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Rank provided the privilege of simplicity- as a General, she'd long since ceased needing to touch people to drain them. It was good to practice the fashioning and bending of the chaos into mundane forms, the crystal and the leys, to siphon from a radius around themselves. She'd chosen matchbooks, old fashioned for the current clime against smoking, but not out of place or obtrusive in a club. It had taken all of one dance and one walk around the place dodging dancers and milling socialites to reach the bar to canvas. She was on her way out, the place would be open well near to sunrise for picking up the energy gathered, when she felt the signature coming near.

General Schörl paused in the hall out to the front, pulling her pipe from breastpocket, tamper, and leather wallet of pipe tobacco to wait time with. Will the rabbit run, or will it come hither?

Moments passed, and the signature came on, small and bright to huddle near what must have been near to the street, or the unseen front of the building. She'd find out soon enough, bringing her precipice of the abyss inch by inch closer to the stand of his feet. Her pipe was ready for lighting, so she put the stem between her lips and fished out a matchbox. The general strolled by the bouncers, pushed the double doors open and out passed into the late airs. She paused in the street, heedless of the possibility of traffic, of which there was none on the horizon, striking a match-head to hold cupped while pulling in puffs on her Peterson. Cavendish filled the air around her.

Once the pipe was lit, she spoke around it to the buildings, lights and parked-in cars, "Alle, Alle, auch sind frei, my little senshi. "

The ridiculous bright colours, like an icy sunrise of salmon, orange and white, marked the small man out as much as the very stench of his aura in her mind. His attestation bordered between the sublime and the ridiculous, standing stock still like a rabbit wanting to not be noticed for a second. A basic senshi before a General, he was little. Barely over five feet he stood before her six-foot-plus in her boots, and he was little. Smooth cheeked, youthful, he stood before her three decades and he was little. Sore on the point, rabbit?

"I'm Death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim."

"And what name will be writ for you, little crown, little creature?"

Senshi magic was an amusing glass canon, whatever their tier of standing. As at other times, the General was reminded that facing the fools was, when they were casting, a battle of attrition. They would waste their energy, puff themselves, and do precious little, if any, damage. In this case, the visual accompanyment was nauseating- hearts. Honestly. Little ideograph hearts the size of snowflakes pattering into her jacket, face and legs en masse like the personification of every 19th century Valentine's day card had vomited all over her and the street. No, not vomited, but was actively vomiting, as it continued, seconds on seconds. There was stinging pressure from it, like walking into particularly rough, post-storm surf off the Atlantic coastline.

Schörl gripped her hand forward and her cane materialized in grasp. Like the surf, she strode forward, steady and mildly perturbed, and dauntless. "Do better than that, Thrymr, of the Southern Lights. "

"A little glitter never stopped anyone from dying." As she said it, she sprinted, swinging the dragon cane for his legs.

"O Fates, come, come,
Cut thread and thrum;" The General chuckled, following up her swing by walking swift strides to pursue his scramble. "You repeat yourself, little one."

"When you are walking along, alone or not, you'll smell tobacco and think of me. You'll catch the tail of neon in the glass of a store you pass, and know I might be there reflected back. Watching you. When you pull out your power, taking on these threads and this name, you will remember. I am out here, and my name is a whisper of warning. Too much and I will find you for certain. Find you, catch you, eat you right up, " A stride on her long legs and a stomp, aiming to drive her heel hard at his stomach to pin him.

"-for the engines of the Nameless immeasurable. I am Schörl."

Trouble walked Destiny City as per usual, and per usual it found plenty of outlets. But the biggest point of trouble in the area seemed to come from a General's aura that was felt along the edges of Aegir's awareness; a wrongness that lay oily and heavy and insistent over his other five senses and called to him.

The curly haired super of silence had made for that flaring pool of Chaos, speeding up when he felt the smaller Order aura near it - such things boded only ill. A general against...who? There is familiarity in both...that scares me. He had to check it out, had to see if he could stop whatever horror was happening between the two energy signatures.

As Aegir came close, skirt trailing behind him and flapping in the slipstream of his movement, he got a look at the small figures - one standing, the other down and scrambling.

His stomach sank and the blond faltered momentarily: he knew those two. It was Thyrmr.

And Schörl. His personal boogeyman. A cold sweat broke out over Aegir and his legs went slightly unsteady, but the senshi pressed on because from the looks of it, the icy-blond horror-show was going to devour Thyrmr if he didn't. Almost...almost-- Then--

"Let him go!" He was close enough, no doubt she had felt his hurried approach, could see one she'd menaced before coming, but it didn't matter, Aegir cast his magic and sent the trio of glowing ropes out for Schörl. Despite his attack, the blond was as desperate to get away from her as he was to get his teammate free.

Even touching her with his magic made his skin crawl and the symbol scarred into his palm burn anew, ice and fire all at once. "I won't let you hurt him."

Through the icy terror that seemed to settle heavy through his veins, Thrymr felt the Order signature burst into being. It felt like heat, like a familiar warmth that seemed to cascade over him, soothing each ragged breath that escaped as the general's boot dug hard into his chest.

Aegir. It was Aegir.

Prince, the prince come to save him -

At the angle he was at, Thrymr could not see the full extent of Aegir's face, but he saw brief glimpses of it, of pale skin and wide eyes. He felt the breath constrict in his throat and pushed against the woman's boot, trying to dislodge it from his torso.

"Aegir - " he gasped out. "No - "

Aegir's drained color was beautiful in the garrish light thrown by the city around them. The more experienced senshi dropped his magic's hold, having weighed his options to a nicety. Ahh, so sweet to hear the sound and memory of my name. You learned it well. Tell him a hundred more lies, little godling. Little Aegir. "He prays to you, and it will be okay. I see. "

This dainty is known and dear in some individual way? Just friends and so you care, as the White Moon likes to do? Good friends? Lovers? Team mates? Mysteries, mysteries!

She did not need contact to drain energy. She did not need to limit herself to a single target either, with a General's rank to her name. She left her hand up and in it gathered the energy from the both of them with a focus of knifepoint will. "A good trade, pet, a well learned place. The question left, though, is your second hand, or one of his? Or...."

"Or. When this energy is mine, you fall on the ground beside the Southern Lights. Gather him to you. Tell him it will be alright, again. Just that. Pretty prayer which you can grant him again and again out here in the dark. The choice is yours, Thyrmr. A scar, a scar, or a lie. "