[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]With everything going to shit so quickly inside the walls of the Observatory, some sort of meeting on behalf of the seraph was somewhat pleasant. For once Zjarr got his head out of his ass and trudged over to the Circle upon Bastilleprisoner's call, no longer occupied by the forging of weapons and deafened by the noise of crackling flames and crashing metal. There were more urgent matters to attend to, and as much as he tried to steer clear of the general population of the Ascendants, he had no other choice than to cooperate at this point. There was no use becoming a complete shut-in: that would lead to utter insanity. And quite frankly he felt that it was already kicking in.

Well, there wasn't much entailed in the meeting that the cyborg wolf didn't expect to hear. Rationing food, checking notes on the whole system, splitting into groups to piece everything together and come up with an escape plan. Of course they had to work together to find a way out. And he assumed that he'd have to pitch in eventually. "Hmm, noted. Ah, sorry if now ain't the time to bring this up, but, uh, I'm not in any of the, erm, groups you mentioned. Any particular one I oughtta squeeze into?" The demon loathed the thought of becoming dead weight. Even when he was crippled he still sought out to assist his old Clan, no matter the pain that came with immobility. And he didn't care what he had to do in order to become another set of hands (or paws, rather) in the operation. He just had to do something to keep himself occupied.

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