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Music — dancing upon his wish, every Civilian at the magician's beck and call. Loyal fans cheering at the movement of his fingertips, octave raising at the product of what the movement resulted in. Honestly, you fully believed that if Artful pursued music beyond the lackluster music boxes he summons, this entire crowd could be his back up singers with enough practice. You were watching by the sidelines, his assistant. Well, unofficially. You were moreso an old friend who assisted him in the case of things going wrong behind the scenes, as he didn't have the finances in order to hire you - nor the necessity, as it wasn't like the stadium was filled up at every corner.
Well, after what happened, that was an understatement.
Blood littered the grass, the wood of the stage, splattering against the already red curtains in a weird mesh. It was a horrifying sight, and you barely had time to process it before you were ushered away. It had been so long since that incident, and with the stunning lack of clocks in the bunker you were escorted into, you didn't know exactly how long. Nowadays, you roamed with your teammates - attempting to find food, occasional Civilians to assist, and any semblance of supplies that would assist you and your Civilian friends in their travel.
You mostly managed. You weren't too helpful, but someone everybody knew they could rely on if it came down to it. You had good reads on mostly every situation, and knew proper getaways if the time called. However, your allies did not. They split up (foolishly), and you treaded down the grassy outing, disappointment finding it's way into your mind. Just before you had any luck finding them, your thoughts were instantly cleared upon the sound of gunshots and yelling. Instantly rushing to the scene, entering a church littered with graffiti about how "god abandoned us", as well as peering through one of the tinted windows, you saw Artful and some gunslingers leaving the vicinity. He was deeply wounded, but had managed to shield himself with a wall granted from thin air...
"...I know someone is there. You do not fool me."
His voice suddenly rang out behind the glass, perpetually closed eyes looking more exhausted than ever. It was an all too familiar sight -- reminiscent of when he used to clock out after his magic shows and leave you to deal with his complaining.
"Mon Dieu, i-if you're going to kill me, just finish it off already. I.." His typically theatrical voice cracked, trying to find the source of his assumption. "I don't believe... I have much to assist me, anymore.."
I told you before — you knew better than anyone perfect getaways. Here you were, stood above your old friend from so long ago. Injured, bloodied with a bullet perched into him. Do you take that getaway? Or do you stay, and, god forbid—help the psychopath who killed everyone?