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It was getting late when a tar-covered pair tumbled out of the tall mirror in the Oasis medical tent, startling the senshi guard on shift who might have been napping, but now very much wasn't. He stumbled to his feet with a curse, prepared for the worst and then very much confused to realize the pair was the DMC princess and the senshi princess who ran the Oasis.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to you two?" He managed, looking entirely unsure what he should do about this.

Orah clung to Chariklo as she straightened up and hastily tugged her shirt back into order. They probably made quite a sight; disheveled, tarred and wild-eyed... Real inspiring. The med tent was quiet this time of the night, most patients sleeping peacefully with only a couple trained nurses to keep an eye on things, but there were still too much attention for Orah's comfort.

"I'd be exceedingly boring to haunt, I promise." She muttered quietly to her companion. "But you're welcome to keep me company."

Turning to the senshi as she released her grip and straightened up. "Go get Hvergelmir and tell her to bring the specialty kit to my tent, ok? And... I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself." She said, watching as the senshi sketched a salute and rushed off. Somehow, she doubted that was going to be enough to keep her flubbed mission a secret for long... Especially tomorrow when everyone got a look at the angry red burns across the bottom of her face. Maybe I can just keep a face mask on until they heal... I wear one most of the time anyway.

Tugging her hood up self consciously over her dark hair, Orah turned to her companion with a worried look. "Thanks for taking me into the city, Chariklo... I'm sorry everything went to hell. I wasn't expecting to run into him there... I thought that would be the last place he'd show up." She said softly, worried she might have strained her friendship with the other woman with that little stunt.

Wearily, Chariklo let Orah handle the guard and simply following her to the tent. Once they were out of earshot, she began chunnering, partly to herself as a sort of reassurance that they had, in fact survived and partly as her friend.

"Boring or not, you'd still be my prime haunting victim. And you are going to explain this thing about b***h Boy knowing every other inch of you as your thanks for the ferry because goddamn, the mental images. Are we really still alive?"

There was no malice in her words. Just an overwhelming sense of wonder that they were still walking and talking. And once they entered the tent, Chariklo sighed and allowed herself to shift back to her Eternal form. The tar that had been on her wings didn't vanish as neatly as the mass of feathers, instead transferring to her back in the form of random splotches. Annoying, but she'd live.

Flopping bonelessly into one of the chairs, she waved Orah to the bed and settled in to wait. Which, thankfully wasnt long. A tired and entirely grateful smile lit her face as Hvergelmir walked in. The moment she asked what had happened though, Chariklo shot an uneasy glance at Orah. Did they tell the truth or bend it? She didn't particularly want the other girl in trouble for venturing out of the camp. So... bent truth it was!

"Oh you know," she spoke breezily, "looking for some hard to find stuff Orah needs. Unexpected run-in with an old friend. The usual."

She shot a glance at Orah that clearly said Back me up here. After all, she didn't know exactly why Orah had needed to go to the city. Only that she had, in fact, been looking for something. And she really didn't want to worry Hvergelmir too much with how close a call it had been.

Hvergelmir's face clouded over with worry. First, for Chariklo's well-meaning feint -- there were probably reasons Orah might head into Destiny City alone, but the one she'd offered happened to be suspect. Certainly it was reasonable that the Oasis might need specialty medical supplies -- but it was Hvergelmir herself who was usually tasked with fetching them. Outside of the Dark Mirror Court's somewhat limited mirrorwalking ability, there were precious few people among the ranks of Order who had any ability to teleport safely away from danger.

Hvergelmir Knight was one of them. Princess Ida was not. And she was worth so, so much more here. Too much to risk on an errand. Hvergelmir and Ida both knew that.

She looked immediately to Orah for the real answer, not prepared to brook any avoidance on the matter under these circumstances. Fortunately, Orah was of the same mind, and trusted Hvergelmir enough with the truth.

Hvergelmir sighed, listening as her friend relayed their tale in brief.

