Can you hear them crying? [Open to anyone who wants to help]
WHO: Kurama, Hakkai, and probably Gojyo
WHAT: Chaos at Paradise Blossoms.
WHERE: Paradise Blossoms, in the Market District
WHEN: After the explosions.
Kurama sprinted down the streets of Rivelata, the air thick with smoke, embers drifting from the burning buildings and charring the fabric of his new tunic. And still, all he could think about were the plants at the shop, and to hope that they had escaped the worst of the damage.
He really couldn't have been more wrong.
As he rounded the corner, and the shop came into sight, he cried out in anguish. The front of Paradise Blossoms had nearly been decimated with shrapnel, the plants out front torn and tattered, dying in their broken pots.
And that wasn't the worst of it. Behind the shattered front window, flames licked at the wood framework, and Kurama's hands shook as the silent cries filled his head.
They were dying. The plants were dying, choked with smoke and heat, and he had to do something.
Running to the spigot in the front of the shop, he snatched up a stray bucket - ignoring how the heated metal scorched the skin of his palms - filled it with water, and drenched himself to fend off the worst of the flames before moving for the door.
WHAT: Chaos at Paradise Blossoms.
WHERE: Paradise Blossoms, in the Market District
WHEN: After the explosions.
Kurama sprinted down the streets of Rivelata, the air thick with smoke, embers drifting from the burning buildings and charring the fabric of his new tunic. And still, all he could think about were the plants at the shop, and to hope that they had escaped the worst of the damage.
He really couldn't have been more wrong.
As he rounded the corner, and the shop came into sight, he cried out in anguish. The front of Paradise Blossoms had nearly been decimated with shrapnel, the plants out front torn and tattered, dying in their broken pots.
And that wasn't the worst of it. Behind the shattered front window, flames licked at the wood framework, and Kurama's hands shook as the silent cries filled his head.
They were dying. The plants were dying, choked with smoke and heat, and he had to do something.
Running to the spigot in the front of the shop, he snatched up a stray bucket - ignoring how the heated metal scorched the skin of his palms - filled it with water, and drenched himself to fend off the worst of the flames before moving for the door.