes reflected his honest concern, and he watched her with a slight tilt to his head.

"My name is Camelot, of Earth," he said, interested in learning a bit about her, and maybe how she had ended up in that serious a situation. He did not like seeing Pages nearly getting killed, and could only imagine what might have happened if he didn't show up.

"Cosmos, that's very lovely," he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. He'd never seen a page of Cosmos, or anything, with a dress like hers, and he wondered if there were others out there like that. He felt suddenly guilty, for not knowing more about the knights of the other planets, and the things that tied them together. He knew a lot about his own planet, after all, and could see the similarities between those that represented Earth. He made a mental note to be more observant. Every little piece of information and knowledge helps.

Camelot was surprised when she hugged him, smiling gently and wrapping his arms around her protectively. He gave her a light hug, not wanting to jar her further if she was bruised or battered in any way.

"I am an adult, yes," he said gently, patting her on the head in an effort to soothe her. He could see that she had been through a lot, and not just from this battle. Being a Page in this war was never an easy task, even for the most stalwart. Experience was hard won.

The knight let her cling to him as long as she needed, shaking his head slowly.

"I can imagine what you've been through. But if you ever need help, I'll be there for you, okay? If you ever need to find me directly, look for me at the Destiny City Central Library, that's where I start and end my patrols each night. And where I work during the day." He spoke quietly, though he did not feel any other auras around them. He was still not going to be too free with his civilian identity, though he was always willing to share it with another knight that might need to find him.

"Hey... are you okay? Come on, let's get you to the hospital, and then hopefully home, so you can rest a bit, hm? I don't think it's a good idea to go patrolling again for a little while."

Camelot was not surprised by her reaction to him being a librarian. How many warrior librarians were there, anyway? Of course, he did not also tell her that he was a librarian that did not much like to read, as that would be too much to take in all at once, and he felt she was already having some brain lag. He got a lot of flack for that one, but he could not help it. He loved books, and taking care of them, and seeing others who appreciated them for what was inside. He just... did not have much time to read, considering he was running a library and fighting a secret war.

"Well, you're always welcome to come to the library, I try to keep it as safe a place as I can." He smiled at her reassuringly, not wanting to press her about what made her look so sad. He hated that all these young people had so much trauma in their lives, things they could not talk about, things that made them veterans in a war that none of them had any business fighting in. If he could, he would take all of their burdens away from them, a bear the weight of it all himself.

It was an impossible goal, but he would do it, for their sakes, if he could. Even at this stage of power, though, he could not offer them that kind of peace.

"Whatever you feel comfortable with. You can find me, powered up or not, whenever you might need to. Now we really need to get you fixed up and home, resting, okay? I think we've been out here long enough, and I don't want that cut getting infected or something like that." Papa Camelot turned on his parental instincts, and he held out his arm in case she needed something to hold on to. He was going to take her to get her injury fixed up whether she wanted him to or not, and he would wait so he could escort her home. He powered down to emphasize this, knowing the hospital was not too far, and he did not want to draw any more attention with his aura than necessary.