In retrospect, Rowan shouldn’t have been surprised everything went to shit the minute she stepped backstage. Offdensen had told her as much, and despite living about as far off the grid as possible- she was familiar with Dethklok and their reputation. The smell of blood and electricity was heavy in the air as she sprinted past Offdensen, catching his nod out of the corner of her eye.
Though not a true Gear - unbranded and un-brainwashed - she wore a similar uniform, though with long sleeves and gloves, and the hood tucked into her back pocket as there hadn’t been time to put it on. A shower of sparks came down on her as she barreled onstage, and she brushed them off with a yelp of pain.
Other Klokateers were escorting the Skiwsgaar and Toki, Murderface was already making a beeline for Offdensen. Jogging over to Nathan, she grabbed his arm, pulling the much larger- and very surprised man to face her.
“Where’s Pickles?” The redheaded drummer was nowhere to be seen amid the smoke and fire that had begun to lick at the stage. A shrug was the only response, and the smaller woman used her staff to point to the exit Klokateers protected.
“Then go- I’ll find him.” Vaulting over a fallen beam towards the drum set up. He couldn’t have gone far- could he? “Shit!” She yelped as a twisted piece of steel crashed to the stage beside her, much to close for comfort. “Pickles?” Calling into the smoke, she wound through the rubble, searching for telltale red hair.