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Seeming to have something of the same idea, Delv flips his knife in his hand, holding the knife by its shining white blade. As he turns to face Crim and draw up his knife he sees Crim's knife flying at him, turning in the air as it flies. Already being at the point of no return, Delv flung his own combat knife at Crim's torso. As Delve's knife leaves his hand, Delve tries to move to minimise the damage. Crim's knife finds its home in Delve's left shoulder, just next to his shrapnel wound which had already stopped bleeding...now it was again.

He swears audibly as he pulls the knife from his shoulder. Blood seeps through his white coat. Beads of it travel down his arm under the coat and drip off the fingertips of his black glove.

(Scarf)
At this time the scarf was growing tired of its struggling prey. Just then it was grabbed by someone it didn't know. The scarf for a moment took the appearance of a hideous zombie snake, hissing at the man, it's fangs extended. As quickly as the nightmare appeared, it was gone, and the scarf turned to vapor to escape. It slithered like a disembodied shadow back to its master. It was a little hesitent, like a dog who knows it has misbehaved. The shadow slithers up Delve's left arm, wrapping around his bleeding wounded shoulder, and entwining itself down his arm. The scarf doesn't relinquish it's possession of the magnum.

Delve watched with a slight grimmace as his knife sailed off into the distance, seeming to defy all earthly physics. This seems to happen from time to time, much to his dismay...White Steel is far too light.

Seeing the dirt clot, Delve lifted his right hand, swatting the clot aside before lowering his hand. He gave Crim an odd look. "What the hell was that?" He laughed, finding amusement in the small projectile, it didn't seem intentional.

The scarf, acting on its own out of spite, picks up a small rock and chucks it at Crim's forehead.

Knives fall. Tart observed such a fact, mimicing the course of the blades, belly-flopping from his perch. The fragile organs within his mortal shell ruptured from such a fall, blood trickling from his mouth. Damn, that nonsense was such a hoot; Tart made an effort to ruin his 'body' at least twice per day.

Mr. Pinky, now psychotic in expression and attitude, mentioned something about 'Cream Huzzards' -- Tart assumed this was another of those silly 'ice cream' blobs that humans consume. Attempting a half-hearted effort to conceal himself [though such a choice was rather impossible, due to his nosiy landing], the cleric gnawed on his own dirt-clumped bangs, ripping out a chunk with gritted teeth. Much better than any Cream Huzzard, that's quite 'for certain'.

Still searching for something to burn, Kat absentmindedly looked back at the two opponents and did a status check. With a jolt, she realized the scarf with her gun had returned.... And the mysterious wearer had just turned so that his back was to her. Knowing she'd never get a clearer opening than this, she jumped to the ground from her train car, about 5 feet away from Delve, one hand holding her gun which was aimed directly at the back of his head. Speaking loudly and clearly to be heard, she addressed the pink-haired warrior, keeping an eye on both men. "Crim, before you kill this guy, he has something of mine."

Speaking coldly to Delve, she said "Sir, my gun, please." Her voice portrayed none of the respect hinted at by her words. She assumed Crim would understand the issue. Fights were fights, but Kat loved her weapons dearly. If the gun was returned, she would leave and allow the two to continue their fight. If not... well... someone would pay for it, and she was fairly certain as to who that would be.

Cream Huzzard, still occupied by the feline woman, did not seem to notice Tart's nearby presence. Barely obscured by a worn, rotten barrel, the stench of wood grossly incomparable to Tart's own odor, the cleric moaned silently, aroused by the thought of soon-to-be-devoured hair.

Suddenly, Jaja, the basketball-sized eyeball dwelling within Tart's mouth, forced its way to the outside world. Its piercing jingled, and the wild tatoos that adorned its circular form added flare to the dank barrel. "wht the f** is hapenin heer" Jaja mumbled. Tart, obviously unable to answer, simply gave a flirtacious raise of his eyebrows -- Jaja knew that such an action signaled Tart's new fixation on some sort of edible substance. "wel jus sayv sum 4 me" he replied, plopping back into the cleric's mouth with a sickening plop.

The excitement could no longer be contained. Tart boldly extended his neck and head from the barrel, tongue stretched, attempting to steal a taste of Cream Huzzard's body.

Kat bent to scope up her gun, her eyes only leaving Delve and the scarf for a heartbeat to check that the gun was in fact hers. Not that she needed the visible affirmation, she knew the gun like she knew the back of her hand, but better safe than sorry. Reassured nothing was wrong with the gun, she slide it into her bra. She would give it a more careful examination later, and hammerspace was a good buffer zone. "Thank you for your time." She said politely, standing. "I'll leave you to your little battle now. And Crim," She looked to the pink-haired fighter, "You must introduce me to your friend some time, he seems exciting."

With that, the red ring on her right middle finger began to glow, and a wall of fire flared into life just in front of Kat, obscuring her from both Crim and Delve's sight. The wall lasted only a matter of seconds, but in the time it stood, Kat had already darted from view, rolling under the traincar she'd been atop minutes before and coming out the other side. Kat smiled once she reached the other side, and began walking off between the cars almost casually. She'd find somewhere else to watch from soon.