The smoke laced the air in a thin spiral and slowly snaked its way to Melat, who had been advancing at a steady pace. The moment it drifted to her nose, she froze in place. Her grimacing smile, stretching her cheeks so wide that her pink gums had been entirely exposed to them, smoothed away until she was glowering down at the two with a stony expression, and a lance of fear skewered Pari's stomach. Somehow, her lack of expression was worse than the grin. "Feo..."

Pari shook off the shock that was starting to sink into her bones, especially because it was accompanied by a stir of ever-present guilt. Well. If she was going to feel guilty, she might as well stave off until she'd done all the depraved things that needed doing.
"Not yet." the princess snarled, stalking forward and past him, up the staircase, with seemingly little hesitation. She approached Melat like a bull upon a matador, but instead of goring the demon with a horn, she used the kitchen blade that had been tucked into her hand. It was about half the length of her forearm and she took a quick gasp for air before gripping the base with two hands and plunging it upwards, through Melat's chest, where she felt the pushback of ribs and nearly retched at the feel-- but Pari forged on, shoving as hard as she could until she could shove no longer, until the blade was stuck so fast that gravity would not pull it back down. Her hands were covered in blood, but it was black. Melat didn't utter a single noise in response.

"Feofil," she ground out again, heart sinking at the tension in his face, the paleness of his cheeks and his trembling hands. "Don't do this."

He was pushing himself too hard. She'd seen what happened to Krill, what happened to any of the Lumanliscs when they submitted to whatever high it was that Altair seemed to give them. They were glorious in that moment, but the ensuing days of bleeding from every orifice and puking up even the thinnest of broths and near-death experiences, not to mention all the demons, were enough of a drawback to leave her glad she wasn't one of them. If Melat didn't kill him, this express of power would, and Pari wasn't going to sit around and play damsel in distress in the meantime - especially when he hadn't even groveled sufficiently, yet.
Every thought churned more anger in her stomach. Anger and fear in doubles, then triples, and then in such great amounts that it felt like armor encasing her ribs, squeezing them too tight, crushing her heart in the process. Melat with her beastly expression and her too-long limbs. Feofil, only feet away from the monster, willing to sacrifice himself first, either not realizing or not caring that this meant Pari would be subjected to the horror of watching the demon tear him to ribbons of meat and bone and skin. "Stop." she issued again, but this time her voice was full. It echoed through the foyer, bouncing off the wood-paneled walls, crashing into both Feofil and Melat. She saw the moment it took possession; saw him drop his hands, eyes still wide and frenzied. But Melat...
Melat was frozen. She was inches away from the first step off the floor, still leaning dangerously forward, still wearing that solemn expression that promised a painful death. But she had stopped.

“Okay,” Saskia frowned. “I guess it’s okay. Your uncles and I got into our share of trouble and we turned out fine.”
“We’ll add some no-slip mats to the stairs,” Roo offered. “Feofil, do you mind if Gio and I run upstairs to… check the fuselage? We want to make sure the storm didn’t knock anything else out.”
“Parisa,” Saskia said in the meantime as Pari came to stand next to her son. She placed her hands on the princess’s shoulders and scolded, “What are you wearing? Aren’t you cold?”
“Tyrneamitore.” Pari explained. “Kyros isn’t the only one that runs hot.”
“If you say so… still, we don’t want the kingdom’s crown jewel getting a cold.”
“Thanks, Saski.”

“I just popped in to say hi, Kyros has me tailing Sparrow all day and she gave me the day off.” Saskia laughed. “Actually, she forced me.”
“What, he doesn’t trust her?” Pari derided. Saskia’s eyes brightened. “Not at all, you know what he’s like. He only agreed to my coming here because he needed me to check up on you two.”
“Sure, he has to make sure we’re not plotting against him.”

She looked at him scowlingly, but dropped her shoulders. “… fine.”
“Fine?” Saskia had been preparing for a lot more pushback. “Really? Okay, I can… just give me a minute and I’ll get it set up.”

"I've got all my important bits." she joked, but her expression was unchanged and somber, and her voice grew quiet. "... I put a knife through its gut."

Kyros had done much worse in his life, so she knew he wouldn't condemn her for her violence. In fact, he might have been the one person who understood, who could... commiserate.
At the same time, it wasn't a good look for the woman accused of putting a knife in the old queen's back to have put a knife through the stomach of a demon. She exhaled softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a tired hand.

Pari swallowed dryly as Melat shuddered against whatever Feofil was doing. She watched in terror as the demon crept closer despite his efforts, its eyes wide and intent, jerking forward in uncanny strides. “Stop,” she told Feo. He was wearing himself out. “It’s not working.”

She ducked down a little. “Can we go somewhere a little less out in the open?”

"No," she shuddered, adding, "And don't touch me, I'm covered in goop." but she turned around to lean against him anyways, too exhausted and afraid to summon her constant simmer of anger with him. She did hold her hands aloft behind his back so as not to drip black blood all over his clothes, though it was getting on the floor.