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[thunderproof]

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[thieving]

You'll have to pick up a couple more, then.

[ He'll speak whatever he wants!! Earth English! Brahmese! Venusian! He's got a lot! ]

My very own knights in shining armor, a very hard deal to pass up, but if I don't come out in time, I want you to leave.

These aren't people we want to fight head on right now.

[thunderproof]

I'm not sure I have the space available in my brain for it, to be honest. I'll have to see if I can clear out some room between "candlekeep's cataloging system" and "how to manipulate the Weave".

Leave? As in leave you entirely behind with no hope of rescue and no idea if you'll come out?

Absolutely not.

[thieving]

If I have room for the Callistan Waltz or Martian Foxtrot, you have it in you to squeeze in a few more languages.

And yes, that is precisely what I mean. I want you to leave. Depart. Vamoose. Skedaddle. Scoot.

Only if I don't make it out within that time. I assure you that I'm 99.99999999999998% certain I will succeed.

[thunderproof]

Stop making up words, Peter.

It's that 0.0000000000002% I'm worried about. You have a very high opinion of your abilities, brother, and no desire to think about the possibility of failure.

I will not be scooting.

[thieving]

No time to linger on the prospect of failure, darling.

I gave you other options to choose from! Skedaddling! Departing! Vamoosing! You have choices, isn't that grand?

[thunderproof]

If you think I'll just abandon you to your fate when there's even the slightest possibility I could help I don't think you know me very well.

I'm at the western side of the complex and I see the box.

[thieving]

It doesn't stop me from hoping that one day you'll heed my advice.

Good good, open it up and give the entire thing a good jolt. No need to be delicate about it. That should be enough to take out the complex at least until the back up generator tries to boot itself up.

In that time, I should be on my way to you.

[thunderproof]

If I never listened to Nolan and Xavier I probably won't be listening to you.

As soon as I send this, I'll zap the box and go to the rendezvous point. If you are not there in exactly seven minutes and forty three seconds, Charis and I will be coming after you.

Good luck, Peter.

( and with a rather powerful spark, their seven minutes and forty three seconds have begun. )

[thieving]

Why is it that I fill my life with such a stubborn lot?

[ he doesn't respond to the last bit. luck is something he tries to avoid relying on, even if in the end, sometimes he just happens to be incredibly lucky. whether or not this entity of "luck" finds him fitting to cling to, well, that's completely up to it.

it takes some doing and peter is certainly cutting it close by seconds, but his escape route doesn't fail him (one of too many, some woulds say, one of just the right number peter would correct.) seconds to spare, peter is sprinting towards sarra's familiar shape behind the building, all smiles and teeth.

forty-two... forty-three... ]

There she is, [ he laughs. ] My hero, in the flesh.

[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?