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Chrysocolla was fine, she was, but when stardust came sparkling down around her blinding-bright she let out an entirely undignified squeak and squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling against the brick wall, almost dropping the glittering sphere of energy before vanishing it to...well. Wherever people put their crystal communicators, really. She tried not to think too hard about it.

"He's drunk," she cried out as soon as the light faded, instinctively moving into a better stance against the Squire, weight centered lower in her body (but still blinking bleary-eyed, rubbing fireworks out of her eyesight). "Scum of the Earth...we're not protecting people like him! Go home..!" The look on Chrysocolla's face was ugly, bitter and vicious, not fit for a teenage girl. She'd been stewing about this since their last fight -- and it showed, it really did.

"Chrysocolla of Moods, alien scum. You're a kid...go home to your parents." For a second, there was something endlessly tender and sad on her face (she loved Amphitrite, she did, but sometimes it was different because Amphitrite was a sister not a mother or a father and she didn't recall having those but sometimes it still hurt), but it was banished quickly. "People will abandon you. Just like they did to me."

"They drink and they hurt other people," she responded, cold. "I won't stand for that -" and whatever she was going to say was vanished quick-as-it-came beneath Hyperborea's screaming, Chrysocolla instinctually backing up, raising her arms just a little too late to prevent a tackle, hair fanning out under her like the sea and quickquickquick whimpering as the fists came flying.

(There it was, back again; in this moment of vulnerability, she was far moreso a teenage girl in too deep than any sort of soldier. But the hole splintered through her forehead, and the endless black depths mirrored in her chest through which a soul glimmered, crushed any thought. She was what she was, and she always would be. What would ever be better than this?)

The assault hurt, though. Her nose was bloodied and bruised, and one of her eyes hurt like anything, but -- there it was. There it was. A clear, unstopped shot to Hyperborea's chest. She took a deep breath, ducking her head and trying for even a little bit of protection, and focused on her hand - channel the chaos through it, like a glove, like a pinpoint -- and reached. Reached right for, and even maybe through, Hyperborea's chest. There was something she wanted in there, glittering and white presumably, and she'd see it before she was done.

Chrysocolla's eyes lit up when she made contact, the little crystal palpable even through her glove; and from there, a squeeze was only the obvious thing, to make the Squire stop hitting her. And the little thrill it gave her when Hyperborea made such a pained noise, well...wouldn't anyone feel that, in a similar situation? It was only natural. Just like pulling it would be; and Chrysocolla pushed her off as the other girl fell to the ground.

The starseed was lovely, really; white and glittering-iridescent, deep purple at the middle like the girl's eyes. (They were nice eyes, she absentmindedly noticed. A nice color.) A quick dig into her own chest, and here was comparison; similar in size and shape, yes, but nothing alike in color or sheen. (Tumbled them back-and-forth around her fingers, careful not to drop either.) That was it, really, that was all she'd wanted to see; she hadn't wanted to fight! Why didn't anyone listen?!

Chrysocolla kneeled down, and with shaking hands, put both starseeds back in their proper place. She couldn't wait around too long - Hyperborea could wake up. So with little a regretful glance or a thought spared, she took off at a soft jog, leaving the squire uncomfortably sprawled on the rough ground; by the time Hyperborea really got back to herself, really realigned her soul and her body, the Corrupt was long gone.