Strangers in the Dumpster

“Esthetic means for appearances, neophyte is a beginner…” Trunk’s jaw dropped, stopping his explanation of the words.
In front of them was Orson. He looked badly beaten to Gilbert. Trunk rushed over to him, followed by Gilbert. Gilbert surveyed the area around, there was a crowd gathering in closer, curiously. Trunk caught Orson before he hit the ground. His face was bloody, one eye already puffy. A stream of blood flowed out of his nostril.
“I got it. I got the horn,” he muttered. “Prod fought hard but I managed to take it away. He didn’t like what I did to his Safe House. Those wealthy kids of his have a surprise in store for them. I hope you like it, Trunk. I did it for Gilbert’s family.” He slumped into Trunks arms.
When Gilbert inched close to Orson and Trunk, he screamed. “NO!”
The sound waves he made stopped everyone where they stood, frozen by his words. He dropped to Orson’s side.
Orson looked up at Gilbert’s pained face, while putting Bark’s wand in Gilbert’s gray cassock pocket. Trunk’s eyes followed the wand put into Gilbert’s care.
“A souvenir, as part of your wand stockpile of treasures. My job is done. I can…” Orson’s words trailed off.
“ N o o o o o o o ! ” screeched Gilbert, fearing his friend was dying.
The space above them buckled. The floating lantern globes heaved upward to the enchanted night sky by the power of his words. The lamps up and down The District shattered, along with every window popping inward. Even a couple of fire hydrants took notice of his might by exploding up many stories high. Wizards, Warlocks and anyone else within the range of his voice dropped to the ground onto their knees. Their hands clasped their ears, heads bowed in pain as they grimaced.
Looking up to Gilbert, Orson’s eyes opened...

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...’re burning up. You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked.
“I’m quite sure. What is it you would like to ask?” “Let’s move over here where there’s no one to hear us.” Frank followed the officer into the section between the baggage claim and the exit from the Southwest Gates. His hands were ready to flame upon contact if the man was going to attempt anything. Frank kept his eyes from showing the flaming firebird symbol, which Gilbert noticed appeared before Frank ignited.
Frank’s head ached from the strain, but remained calmer than usual. He needed to get to his destination and fast.
“You know, you have to move fast or face the consequences,” said the officer after a dozen passengers moved out of earshot. Frank’s head shook in disbelief. Eyes were everywhere. He played cool. He hated the way the officer smelled, like wet dirty clothes worn for more than they should.