Bischofite turns up like a bad penny, over and over, she indicated in sign, waiting while Orah uncapped the oil jar and dipped her fingers. He has no friends to talk to and no goals to pursue, right? So mischief is his only antidote for boredom, and probably no high ever lasts long enough. We all hear stories. Time is his enemy, and makes him wild.

That was all she bothered saying on the subject. Orah had loved Alois, once, and he had given her something in return, whether love or not, that she'd felt she needed. Hvergelmir didn't think she needed any more pain on that score. Let her keep her old memories and feelings -- they were all she had of him now. The man Orah loved, the man they'd tried to save, once, dwindled to less and less with each passing day, like a guttering candle. Hvergelmir hadn't seen Bischofite in a very long time, now. She wondered how much of Alois was really left at all, or if it was just a creature of base impulse wearing his face and memories.

I'm sorry about your brother, she said. Something will turn up in time.

Hvergelmir doused a hand in oil -- olive oil today, judging by the color and scent -- then started running her fingers methodically over Orah's lips, working her way from there outward. It would take a good half hour for the oil to start working the tar free to where a pumice stone could pull it off easily, but her mouth needed the most consistent attention: counterintuitively, people's lips dried out much more quickly than the rest of their skin, since they faced the constant movement of air to wick away their moisture.

Damp-handed, she paused for a moment to sign to Chariklo: You shouldn't wait. We can call someone to clean the tar off of you.

Orah made a soft sound of assent as she rubbed the oil between her palms, unable to keep herself from going over and over the events in her head.

Bischofite was too often a subject of discussion in camp and after the run in with him, she was starting to see why Kairatos and Thraen pursued him so relentlessly. He hadn't known it was her when he stopped her in the alley, which meant that he was attacking civilians right on the street. It was, perhaps, time to have a talk with the two men. There was nothing of Alois left, not that she could see, and if the Negaverse couldn't even keep him collared, then something needed to be done about it. As much as she hated thinking that way, there were people in immediate danger, lives that could be saved now that there was no more to be done for his.

Orah offered a small smile to Hver, grateful for the sympathy. Turning her head, the young woman gestured at the tiny folding table by her bed where a battery lantern sat next to an old picture.

"That's him in that picture, Chaiklo." She said as she rubbed her hands together, letting the oil soak in. "I don't know if his hair is the same now, but when he doesn't dye it, its the same color as mine."

The picture was a typical family shot... and by the looks of it, it had been taken some years go. It showed a round, genial looking man with green eyes and glasses, his hair a light brown that curled all over. Beside him were his daughter, looking far less mature than she did now, and a young teenage boy with black hair dyed in streaks of bold color. He shared his father's green eyes, but like his sister, had the dark complexion of their missing mother. It was, perhaps, easier now to see the Irish in Orah's face, to pick out the Indian influences of her Mother.

"If you want to look for him, I would not say no." She said softly. It was starting to become a little obvious that perhaps she had been going about this the wrong way... putting herself and others at risk like an idiot. The chagrin she felt at that made her lower her eyes, unable to look at either of her friends right now. Why did she still think she always had to do everything herself? It was so hard to look to others for help... to open up and let them do things like this for her when they were in a better position to do so. If she had done so sooner, maybe another set of eyes would have found something she hadn't and Matthew would be here now, safe.

Still so much to learn. Never were very clever, were you? It'll be your own stupidity that gets you killed if you're not careful, not some negaverse officer who gets the better of you.

Wincing in sympathy as she worked on her hands, Chariklo studied the picture Orah had pointed at, doing her best to burn that face into her memory. She owed Orah a great deal. The least she could do would be to use her time to search for her brother.

"Like I said, I'll keep an eye out for him. Cute kid, just like his sister," she added with a faint hint of an impish grin flickering across her face. The faint grin turned into a sigh of pure relief as Hver vanished and quickly returned with a nurse. Shifting in her chair to allow the old woman access to her tarry back, she did her best to remain still and well-behaved.

"She's right you know," she murmured at Orah. "You don't have to give the Watchers a ton of details, but pass a copy of his face around and let them know to be on the look-out for him."

