Hinnom is sobbing, Marduk is yelling, and Riccin is staring, and Pheres is still entirely too drunk to try and decipher the look they're giving him.

His clawtips are gold, brighter than the yellowed keratin of the nail proper. He'll feel bad about it later: right now, he's got to make sure he and Hinnom don't die.

Fear keeps him steady as he darts over to the little maroonblood. He's moving as fast as he can, one foot in front of the other, but it feels like he's going entirely too slow. Pheres isn't sure if the rushing sound in his soundsacks is the buzz of drones approaching, or just the blood pulsing in his veins.

Maybe it's both.

"Shh, sh, it's alright," he croons, kneeling down. Hinnom's lusus is twining around his neck, and.. Pheres doesn't know anything about insects. He hopes the way it's looking at him is friendly. "I've got it, it's okay, shh. You're psychic, aren't you? Can you think of a place in the city?"

"Somewhere that's - haah - safe?"