Burn Bridges, Not Witches

~one~

'Comhaireamh ar gcúl'. Count backwards.

She'd tattooed the words on her forearm just in case she ended up in public when the panic struck. She wanted to be prepared in the event that she couldn't get to safety. In the event she lost control. In an event like this one. It was the last thing she could remember reading before the world around her stopped.

If an onlooker were to pause their shopping long enough to hazard a glance at the scene before them, they would most likely find no fault. Amidst the chaos that was New York City the sight of a rather tall ginger girl leaning over the side of a fruit stall was hardly noteworthy. Being able to remain inconspicuous was a skill Saoirse (ser.SHUH) Revy took pride in. Even when she lost control over her mind she made it a point to give those around her no reason to stare. She could hear Nadia's voice in her head. "Back straight, head down, don't let them see your eyes." She mentally thanked her teacher for insisting on showing her how to blend in as her senses began to slip.

First her vision went. What was once a sack of some sort of grain (mustard seed, if she had to guess) was slowly fading out of focus. Yellow slowly began to spread out, covering her vision. The people whisking across her peripheral began blurring together like damp watercolor.

'100... 99... 98...'

Next went her hearing. The usual market chatter sharpening into a screech. Hagglers everywhere screaming out in an attempt to advertise their wares in an unfamiliar tongue. Voices laid atop voices, forming a high-pitched ringing that was doing nothing to soothe her budding headache.

'97... 96... 95...'

Lastly, her balance began to falter. Heavy muscles compacted down onto locked-out knees and elbows, pitching her forward. She leaned further onto the slats of the stall hoping to support her weight. Using the last of her wits she quickly placed her hands on the edge of the wood panelling, her lackluster balance outweighing the risk of splinters.

'94... 93... 92... 91... 90...'

She needed outside stimulus. There was a very low chance of her being able to remove herself from this state in time, and the longer she stood there staring at the ground, the more likely people would be to see her there.

Her eyes began slowly scanning the obscured terrain, panning left and right, up and down, clinging to that which she could easily identify. She needed to find something fast. Something useful. Something to help pull her away from the panic creeping up her throat.

'89... 88..... Come on X think! What about the people?'

No. Absolutely not. That sort of plan would only work out if the person in question was willing to help, not to mention it severely increased the chances of someone noticing her predicament.

'Look around the stall. There might be something useful.'

Moving her chin towards her chest, she willed her eyes to begin panning downward towards the spices and the table they rested on.

'Sugar, something red, beans, wheat, herbs...'

After a quick look around the table was deemed useless. It was going to take more than turmeric to fix this mess.

'Closer then, you can't just stand here forever.'

Craning her neck even further down to look at the things closer to her body, she was met with the sight of white knuckles clutching an errant slab of wood. Time was running out. Resisting the urge to continue staring blankly at her own hands, she resolved to look back out into the crowd.

Preparing herself for the effort it would take to twist her neck that far out to the side, a slight glint caught her eye.

'Jackpot.'