Despite running as fast as they could, which to say was pretty much the equivalent of a light jog what with the combination of hopping over dead bodies and fatigue that was easily eating away at them after their bodies were realizing food and water were not things they might ever see again and they'd been out for more than a healthy span of time, Seren could only see the silhouette of their new companion and now sole sufferer of the creature with the face of someone who could've made a<em>killing</em>in the adult film industry. Quite literally, he supposed.<br/><br/>Wracking his brain for ideas was causing a headache at the base of his skull that thrummed the nerves attaching his brain to his spinal cord like a guitar but instead of notes or even vibration he felt pain run up them and cause something similar in his brain. Seeing as the human brain itself could feel no pain, this was quite a feat and more than once he tripped and ended up with a knee in a ribcage or shattering the pelvis of what he supposed had at one point been a little girl, if the pink scraps of cloth attached to the dusty skeletal frame were any indication. Would he ever get used to this sight as long as they survived, looking down and seeing an open catacomb beneath him? Surely even the ones that were, or perhaps now the term 'had been' was more suitable, in Paris were not this bad even if they were underground and in near sewage. At least there you had the option of physically seeing the death and decay of strangers. There was no option here even though they were blessed with only having bones to look at. He might've retched sooner had there been any organs to ogle.<br/><br/>Putting that aside, he had no idea what they could do. They didn't have any holy water and he wasn't sure it would work, considering he wasn't exactly religious, knew Heather wasn't, and Marco's divine morals were still up in the air. And it wasn't like getting a Q-tip to dig in his ear would pull her out like ungodly wax, either. She was<em>inside</em>him doing God-knew-what and he had run off with this bitch in him, only now he could see he'd stopped, his lips moving as he spoke mostly likely to her, body squirming in response to whatever she was doing. He had a good guess.<br/><br/><em>What do we do? What do we do? Whatdowedowhatdowedowhatdowedo?!<br/><br/>Well, bitches do love when you <strong>scream their name.</strong></em><br/><br/>"DECORUS!!!!"<br/><br/>His entire body shuddered from the effort, lungs tightening and shortening his breath in recognition of the power behind the name he'd yelled at the top of his lungs. Was that her name? It sounded familiar, felt familiar, and the taste of its pronunciation was similar to licking salt off a rusted pipe in sweltering heat. Without his knowing he'd halted, his grip on Heather's hand near bone-shattering if he had that sort of physical strength within him. Luckily for her, he didn't.<br/><br/>"Get out of him right now you crusty old hag from the tenth circle of Hell! You don't belong here, agent of chaos!<strong>Get the fuck off my planet before I shove the business end of my $10 sneaker up your pear-shaped ass and kick you into orbit.</strong>"<br/><br/>Waiter? Check, please.