Arsenic was quite busy this evening, holed up in his corner of the Gray Wings' base. He was carefully using a set of teeth held vial tongs to combine a rather delicate mixture, to be more precise.

Exactly the wrong time for Collapse's blasted molten dragon bat to dive through the doorway, hissing out a small plume of smoke - and for - who was it- Whetstone's? - hawk to swoop in on his tail, screeching and swooping directly for Arsenic's face.

"The FUCK are you on about-" Arsenic scrambled back, trying to tilt the vial tongs up so as not to pour too much while he was being assailed and jostled - was the bloody hawk trying to get a hold of the bat?

His attempts to right the pour was too little too late - extra precious, faintly crackling fluid dropped into the large beaker with a sharp fizzling sound, and Arsenic dove to body block the majority of his supplies -

KHRRZZTT. A horrible, awful sound to accompany the explosion.

When the smoke cleared, face half-covered in soot, Arsenic whirled on the quarreling animals, pushing a front knee up to pin the assailing hawk to the stonework wall.

"What is your ISSUE-" He shifted his gaze downwards, and spotted a scrap of paper loosely tied to the hawks leg, and used his teeth and lips to carefully untie it, letting it unfurl on the floor.

'Emergency. Accident. The furnace. Whetstone hurt. Surgical table ready.' - C.

Arsenic swore again, to himself instead of the animals this time, and half covered in ash, set to clearing one of his tables.

----------------

Whetstone had been haphazardly slung over Phoebe's back - he was certainly small enough -, one distinctly shorter hind-leg tied up in some large swatch of fabric Collapse had provided, spotting dark red. He wheezed faintly, and only half awake, wished he was home.

Home was the Gray wings' nest - home was- ... Collapse was still here. Collapse was near at hand, always seeming to lear and loom at him from the blurry shadows whenever he opened his eyes. Home was Lapse's domain.

Whetstone was afraid. Of the courser walking to the right of the sturdy Phoebe hauling him, of - of home, where he reigned with near absolute word. He could hear his own frantic heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his chest, in his LEG -

He- He had to go home. It- It must be alright. It must've been important. If it hadn't been important, he wouldn't have done it, surely...?

He wasn't sure.

So he had to make himself sure. Whetstone's thoughts slowly slipped into override, trying to explain, trying to find a good reason why - why he'd -

Why Lapse had taken from him. There was, as of yet, no answer hunted out from the depths.