[By rights, Michael ought not to be vulnerable to flame. And on a deeper level, the one reflected in the mirror behind him, he's not. But the flaming talons raking across his hands and face hurt! He's bleeding! How can he bleed, like some miserable human? He swats uselessly at the bird. The mass in the mirror writhes in unison, ribbons of bright fuchsia alarm flashing across its skin.
The first thing he can think to do is use Burning Hands. When they're hot enough to melt steel, they suddenly aren't so vulnerable to a lesser flame. But that's probably not a great weapon against a flaming bird either. Michael doesn't think about that. His fucking tie is on fire - with a shout of frustration, he yanks it off, pulling hard enough to tear the fabric rather than untying it. There's an angry red mark on his neck, and his collar smolders from the touch.
Nick Jr. is moving too fast to hit. Michael looks up, down the hall, and teleports as far away as he can, thirty feet or so past Maya.]
no subject
The first thing he can think to do is use Burning Hands. When they're hot enough to melt steel, they suddenly aren't so vulnerable to a lesser flame. But that's probably not a great weapon against a flaming bird either. Michael doesn't think about that. His fucking tie is on fire - with a shout of frustration, he yanks it off, pulling hard enough to tear the fabric rather than untying it. There's an angry red mark on his neck, and his collar smolders from the touch.
Nick Jr. is moving too fast to hit. Michael looks up, down the hall, and teleports as far away as he can, thirty feet or so past Maya.]