"That's okay," he says, his ears flattening to his head as he catches sight of the little screen going yearlights in a second. He had wanted to ask if she'd be fine with him carrying her, but at this point it's really looking like one of those situations where speed is imperative and there's no space left for pleasantries. "Um, I'll help. Here --"

Speed. Right. He's gonna want his hands free for this.

He loafs crouches down next to her chair and carefully reaches around Angel to pretty much roll her onto his shoulders, muttering apologies all the while. "Sorry, excuse me, just hang on, alright?"

And a quick glance to Mordecai, because he's not getting out of what is probably a problem of his creation; "Can you make sure she doesn't fall."

In other words: hop on behind her and better hold on for dear life because he's about to leave the bar in one goddamn leap as soon as he feels a sufficient grip.

He'll even forgive using his horns as handles right now, because all of his instincts are screaming emergency so loud that all his hair is standing on end probably puffing him up another foot or so even if there's no comprehensible reason to think it's really that bad. But there's just something off about this magic in a way he can't explain.