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The Filor both blink at the girl. "Hurry, child." The one urges, putting her hand over the tall lip of the bubble wall that surrounded her, and tried to give her a reassuring touch. The other waved in the water, creating a small splash.

"There's NO time- the bubbles are already starting to float away. The girl's terrified." She turned to the Loch herself.

"Sentinel... the figure in the gypsy girl's hands is a curse upon a fire element. His mother has said that water magic will heal him. Ours is not nearly powerful enough." She touched his great green nose with a webbed, delicate hand- it was a mere slight upon his immense form- she was dwarfed next to his beastly head, but not cowed.

The Loch lifted his head up, at that- and his size was impressive, and frightening. He was as a dragon of myth, huge and overbearing, sharp teeth in the gape of his incredible maw. Through this maw... he breathed... but not the fire of a dragon. Instead, he turned his jaw, tilting his head to a side, as if considering, and then, looked to shore- though, surely, he would unable to see the gypsies waiting there, anxious and hopeful all at once.

He turned back to the little girl clutching... what had once been a boy. And he breathed life back into the cursed child, with a stream of bubbles not unlike that of the Filor- but so much larger, and with a green tint that seemed almost toxic.

But toxic they were not: when they touched the candle, he was bathed in a green light- and then, no longer a candle. But a boy.

A touched boy, changed from his ordeal- but there once more.



A Child of darkness, if only for the lingering fears of the curse- but not... not in heart. The bubble boat that he and Rojiza were now crowded into burst, and the children were dropped into the sea. They were nearly lost to the depths- so quickly can the ocean claim its victims- but then, another bubble was blown from the lips of the great beast, and it encapsulated the two. He blew a great breath, and, quicker than a storm, the bubble rushed back towards shore- the two gypsy children inside thrust about and tossed within its seemingly fragile walls. It would rush back to their mothers.

It would be the last time he would squeak. ...As a full mouse, anyway. It was the blessing of the festival- and one of those things that happened during ceremonies, which were a particular favorite of the meij. The forceful magic that ran through everything in the world was, of course, concentrated in the gypsies and in their children, and so, was anxious to find ways to speak to it- and those points of light and joy that were celebrations were a perfect time to traipse the void... and touch their children.

The meij was a cruel master, as evident to the things it allowed discourse in its children. But it was also kind, and generous- when it willed.

Bless this, the child. The infant of the Darkness.

The woman adjusted the box under her arm, and waggled her hips and smiled. "Oh, no problem, dearie darling. The little one can make herself happy with the sight of me." She laughed at Irina. "I've got two little ones myself. Urr... not so little anymore. Teenagers, the lot of them! ...Why hello there, little darlin'," the woman knelt down to touch the infant on the hair gently, before looking back up at Irina.

"New mother, are yeh, lass?"

Lorelei tugged down the blindfold at the sound of Rojiza weeping, as small as it was, and the sound of the waves changing. She gasped at what she saw, staring at the burning child - Kale.

"Kale," she breathed, smiling. Then she glanced back at Leax... and spotted Vanna, peeking from inside the cloak. She yelped and shut her eyes, looking back towards Kale.

Rojiza stumbles over to her mother and clutches her waist, just letting the tears go. She wasn't really the one to save Kale. It was the kind Filor. Any other earth element would have worked. She peeks at Kale, her mild little fox friend, now ablaze and...dark.

"They are beautiful, most worthy of your face, Angelique. And if your markings chose you, then I am sure that they will never fade." Their server arrives, and Baptiste orders some soup and an iced coffee. "Order whatever you like, Angelique," he says.

She blinked, and ordered a tall glass of sour cherry juice- something she'd not had since she was very young. When the server left once more, she turned back to Baptiste, and addressed his earlier words with an unflirtatious (for she knew nothing of it, this girl so pretty in her plainness and her past) tone... "Do all gypsies... flatter?"

This makes Baptiste laugh, a rich sound. "Well," he says. "I'd wager that many of us have found a way with words. Helps to be a smooth talker when you're trying to sell something, eh?" He smiles. "But no. For every suave, outspoken man like me there's bound to be a shy one or two. But," he adds. "For a lady as pretty as you I'd bet my boots that even the shy ones would make some attempt at flattery." His tone is easy, and though he'd just admitted to being a salesman, essentially, he'd somehow found a happy medium. Charming safety, as it were.