Brock and Mikael strolled along the streets of downtown, leaving the Unsavory Unicorn behind, Mikael pointing out various noteworthy sites of interest. Brock felt most of it bouncing off the warm fog still blanketing his mind, his attention focused on not falling over. For some reason he couldn't quite seem to keep his balance, and it made him giggle.

"-what? I can assure you, the headquarters of the Honored And Venerable Order Of Chess Combat is no laughing matter, you uncultured clod."

Brock looked over at Mikael's slightly flushed face, shadowed beneath his upturned hoodie.

"Oh, uhhh, I wasn' laughing at... whatever it was you were saying," he burbled, flopping a hand on Mikael's shoulder. "'s just, my legs. Wanna go wibbly. Heh." He tried to sit down to take a rest, but Mikael kept him upright.

"Sheesh, what a lightweight," Mikael huffed, moving Brock's arm over his shoulders and wrapping his own across Brock's back in support. Together the two continued lurching down the street. "Lucky it's me on close support 'n not Fiona. She'd carry you like the princess you are."

"'m not a princess," Brock declared grandly, pushing away from Mikael and twirling in a circle past an alleyway. "Imma Brock. Brock Manl-"

Blinding light flared, an engine revved, and Brock felt a crunching impact. Bewildered, he stared up at the bottom of the Yggdrasil as he speared across the street, narrowly missing multiple vehicles that honked, yowled, and swiped at him, passed through an inexplicable gap in the omnipresent crowds of pedestrians, before another crunch left him stuck in darkness amidst what felt like stone, arms pinned to his sides. He flailed his legs for a second, then decided to wait for Mikael to fix whatever had gone wrong with reality this time.

Sure enough, seconds later, he heard a familiar voice.

"...kid! Kid, you okay?"

"Hrmmrph?"

A strong grip encircled his ankles, and then Brock was hauled out in a shower of stone chips and dust, sprawling unceremoniously on his butt to the pavement. Dazed, he spat out some masonry and looked up at Mikael.

"...wha' happened?"

"Fiona, sitrep," Mikael barked into the magiphone hovering in front of his face, sword out and scanning the street. A knot of curious onlookers were starting to gather around the pair, most with magiphones out in camera mode, but the overall atmosphere still seemed tranquil. Brock felt almost disappointed that there wasn't a swarm of killer magmabees or something equally ludicrous descending upon them.

"What in Narlock's green dick was that? That truck appeared out of nowhere! And did you see how he flew?"

Fiona's voice was equal parts confusion, anger, and barely restrained laughter.

"Do you have eyes on the attacker?"

"It disappeared, Mika! Straight up vanished after nailgunning the rookie across the road... which looked fucking amazing, by the way, can I post this on-"

"Are there hostiles in the area or not," Mikael whisper-screamed, magiphone rotating with his movements, still whipping his head back and forth to survey the crowd which was waiting around to see if anything else was going to develop.

"There's nothing in the area that shouldn't be there, just like there was nothing in the area until that truck materialized. I'm serious, Mika, one second it was empty alley, next second, it was there. Didn't trip any of the sensors or skills. Just, boom. Instant body dart, same as last night. Hey, speaking of, can you share the perspective from your-"

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Mikael stabbed at his magiphone with a snarl, cutting off the communication with Fiona. He looked down at Brock, who was sadly fingering one of several long tears in his dark leather coat, then slammed his katana back into its scabbard and regarded the interested spectators.

"Do something funny," someone catcalled. "I missed the first bit!"

"Please disperse," Mikael replied tiredly, raising his voice and waving his magiphone at the crowd. "Nothing to see here. Official Cat Squad business."

Several minutes and half-hearted boos later, Brock and Mikael were relatively alone once more, for a given value of "alone" that incorporated the massive waves of people and traffic still flowing up and down the street. Mikael helped Brock brush off the remainder of the rubble from his upper body and hauled him to his feet. The wall was already repairing itself, small glowing runes crawling into the Brock-sized hole and filling it in with soft pops. Mikael took one last glance around the area, then dragged Brock away from his fascinated study of the repair magic and back into motion.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what that was?" he asked peevishly. Brock shrugged. "Figures," Mikael sighed. "Well, at least no one got hurt." His eyes narrowed. "Which is somewhat suspicious itself..." He pulled his magiphone back out and tapped it several times, then put it back in his pocket. "Definitely taking a look at that tomorrow," he muttered, leading Brock up a wide set of stairs, across a small park shrouded in shadows, and then back onto another street.

The people walking this one were just a little bit louder, and every so often Brock caught the glint of metal around a neck. He straightened up slightly, almost tripping himself, and looked at Mikael.

"Is this-"

"Sekkie District, kid," Mikael said softly, tugging his hood closer over his head. Somehow his katana had vanished from his back, but Brock swore there was a ghostly shimmer that looked like a blade still there. "Let's get you home."

Bemused, Brock drunkenly followed the swordsman down a tree-lined avenue that seemed incredibly familiar. A pair of double doors to his right blasted open with the force of the body ejecting through them, locust glitters of hidden eyes tracking his passage behind the explosion. Brock found his swimming thoughts drawn to the figure beneath his feet, multiple bruises blossoming on a battered face, and then he gazed back into the abyss.

"That's, uhhh, the High Sc-"

"Ignore it, kid," Mikael growled, face set forward. "Day's been long enough already."

Brock left the penetrating stares behind the closing chipped panels, stumbling to catch up with Mikael's rapidly accelerating stride. After what felt like several endless blocks chasing the silent hooded figure through laughing faceless masses, he bounced off a tree, and something small smacked him straight between the eyes.

"Oww, what the he- oh, hey Seymour."

Brock waved sloppily at the chittering two-tailed furbeast halfway through the process of flinging another projectile.

"...ow. Well, uhhh, good night to you too."

Somehow Brock found his thumb on a biosig panel, Mikael helping keep him upright. As he oozed into the firefly-lit foyer, he thought he heard Mikael saying something, but that was silly, wasn't it, because Mikael was just as him as drunk, right?

"Just dropping him off, Lady Razoralia... yes, my apologies for the impropriety... yes, we're treating him properly... no, you don't need to engage your 'modesty protocols'... yes, thank you, Lady Razoralia."

Brock spiralled around a swirling staircase twice ascending, feet trudging upward automatically. Fireflies shifted naturally away from his hand on the ivy-lined bannister, hindlegs rubbing slowly at their gently glowing abdomens. He bumped into Mikael's back in a short hallway with two doors, a darkened window somewhat visible past the hooded head.

Brock hiccoughed, then looked down instinctively.

"Heh. That's where we got sucked into the penentagramma thing. And, and," he pointed to the right, "that's Aphrodite's room. Hey," Brock leaned on Mikael's shoulder heavily, "we should see if she's home. Back from work, 'n stuff. See if she's okay."

"Let's get you into your bed first, champ," Mikael replied, rolling his eyes. Brock felt his hand guided to another cool panel, and then the door on the left side of the hallway opened.

"Thas right," Brock slurred as Mikael hoisted him through a blurred melange of walls and furniture, "this's my house now. You're, uhhh, a good friend, Mikael." The soft embrace of a puffy-blanket covered mattress welcomed him into its drowning clutches. "A real... good... friend..."

The silver-haired swordsman looked down at the snoring figure laying half-off the bed, shook his head silently, then exited the room.

"This fucking kid..."