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Of the handful of experiences being privy to the Negaverse teleport, Quenton was happy for the opportunity to walk. It wasn't as fast, but it wasn't as jarring or nauseating. Walking was pleasant in its conundrum of familiarity and sublimation of expectations. It was like walking with Alois any other time to a symposium, store or lecture. Then looking over afforded the glimpses of uniform and youma-merged features that acted like a dream segue instead of real life. But it was no dream.

Nightmares just happened to be their reality. "Stopping by with supply will be easier, and you'll save the energy of having to get all the way to studio to pick up lunches."

Getting out and about was good, but there was a balance needed between having the caloric nutrition to keep organs from failing and the occasional sojourn into sunlight for vitamins. "I'll make it a point of being discreet-"

The pause and look into the dark was enough to kill words as Alois focused elsewhere. of course, now of all asinine times- senshi, knight, or Negaverse? I can't feel a thing like this. He's not in form to be fighting, claws or not, if it's a senshi or knight. Who 'he' ? in the Negaverse- there's not time or freedom to he shin, but throwing a rock carries no guilt at least.

Complaint was just extra time, which in powered meetings was not a given luxury. The grip to hand was returned, then released. Shifted away in small sprint opposite the direction that had caught the General's attention to the cookie cutter disjointedness that was Suburb. A place to be out of sight? There wasn't a great deal of options that were good, but there were options-some shrubbery and yard trees, stone pillars with whit plastic chains to flank driveways, a thinning garden of tomatoes losing leaves with the oncoming autumn. He chose one of the trees- leaves still full and edges only tipping maple red.

Catching a low branch, Quenton pulled up into the canopy and perched, but was there time to get higher? Out of sight?

Alois watched Quenton in peripherals to refrain from giving away his attentions, nerves alight with livewire at the prospect of the blonde's survival through this encounter. A surfeit of possibilities lay before him - a general sporting hostilities toward him due to prior interactions, or one that knew nothing of him and fully intended to carry on with business as usual (he considered one that supported his cause to be nothing more than a fanciful daydream). Alois offered no approach or retreat toward the signature - instead, he lingered at the corner of a crosswalk, grim with grime and litter, the steel pole at his back jutting high into the sky and waving slightly with the oncoming breeze.

Surely enough, what came from beyond the teething shadows of buildings was one he met on many an occasion - one who harbored no love for the winged general or his former iteration. "Natron," he muttered under his breath. Still a tool as always. I wonder if I would've been strutting about with that same bravado had I adhered to my devout dedication to the Negaverse - to Metallia. Finally he began an approach, slow and measured, with arms folded just beneath his chest. "You must be proud of yourself to engage in such clever wordplay, Natty. It's highly unusual to see you behaf'e of your own accord like zis... Unless insulting me is part of someone's bitchwork.

"What happened to me - what happened to Malicious - holds no bearing on you, Natron. We haf' no business togezzer, no reason to interact beyond your petty contempt and knee-jerk pursuits toward vengeance. Go - find somesing better to do."

As long as it's away from here.

"Gosh, I'd almost think you weren't happy to see me," Natron said, but he couldn't even manage mock-wounded, not when he was practically bubbling over with a sort of cruel glee at seeing Bischofite reduced from proud, vicious, dangerous General to twisted half-human monster.

"But you know, I actually do have business with you, now that you bring it up," he said. "See, there's a Lieutenant, by the name of Astrophyllite?" He hadn't originally intended to take any kind of revenge for what had been done to that poor girl, but with the opportunity right in front of him (never mind that it was a reason to go after Bischofite, not that he ever lacked in those) it was difficult to resist.

"I understand you were her first mentor, before, you know," he slung his weapon over the shoulder and gestured up and down, "all this." He had shifted from casual to a somewhat more threatening posture. Actually attacking Bischofite hadn't entered his mind, until he thought of a poor, scared girl who worried that getting him angry would mean physical pain. It couldn't entirely be Bischofite's fault, but just the mentions she'd made of his training techniques made Natron ill.

Movement, a battle-readied stance. Alois, no. Battles are no good.

Quenton hissed through his teeth, resisting the want to go for henshin pen. But there was the lash out of claws. At lack of useful weapons, unable to henshin...what then? Need some way to ensure this is short to minimize damage possibility. 911? It'll take them at least fifteen minutes, if they even show up. Its something.

He pulled his cell phone, pulling jacket around to hide the glow while thumbing buttons. Thumbed the volume down, since there wasn't text 911 implemented yet despite the news scooping the suggestions of it. The Dispatcher came on, "Destiny City Police Department, what's the emergency?..."

"Broad and 89th. I'm stuck in a tree. There's a guy in brown with karate weapon in a fight another guy in the street. I think they're terrorists. "

"They're both armed? How far away are you?"

Quenton hissed, "No time. Please send help; a house-yard away. If the guy in brown finds me he'll kill me. "

"Did he threaten you? What is your name please"

"Quincy. This phone is 202-555-0170. I have to go-"

"OK, all right I got it. I want you to stay on the line with me-"

They always did. Even when it was plainly dangerous to the person, they always pushed for the person to still stand there jawing answering questions about the situation that would probably be completely different in about 3 minutes. Someone probably bleeding out by the time any help arrived. The exacts of that had never made sense. He thumbed the volume mute so that if she kept speaking it wouldn't make more noise. Set the phone screen down- it could pick up sound still if suddenly there was screaming or magic tearing through the area, or who knew what.

Let that answer her questions.

Emaciation offered no boons - not to the mind, not to the body.

Not to battle.

Reactions came at a sloth, stunted pace with his body churning through water to compensate for moves that cut through air. What maneuvering he managed in response to Natron's strike only pivoted his bony hip in the path of the sweeping stick. The loud crack over the bone felt sickeningly audible to him, and he promptly released grip on Natron's arm to double over temporarily in crippling pain.

I should be lucky if it just bruises. Can't stay here - I'll need to take this ******** nimrod elsewhere and lace his head through his a** seven times over when I'm not in Quenton's immediate vicinity.

Forcing himself to straighten, Bischofite lunged toward Natron in a last minute pivot with the intent to clip the man's face with one of his wings - a glancing blow, likely to distract given that the preening oil still glossy on the feathers might sting a little in the eyes. In rounding from a couch, he pushed off against Natron's heel in an effort to unbalance the shorter man and gain some ground.

It would help if I knew where the ******** Quenton got off to... Quick glances were cast toward yards, alleys, and alcoves where the blonde might be hiding while Alois sprinted down the street, doubly vigilant for some means of a makeshift trap to further discourage Natron from his nightly bullshit.

Natron jerked back to avoid the wing, but was still sent off-balance by force applied to his heel. He had to spend a moment righting himself, and then pivoting to give chase. For about two seconds, he considered not doing it - but if nothing else, he was easily provoked, and he really, really wanted to deliver something as nasty as the burns still sizzling on his arm. One blow to the hip was not nearly enough.

"What's the matter?" He asked, as he took off after the other General. "Never thought you were one to run scared!" Taunts were probably not a good idea, but if he could goad Bischofite back into a proper fight - well, he was fairly certain it would be well worth it.