[PUNCH CLOCK ANIMAL] ASHTRAY

[skinstealer]

Derry’s already gone by the time both of them look around, not slowing down for a second. It knows their breather won’t last long, and Chelsea’s stunt can only buy them so much time. That kind of magic slows her down and exhausts her, and it’s seen her wear herself down time after time on the job…

She needs a weapon, and Derry’s determined to find one. 



A pile of raffle prizes lays by one of the tables, ready and waiting for the charity event. One stands out among the rest- a long gift, wrapped in fancy paper and topped in a curved head. It’s the closest thing to a staff it can find, and it’ll have to do.



Derry breaks out into a run, as fast as it possibly can. It’s not the first time it’s had to run, but a crowd this large is terrifying to the pinitelle, the people behind it seemingly swelling into a mass. A lone target is easier as far as they’re concerned, and Derry’s bright colors catch the attention of more and more people. 



With silent coordination, a clawed hand manages to grab Derry by the ankle and slam it into the ground. It flails and shakes as much as possible to try and keep the crowd from swallowing it but there's only so much one can do against a mass of people so large. Its voice is shaking as it calls out, having trouble getting any kind of volume out of its throat.

  

DERRY: H-help, please! 
DERRY: I’m caught-

Out of some miracle, it’s released with a series of shrieks and scowls as Bucket bursts in from the crowd with their makeshift shank in hand.
 

BUCKET: I have you covered! Go!

  

 
Derry manages to make it into the larger mass, grabbing the package and praying that it resembles a scythe enough to be useful to Chelsea. 
 

DERRY: Chelsea! CHELSEA!

 

 
Chelsea whips her head up from twisting an attacker into a horrible pile, already looking more exhausted. Derry leans back, winding up to throw the staff and sending it sailing over the crowd.
 

 
Chelsea runs for it and barely catches it in time, just narrowly avoiding it falling into someone else’s hands. 
 

 
She fumbles and rips a scrap out of the twisted mess of a person on the ground, making a face as she gets splattered. She hated doing this kind of thing more than anything, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, she’s pretty damn desperate.
 

 
The scrap coils around the package, the wrapping paper bursting off of it as the meat shapes into...
 

 
...a rather sharply edged horse on a stick. Derry winces slightly at its choice, Chelsea giving it a tired but at least somewhat appreciative look.
 

DERRY: S-sorry!

 
Something’s going to have to be better than nothing. 
 

 

BAZIL: Nice toy, guys! 
BAZIL: Think you can get anything done with that piece of shit?
CHELSEA: Not now, Bazil-

  

 
Before she can snark back at the pockitt, he’s sucked into the crowd. 
 

CHELSEA: For fuck’s sake…
DERRY: I’m coming over! I-I can help!
CHELSEA: You’re going to need to hurry it up, then!