Run, Canary, Run

This is was not the first time Finch has found themself in a burning building, but it is the first time they had help getting out.

"Hey, I think this one's still breathing! Can you hear me?"

The unfamiliar voice was like a hammer to a church bell. Finch's head rang as the words berated their skull. They began to regain consciousness and were met with the thundering roar of the flames, the smell of smoke, and the feeling of ash like sandpaper in their throat. Their head swam with the change of altitude as their body was being hoisted up from the ground.

"I have to retreat! I heard more voices to the East!" The voice shouted again.

Finch was like a rag doll, their arm slung over this strangers shoulders. Together they limped their way into the inn's courtyard. They both fell to the ground with an unceremonious thump that knocked what air was in Finch's lungs back out. What little was left of Wakeen's Rest burned in the background. They felt a hand on their shoulder as their eyes finally began to focus on the stranger.

"Apologies for the fall. Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Their reply was a fit of coughs. The man helped them sit up, his voice was bassy and kind. He was draped in purple wizard robs, had swept back brown hair, friendly brown eyes, and a single earing on his left ear. His appearance betrayed no group affiliation, both a comfort and point of anxiety. Whoever this third party may be, however, they could be  just the distraction Finch was looking for to slip away unnoticed. Any more thought of strategy, however, was pierced with an unforgiving pain in their mind. The two strangers both winced and groaned, the man seemingly experiencing the same sensation. Finch saw themself through his eyes: their half-elven features smeared with smaug, their ginger hair tousled and burnt at the edges, their hazel eyes fighting to focus. They also felt the mans curiosity and pity towards their lithe frame. They could feel him wondering how they found themself in a burning building. As the pain fades he looks up at them, eyes wide with realization.

"You're infected too?"

Finch opens their mouth to answer, but are cut off with a crash. The doors to the inn crumble off their hinges and fly open. Out flood an array of Flaming Fist and more strangers, the wizard's companions no doubt. The last figure they see drives a nervous spike through their spine. They scramble to stand, every instinct yelling at them to run. Instead, they stand frozen as a statue. In elegant robes, standing tall and proud is Counselor Florrick of Baldur's Gate. If anyone would be able to see through Finch's carefully curated facade, it's this woman. The man beside them meets their nervous gaze with a curious one. Another wave of pain throbs in their head. All Finch can feel is their own anxiety and an urgent, desperate need to get as far from here as possible. They have to run, run before they can find them. The pain subsides, and the man's curious gaze has turned to a sympathetic one. Whatever this may may be, it's letting them feel each others emotions; it's revealing Finch's secrets and fears.

"And is this one with you?"

The question snaps both of them back to reality. Florrick suspiciously eyes Finch, her tone dry as though she already knows the answer. Her eyes pierce all the lies they were beginning to form in their head. All they're able to muster is a desperate, pleading look at the wizard who had saved them moments prior. He catches their gaze, but flounders awkwardly. Clocking this, an elven gentleman standing by the councilor springs into action.

"Oh my gods, there you are! We were worried sick! That is the last time you go foraging on your own, do you hear me?"

He frantically walks over to Finch and throws an arm around their shoulder, squeezing like a worried mother with her lost child. As much as they despise relying on other's, it's a clever play. And so, they play along. With a sigh their shoulders dropping dramatically, eyes cast nervously toward their feet.