Unmoved by the literal epic failure of Air usage, Gibyr stood up, brushed aside the tent trappings, the knife sliding back down his right hand's sleeve. The ring, ting, ting of the bells atop his hat spoke of his approach. The Air magic affected him little, save for the collision with the tent; Null magic had kept it from entirely harming him, and sent the would-be cocoon of tent canvas away from him, as the victim walked away. I don't like you, mister, but I would love you dead. Hee.
He espied the victim, the girl, and then the child, for only a moment, before leaping and performing a front flip in the air, and running quickly towards the child, ignoring the victim and girl, not really caring. An arm grabbed the Imperial brat, hoisting him up over a shoulder, as Gibyr stopped for only a second with his struggling prisoner. He waved silently, the mask shifting to a wide smile. Goodbye.
Before he could be stopped by the guards, Witticus jogged off, bells tinkling as he went, towards the mobs of the Many, all clamoring about the festival's outer edge. Kill one, let two go, and keep three, no? After all, he's technically my employer, unless this kid's the runt of the litter. The silver mask tilted up for a second, glancing at the boy's head for a moment in mid-step. Hello Emperorspawn. Time to take a walk in the woods; be sure to keep an eye out for Elves and Fiends, don'cha know.