Sighing softly, she pulled her hair out of the nurse's way and eyed the tarred up ends. Well, that at least would be the easiest part of cleaning up.

"Got some scissors I can borrow?"

Blame it on royalty, maybe, or on guilt or fear, or whatever you like -- too many people, the more powerful they became, seemed to feel obliged to work themselves ever bloodier, skinnier, and gloomier in service of their cause. Hvergelmir saw it all the time. People with special roles and skills, indispensable to their cause, treating themselves like replaceable drudges. Working too hard. Not eating enough. Going out on everyday missions because they worried the specialized work they did somehow wasn't enough.

Because they wanted to bleed alongside their comrades.

Hvergelmir understood the feeling, the fear of being worth less, of less use, than other people. The feeling of not working so hard. Of not being in the trenches with everyone else.

I understand the impulse, she signed to Orah. You took on responsibilities for everyone else, but you don't want to feel like you're handing on responsibilities you see as yours to other people. You royals are all like this. That includes you, princess, she indicated Chariklo with emphatic gestures. And sometimes it's not the same to leave something like this to other people. It's your family. I'm not asking you not to look. I'd like to ask you not to look -- but anyone can go crazy in this place if they don't get out sometimes.

She bent forward to take one of Orah's hands in hers, the oil slippery on their fingers, then pressed a kiss to her friend's poor knuckles through the fabric of her scarf before letting go again so she could sign a few more thoughts aloud.

You do not need to suffer for your inability to personally cure all the ills of the world. Please have a care. And learn to love yourself a little bit, for all the rest of us that love you.

She took up one of the pumice stones in the kit -- the smaller, softer one, for delicate skin -- and started gently trying to buff free some of the tar around Orah's lips.

The feel of lips pressed to her burned fingers brought Orah to stillness and a painful pressure squeezed her chest as her eyes swept over the dear face of her long-time friend. Perversely, the gesture and the words said through fingers made her feel worse, rather than the bolstering way Hver no doubt intended.

I don't deserve these people... I don't deserve anything that I have. It would have been better if the power had gone to someone else; someone stronger, smarter. All I do is make mistakes, over and over. But in the end, the power was hers and the responsibility that came with it. She would probably never understand why those she called friends remained by her side, but she would try to be stronger for them, try to make less mistakes. It was all she could do... just keep trying. Maybe some day, the gods willing, she might make something of herself that really was worthy. Maybe...

Orah wanted very badly in that moment to return the kiss to her fingers to the hands that touched her face, or to cheek or even, if she dared, lips... but the burn as Hver scrubbed at the tar only served to remind her she was in no condition to do anything of the sort. The pain at least was soothing, in a way. She'd gotten this particular injury through her own stupidity, it was only right that she suffer the consequences of it.

The young woman winced as pumice ground down to irritated skin, but she sat quietly through it. It helped to remind herself that she had had worse pain before and borne it. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't being stabbed by the broken haft of a spear either. The tattoo on her chest had hurt less, if she remembered right, but nothing compared to the pain of a hand reaching into your chest to curl around your starseed. If she could live through those, she could sit through this... even if it got hard to remember past pains with her face on fire, the adrenaline filtering out of her system to let her finally, fully experience what she had been suppressing. It was probably time for a change in subject.

"Did your last... run go... okay?" She said between passes over her lips, trying not to make too many faces. "You and Nærøyfjord... really work... well together." Okay, so... maybe talking to Hvergelmir while she had her hands busy was probably not a good idea. Oh well.

Nodding and hissing a tiny bit as tar was sloughed off of her own back, Chariklo still had to grin at Hver's sudden blush. Well, the big guy did seem to have that effect on folks, she thought.

But rather than tease her friend, she gave a weary nod at the cautioning. After what they'd just been through, there was no way in hell that she'd let any Dark Mirror go near Farah's Garden.

"No worries, honey. As soon as I'm de-tarred, I'm going to send the warning out."

She wanted to say more, but all it would do would was make Orah feel worse so she held her tongue and concentrated on being the best patient possible so she could be done all the quicker and get back to work.