Mayme just nodded slowly as she began to tug her shawl tight over her shoulders. Her body shook and her breathing grew more erratic. She tried to focus on the feeling of the gun– Elisabeth— pressed to her back under her corset. Tried to convince herself that it would somehow be her saviour, no matter how little she actually believed it. Pecival did not seem to notice her distress, or perhaps just did not see it fit to do anything about it due to it not being an immediate issue.

“Come.” He demanded as he carried on the direction they were headed before the little distraction.

She followed Percival through the streets. The whispers that once floated in the air were gone. The only sounds the girl could hear was her blood coursing through her head and the moans and groans from beasts that seemed to echo from everywhere, however Mayme was unsure if those were real or if they were simply her mind playing tricks on her. The stench of blood emanated off the man’s clothes, but again Mayme could not tell if that was real or not. It smelled like old coins after they had been held in a particular sweaty hand for a while. Due to her bloodline such things usually smelled better, but this time it was nauseating. It must have been in her head.

Percival, however, was still unfazed, he carried onward without even a hint of worry. Not even slightly perturbed by the blood he had spilled. Not as if he feared beasts normally, nor was he bothered by culling them, however he would have normally had some kind of reaction to his actions. Being the protector of a frail young lady most definitely aided in his cool, collected demeanour that night. He glanced back at the girl. She was still clearly rattled. She looked clammy and pale and she was still breathing with quick gasps. Of course, he thought, she did have a poor constitution, after all. So in the softest, most gentle voice he could manage, he spoke— it was just barely above a whisper. “May, if you need comfort feel free to grab onto my cloak or sleeve, just do not forget to let go if we’re threatened.”

Mayme looked at the cloak. The tired, torn threads existed just enough to see a vow to kill her kind as a murmur. She didn’t want to touch him— not his sleeve, nor his cloak, but something stirred in the back of her mind. A small voice that demanded she do so— not for comfort, as he would have suggested, but for her own protection. He thought her fears stemmed from the monstrosities that plagued the city, not him. She wanted him to keep thinking as much, and what better way to prove it than to act as if she seeked the comfort he offered. What better way to endear herself to him.

Her stomach lurched at the idea, but regardless she reached for his cloak. As much as the dreaded thing made her want to wretch it put more distance between her and him than his sleeve would have. It was rough and scratchy in her hands, like burlap. Tiny threads and needle-like stray fabrics poked at her, but that did not deter her from balling her fists so tight her knuckles turned bone white. When Percival felt the sharp, unnatural movement of his cloak he could not help but spare yet another glance back. A smirk creeped upon his lips. It seemed to cement his assumptions about her. His amusement hinted that he thought this action was bold and needy of her, as if he had not been the one to suggest it. With a touch more pride and confidence in his stride, he continued to lead them.

Oddly enough, the streets were relatively quiet compared to most nights. Bar the few beasts they had slain earlier in the evening, it was utterly desolate. Eerily so. Mayme had no idea that was the case, she simply assumed the city was less affected than her podunk lane that seemed to be infested by comparison. However, Percival definitely had noticed something was off. Instead of being thankful he found himself disquieted and perplexed. Of course he wanted to show off to Mayme, but that was not the main reason for his feelings either. While he pondered the reasons behind the situation Mayme spoke up.

”We’re headed towards the main gate, aren’t we? The one that leads into the inner city?” She inquired in a hushed tone.

”Of course, darling,” he said.

She scrunched her nose at the pet name but decided ultimately it was best to simply heed it as little mind as possible. ”But… Isn’t it locked?”

”Of course, I might be older but I can still manage to scale a wall if I must.”

”Oh…” She suddenly felt mighty foolish for not even thinking that was an option. Right. She probably could have arranged some things and gotten up and over that damned thing. However, then she would have been alone. Alone with only five bullets… even if she had made it on the path home, who was to say she’d be able to get as far as her doorstep.

”Don’t worry, I understand you probably cannot. I’ll find a way to lift you over,” Percival mused, assuming the falling of her expression was due to her lack of ability. He chuckled at the thought; amused by the scenario his brain conjured up of watching her struggle in feeble attempts to make it over the wall. Would her little feet kick and her dress fly about as her arms failed to raise her? Would he grab her waist to lift her? Would he have to help push her up and over by pushing her bottom? Thoughts that only seemed to rack his mind, as Mayme glanced around for things she could possibly bring over to aid her in scaling the wall if she had to.

As they turned and the gate came into view his queries were quickly washed away. In between them and the heart of the city lay nothing but a corpse of a beast, shot dead and cold, and an open gate inviting them deeper. Percival’s breath caught in his lungs at the sight as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Why had there not been many beasts along their way? They simply were elsewhere.

Mayme peered out from behind him, for he had paused without noticing. Though she did not understand in full the horror of an open gate she did feel the dread that seemed to seep off her so called protector and it eclipsed her confusion. Her eyes flicked up to try and read his face. He, however, kept it strong and neutral. The only indication outwardly anything was wrong was the sweat collecting on his brow.

“Percival,” she started in a breath, but the cloak knotted in her hands reminded her to be endearing, ”P…Percy?” She started over, clutching the cloak to her chest.

His trace broke and he looked back to the young woman. He lightly ruffled her hair with a large, blood stained hand leaving her fringe in disarray. “Don’t look so worried, May. I’ll protect you, promise, aight? Shall we go?