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[thunderproof]

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[thunderproof]

( for sarra, those seven minutes and forty three seconds are spent nervously pacing along the border of the rendezvous point, charis crouched beside her ready to leap into action at any moment. it's not that she doesn't believe in peter, she knows just how good her brother is at this sneaking thing, she's just... intimately aware of all the ways a good plan can go wrong, and peter's plans are rarely good. daring, exciting, dramatic if pulled off, certainly. exhaustive for sure. but good...

seven minutes pass and sarra is already readying her spells. haste for her and charis, invisibility for peter when she sees him, and then lightning until she can't cast anymore — forty-two, forty-three —

he appears just as she begins the incantation for haste, and sarra drops the spell immediately, running for him instead. )

You! You brat, you had me worried half to death! I have half a mind to have Charis sit on you whenever I have to leave you, you'll get into all sorts of trouble otherwise.

[thieving]

[ peter can smell the little crackle of sarra's magic in the air. even if she isn't stirring up storms, she smells like she's been embraced by one. he lands on the ground beside her and she dashes for him, hair all static and gold. peter enfolds her in his arms, burying one hand in her hair, the other pressing her close to him in a fast embrace.

he can feel his own heart trying to permanently jackhammer itself against her from his running, from the thrill of the chase, having sprinted out like greased lightning as they'd say back in the day.

when he can pull himself a little free, he drops a quick kiss onto the top of her brow, grinning. ]

Trouble? I'd hardly call this trouble. A minor setback, perhaps, but it all turned out just fine, didn't it?

[thunderproof]

( at least he isn't too proud to submit to the very thorough hug she'd planned for him. she can feel his heartbeat thrumming against her chest, racing like a terrified rabbit, and sarra rubs her hand over his back in comforting circles. )

Your sense of what constitutes as trouble is kind of fucked, Peter, ( she says eventually, leaning her forehead into the kiss and then taking a step back to examine him more thoroughly. )

Any injuries I need to see to?