-- @faerietael
ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ ᴏᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴛʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʀᴀɪɴ ʙᴇɢɪɴꜱ…
For a moment, he looks to an endless ceiling, the oil-like droplets forming dark tears over latex. For a moment, The Shape is content to allow the liquid to fill his mask, drowning him in its power...until he remembers. (small fingers in his, eyes like a reflection)
Avoiding the sky's wrath, the figure lurches over, finding quick refuge in a pile of discarded car scraps. She is nearby...
!ᴊᴀᴍɪᴇ!
Just as he had urged her silently time and time again, she has chosen to stay close. Michael sees her shoes sliding in the mud with their neatly tied little bows. With a grunt, The Shape thrusts a hand out of the scrap pile. His fingers open and close with an urgency, hoping to grasp onto her wrist and pull her to safety. They will wait until the entity's rage has calmed. She will not be punished for the failure of others.