[if he needs help wasn't really the reassurance Quentin wanted it to be, but Jason was already sprinting across the divide, heading for the ferry and Quentin doubles, triples his effort to keep the ferry afloat for just a few more minutes, to keep the shield firmly under it and keep pushing magic in to it.
After a minute or two, his hands start to shake and his nose starts bleeding, just a tickle, barely more noticeable than the annoyance of having to wipe his face on his sleeve.
After five, it's running freely, like twin-rivulets down over his mouth and down to in to his hoodie, plastering it to his chest and making his mouth taste like sucking on pennies. Quentin keeps the shield up, though. Keeps it up by sheer stubbornness and because there are still people, there's still that very, very fast guy who ran past him, on the ferry and they need to keep it afloat as much as possible.
It takes him seven minutes, and the spell starts to falter, the shield growing duller with each passing second and with a sharp exhale, Quentin lets his hands fall and the shield disappears. The ferry groans against what's left of the docks, hull scraping at the planks poking out like the remnants of rotting teeth, all jagged edges and probably tetanus waiting to happen.
Quentin runs, well-- he walks fast towards the edge of the docks that's closest to the ferry and starts trying to build a make-shift walkway with magic, throwing his hands through the tuts, casting poppers until there fractured boards start mending and he twists his fingers, pulling the used nails out of the boards he's not using, hammering them in to the almost-bridge with a snap of his wrist.]
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After a minute or two, his hands start to shake and his nose starts bleeding, just a tickle, barely more noticeable than the annoyance of having to wipe his face on his sleeve.
After five, it's running freely, like twin-rivulets down over his mouth and down to in to his hoodie, plastering it to his chest and making his mouth taste like sucking on pennies. Quentin keeps the shield up, though. Keeps it up by sheer stubbornness and because there are still people, there's still that very, very fast guy who ran past him, on the ferry and they need to keep it afloat as much as possible.
It takes him seven minutes, and the spell starts to falter, the shield growing duller with each passing second and with a sharp exhale, Quentin lets his hands fall and the shield disappears. The ferry groans against what's left of the docks, hull scraping at the planks poking out like the remnants of rotting teeth, all jagged edges and probably tetanus waiting to happen.
Quentin runs, well-- he walks fast towards the edge of the docks that's closest to the ferry and starts trying to build a make-shift walkway with magic, throwing his hands through the tuts, casting poppers until there fractured boards start mending and he twists his fingers, pulling the used nails out of the boards he's not using, hammering them in to the almost-bridge with a snap of his wrist.]