The Untold Story of Texas and Lappland (Arknights)

Chaos in Lungmen

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BOOM!

The shot glasses they left on the bar table fell to the floor. Glass shattered with its sickening sound, the remaining drops of alcohol draining out onto the tile floor. She counted them both lucky they'd been behind the bar, curled up together. No part of her expected things to escalate as far as they had, for Mostima's chaste kisses to turn wild. She also hadn't expected to be bodily dragged over behind the bar for an impromptu make out session, or for all those kisses to turn into grabby hands all over her torso and chest, hands slipping beneath her shirt as she was ravished within an inch of her life. Her bangs cut off half her vision as she panted, a web of saliva stretching between them as they parted.

"Somethings wrong." Mostima commented.

"Yeah, no sh*t Mosti. What's going on?" She tried to recover those lost breaths of air, her whole body panting. Being pressed up against cabinets hadn't been the most comfortable position, something she felt with more clarity as her neck twinged and wings groaned their discomfort with small pulses of light.

"If I had to guess I'd say it's those Reunion people I keep hearing about." Mostima sat up, weight rocking backward. Exusiai knew she was flushing for the second time when her brain finally caught up with where the fallen angel was. Straddling her lap, those blue eyes twinkled with mischief. She knew exactly what she was doing to her and was very proud of it, one of those daring hands still tucked underneath her shirt.

"Heh. Yeah, that sounds about right, but, um, would you mind getting off?" She asked.

"I thought you liked me here though? You certainly seemed to think so a minute ago." Mostima murmured, squeezing at the barely pudgy stomach she had. A flutter of feeling knotted there, more discomfort as a laugh was kept back. This really wasn't the time for giggling.

"Mosti!" She huffed angrily.

"Okay okay! I'll stop." Mostima got off fully, helping her back onto her feet. There was smoke spilling around the street corners, attempting to obscure the view from their windows.

But it failed miserably.

The vendor carts that remained in the evening hours were in tatters, people rushing around like chickens with their heads cut off (A/N: fun fact, apparently chickens can survive getting their head cut off . . . the more you know🐔🐓). The screams were just barely outdone by the sound of explosions. Hooded figures with masks on strolled the street like it was their personal playground. The armbands they wore were unmistakable. Her gut twisted as she realized what was going on. She rushed with Mostima to the front door, watching the chaos right outside their window.

But they aren't supposed to be in this sector. So why . . .

"We've got to do something." Exusiai breathed, unsure what else to say. There seemed to be no real coordination between the Reunion members, almost as though they too were fleeing the scene. Except they weren't, and she could tell as much by the way blood slipped off those poised blades, the swordsman who had fire dancing along theirs were dressed in a murderous red.

"And pray tell what exactly would that be? If we go in recklessly we're as good as dead," Mostima's assessment was blunt but honest.

"I know. But we can't just sit here and do nothing." Exusiai murmured.

"Is there anyone we can call?" Mostima asked, twirling her staff. Power stemmed from the tip, the chrono energy difficult for most to truly understand. What exactly did stopping time entail, and how did arts like Mostima's make is possible? She was as clueless as the standard onlooker. Because there were some secrets never shared.