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Llyr was beaming, taking absolutely no notice of the apparent brawl happening around him as he gave the demon a cheerful sort of smile. "I think, perhaps, that this is the most relaxing booth," he said, and absently combed long fingers through his dark hair. "And you do look quite impressive, sitting there, surrounded by all these lovely people and pillows and places to relax," Llyr added, almost as an afterthought.

Calder was given another look, as Llyr said, "I have troubles with my own hair, perhaps someday you could teach me how to make it as pretty as yours. Mine merely gets in the way, but yours looks as though it is quite nice, and that flower is quite becoming for you. Oh!"

He reached into his robes and pulled out, from somewhere, two flower crowns, which he then presented to Calder with a flourish.

"If you ever wish to add a few more flowers to the one already in your hair," he said brightly, still utterly oblivious to the fighting behind him - though it became apparent a moment later as the boil rushed off, and Llyr slowly revolved, taking in the scene finally.

"Ah," he said, and glanced at the booth owner. "Well, this is certainly exciting!"

Benji reaches out to the roll of free raffle tickets, a little surprised to see this. He gets a little too excited, however, and the ticket rips in half! He retreats from the roll, chagrined.

When Zar stepped back and Christof fell over, Calder sighed with relief. It seemed they had both lost some steam and in a moment after the smoke rose up and then fell back down, Calder was back to his two-hooved self. "I don't care if he started it. If you want to fight, you do it away from the booth. You guys can tear each other apart if you feel you need to, but not around the booth where you could tear everything up and upset the students coming here." As a monster, Calder understood the value of a good fight.

Looking at Zar and then at Christof, he sighed again. "Are you okay? You bleed on the pillows. I can look at it if you want, just....let me get Chrsitof's head back on." He said, and turned to help his nearly-beheaded friend back up. Moving to his side, Calder reached for the one arm still attached and tried to half-roll and half life Chrsitof back to at least be sitting upright.

"Christof, you okay?"

Celiog wandered toward one newer booth that was just handing out tickets. Or at least he thought they were just handing out tickets until the one he tried to take tore like tissue paper in his hand.

"I'm doing really well, it's great seeing you Calder. It really has been ages." Dark features lit up, and the ghoul was very tempted to catch up the kelpie's hands to offer them a squeeze, but she resisted. Instead she laced her own fingers together, the thumb of her right hand spinning the ring that rested on the thumb of her left hand. Though not before she'd return the wave to Barth.

As Calder excused himself the djinn couldn't help but notice a very familiar Igor messing about with the pillows that had been arranged, and she slid closer to him so she could lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Christof, how are you?" How very long had it been since she had seen the igor? Too long. Much much too long.

Zar nodded and let Calder tend to Christof. The other boil was in a bit of an awkward state while he personally was not too concerned with his own injuries. The deep gashes in his face unquestionably hurt a great deal, but non-life threatening pain was something that - as an Incubus - he was equipped to tolerate and perhaps even take a certain degree of satisfaction in. At the very least, he wasn't sad any longer, whatever anxiety he'd been nursing had been pushed aside in favour of the sheer rage and frustration that had overtaken him.

He teetered uncertainly as he tested his footing and considered right then and there collapsing into a heap and wrapping himself in his coils until he was better. He might well have, if Barth hadn't caught his attention then, holding something out to him from where he reclined. And once again as soon as he took in the other positively radiant demon, he found himself derailed from his despair, something glazed coming into his eyes as he limped to the couch, leaning forward and reaching out with his long prehensile tongue to wrap around the offered token. And he lingered perhaps a little longer than was appropriate in its retrieval, because he very badly wanted to touch the vision of perfection before him. When he couldn't pass off his breach of etiquette any longer, he used it to dab carefully at the scratches and the inky blood which had gotten into his fur.

This close to the sloth demon it was exponentially more difficult to maintain his cool and he could feel his hearts quickening their pace all over again. He had hoped sincerely that the scuffle might have knocked some sense back into him, but it clearly had not, his baser instincts were still completely out of control. However he could not surrender to weakness, he had to persist in control, he had to be civil. He handed off the handkerchief, now soaked and completely black, to his tail. The hard candy which had been attached was gone.

"'ank 'oo" he said to Barth once he was free to even attempt speech, his useless lower jaw still lolling open. The blood had been a problem in terms of mess, now because of his inability to close his mouth it was an even less appealing slimy blood and drool instead. He slumped his hindquarters into a sit and looked somewhat dejected.

"'ee 'oved 'y 'illows." He sighed, regretting the deep breath that accompanied it the moment he registered the heady scent of the other boil, mingled as it was with the scent of roses. "I 'ust 'anted 'oo help." At the very least nothing had been broken except his jaw and his temper.

"Thank you, I can see they are fighting - were fighting."[ They seemed to have stopped for now, but there was blood all over the floor. And Hollandaise's hope for a nap was ruined. She glanced down at Des, and her eyes rounded in horror. The green ghoul was eating an arm! Well, she was gnawing on it, but the sight was still disturbing. However, it was not alarming because it was an arm, but because it was an undead arm. Hollandaise's stomach turned, and the noisy din around her fell on deaf ears.

"Deszeld, that is disgusting." And she stalked off, leaving Deszeld there with the aforementioned disgusting arm.

Deszeld grunted, and dropped the arm. She really had no interest in what the owners of the booth had to say; her concern was with Hollandaise, whom she'd somehow disgusted. An arm was an arm was an arm; living at school had widened her palate, so to speak.

"Hollandaise. Hollandaise, wait."

Deszeld took off after the Warden, leaving the arm and the booth behind.