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"Keep yer head down, Majesty," Striker growled, holding the injured man as close as he could, hurrying to get to Bombproof. A brawl like this might keep the town fighting for days, and normally Striker wouldn't mind sticking around for at least a few hours of the action, but this--this was Lucifer, wasn't it? Striker had never really spent much time looking at images of the King, but everyone knew Lucifer had an angelic side and was some sort of dainty little cricket of a man, lovely as a glass ornament. He just had never expected to see him here--and certainly never expected to see him hurt.
And shit, maybe this wasn't Lucifer, but either way? The moment Striker saw him go down it had felt like getting kicked hard in the stomach by his best friend. To catch a glimpse of a brilliant light, something pure and shining and somehow more valuable than most other things you'd seen in your life--Striker had a long, long damn resentment towards royals of any ilk, after what he'd lost, so he never would have expected to feel, to care. To need to go in and protect this man.
Shouts and gunshots rang out--they were definitely getting closer. Shit. He whistled loudly, hoping his idiot friend hadn't gone off somewhere... thank fuck, there he was. Sparks flying from every hoofbeat, Bombproof came racing around a building.
"This is my Hellste--" At an angry roar from the creature, Striker rolled his eyes. "Fine, have it your damn way. My honse," fuck it was embarrasing to call him a Honse, the fuck even was a honse, "Bombproof. Just hang on to me and keep your head tucked in close. You're gonna be alright, I've got you." He swung up into the saddle, holding his beautiful burden close, and then Bombproof was off like a damn shot, racing away into the desert.
"How bad you hurt?"
Carried to Safety ☠ - @doublejango (Striker)
The Wrath Ring is still a vast and unexplored landscape for the blue seraph, the heat worse there than even the Pride Ring. Having chosen to fledge the safety of Lucifer’s palace and the hotel to further expand his Hell experience, Lucid teleported down to the desert of Wrath. Spotting a quaint little town still stuck in the old western ways, the angel took on the form of a fellow imp to blend in. Immediately this place is far more interesting and personable than Pentagram City, to which Lucid goes to take full advantage of.
Greeting the resident imps and asking them dozens of questions. The looks they gave clearly identified this bubbly critter to be a “city slicker”, but thankfully for Lucid several of them took him up on his inquiries. It was in the midsts of asking two of them about the towns establishment and history when gunfire and the sound of hooves galloping against the hard, bone dry earth disrupted them. A group of outlaws arriving in town to stake their claims.
Unbeknownst to Lucid, the townsfolk were not going to lie down belly up. Every single one of them owned at least one fire arm or a knife, even the imp children. Within seconds the whole town and gang were at each other’s throats and firing bullets every which way. The imp disguised angel made the attempt to seek shelter and hide, hunkering down behind the side of a building. His shelter did not last long as one ruffian was sent flying into the side of the towns water tower. The old wooden stilts and rusted metal groaned, splintering as it collapsed. Like a domino effect it crashed onto of a building which erupted and smashed into the building beside it. Next thing Lucid knew a torrent of water rushed down the center of town before the building he hid beside collapsed atop him.
Knocked unconscious, Lucid reverts back to his angelic form and laid sprawled where he is felled. The seraph may never know if any of the towns folk saw his true form, but someone certainly did. And now bleary eyes fight to open, Lucid’s head aching from the wallop. Do angels get concussions? His halo sounds like it is ringing 5 times louder than usual. Finally getting himself to look, the angel is stunned to see he is in the arms of an imp adorning a cowboy hat, bandana and whole western git up.
“Ow…wha happened? Who ‘re you?”