The driver comes. In the limo or some other vehicle reserved for dark nights, blood-dripping backpacks. The young woman is gone, in her torn-up jeans and leather jacket. Not gone: walking away. Her sneakers scuff the pavement. Her cigarette smokes itself until the cold takes over, destroying the ember at the end. She has another; lights another. She will walk until she can't see him or feel him anymore, to the bus stop that feels the least terrible.
As night deepens, even the hip parts of East Colfax start to feel unsettling. The other riders on the bus tend to look at you darkly, stare at you for blocks and blocks. Sometimes you are followed when you step off. You always hope not this time not this time not this time and most of the time it is not this time but once it was. And that once was enough to terrorize for the rest of your life.
Who does that.
Who follows a woman off a bus.
For that matter, who tells anyone: I think it's funny when you flinch.
She smokes until the bus comes. She waits for the drug to have its intended effect, making her equally alert and relaxed, sinking into her bloodstream, altering her brainwaves. She sits on the bench at the bus stop, sitting on the back with her feet on the seat slats, keeping her hands still so they do not show their shaking.
--
Time passes. Ten minutes, maybe twenty. And the driver's phone goes off.
It is the number from earlier.
The good witch of the North.
wolfmanThe driver comes.
Shows up in the fucking limo. Which isn't a twenty-foot stretch with a hot tub, but it's still a fucking limo. It's still a fucking Cadillac with privacy glass everywhere and a partition and a man in a uniform and two white gloves up front. The wolf wonders if the driver knows how stupid it is to drive a car like this down a street like this. Decides not to bring it up. Some dogs you just can't teach new tricks.
There's a tarp in the trunk. He spreads it open and puts his dripping backpack atop it. At least his driver got that right.
--
Halfway home when the driver's phone rings again up in the front seat. Partition's down. Wolf's staring out the window keeping his thoughts to himself; meets his driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"You moonlighting on the side?" It's a joke. Driver doesn't seem to know how to respond. Wolf grimaces, looks out the window again. "Just pick it up."
Conscientious to a fault, the driver pulls to the curb and retrieves his phone from his pocket. He taps the talk button and lifts the device to his ear. The greeting is perfectly polite. How may I assist you, ma'am?
The wolf is suddenly looking at his driver again. Eyes intent through the reflective surface.
witchScreaming.
No one is talking on the other end. No one even seems aware of the call being made.
Just screams. A woman, though the throat is so raw it could be anything.
A sound of something clattering, metal against rock.
Hissing.
A different sort of scream. Pain, not fear.
wolfmanPhone's not on speaker. Doesn't seem to matter. Noise like that, you'd hear it ten feet away. Driver stares at the wolf and wolf stares at the driver. Then the driver turns in his seat, pulling the phone away from his ear an inch.
"It's the young lady's number, sir. Your friend who called earlier."
Wolf doesn't bother to tell his driver that's not his friend. They're not friends. He doesn't owe her a goddamn thing. Phone's in his hand and he's out of the car, going back the way he came. Running.
And shouting into the phone: "Where the fuck are you!"
witchShe can't hear him.
Just hissing.
Screaming.
--
Perhaps he yells again. There is another noise: metal against rock again. A scream that sounds like a grunt of effort, a shriek of defiance. Maybe. Maybe.
"IVY."
She is screaming it.
"IVY."
It's all she can get out. Something heavy slams against something else. She's screaming again. Wordless; unintelligible.
wolfmanDriver has one job. It's a pretty easy one. Luckily he's pretty good at that job. So the wolf's running, charging down the sidewalk, and pretty soon the Cadillac is keeping pace, the driver's hollering out the window, Sir. Sir! Get in the car!
Wolf sees the wisdom in that. He shoves the phone through the window, slaps it against his driver's chest and lets it go. Yanks the back door open and gets in. "Ivy and Colfax," he says.
Driver drives. Wolf peels out of that battered leather jacket. Throws it aside on the seat. Pulls a rust-stained rag out of his back pocket, slaps it on his arm where it knits into his skin and disappears. Car blasts through a yellow light going red, driver slams the brakes, wolf shoulders the front seat with a grunt.
"Would you like me to -- "
"Just wait in the damn car." Door flings open. Door slams shut. Wolf leans down through the window again. "Keep the engine running."
witchMetal on stone: metal scraping over pavement in the alley between Suburban Toppers (what?) and Phoenician Kabob. A narrow, narrow alleyway. And the metal scraping on the asphalt and slamming into the exterior walls of the neighboring buildings is a dumpster, full to overflowing --
trash, in fact, flutters out and smacks wetly on the pavement as it moves, and there is already trash littered here and there from other movements
-- and rolling hard into the side of a wall.
Screaming is more audible here. Wasn't too shy to begin with. Woman is in there, hair frayed and her blood smells like blood but not like her, there is no 'her' smell, there is nothing but the coppery tang of it, nothing to distinguish much between the scent of a vaguely pure kinswoman of Stag or some stranger in the world, some random mortal.
She has her back against a wall, her knees up, one hand clutching her side. Her other hand is up, a motionless claw of untapped energy, as though she could ward off what comes at her by will alone.
He sees nothing.
wolfmanNothing. No vicious monster, no ravening Dancer. Just a dumpster boiling over with trash. Slamming into a wall. Propelled by -- what? Nothing he can see.
Wolf's eyes flash everywhere for a second, taking in what he can. Then a snarl, a hard twist of his head and neck; bursts half-again as tall and twice as massive in the blink of an eye. Stark white fur and glaring eyes gone wolf-yellow. The beast wades forward through trash and refuse, grabs the dumpster because it's the only out of the ordinary thing he can see.
wolfman[percep+alert, wolf sight! :D]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4) ( fail )
witchNothing, nothing. The dumpster rolls to a stop, bouncing against the wall. It moves. It carries itself by momentum but slows. She isn't screaming now. She is withdrawing her free hand, bringing it to her head, wrapping her elbow around her skull. Her brow goes to her knees. She hides like that, clutching the spot where blood moves out, soaking her shirt, staining the lining of her jacket, seeping into her dark jeans. If she makes a noise now it is closer to ow. ow. ow.
There is nothing he sees. Nothing he smells. Nothing he can hear except the dumpster grinding to a stop.
She does not warn him of anything; she is hoping they're gone. Her phone is beside her on the ground. It is cracked at the edge, face-down. It called the last number it dialed.
How lucky.
wolfmanDumpster stops. Wolf has his great paws on it, holds it like he expects it might come alive any second. Shoulders sloped and powerful. Hackles abristle. Steam blasting from nostrils.
Nothing.
Lets go the dumpster. Wheels away from it, balance low, tail low. Drops a handpaw to the ground. Puts his nose to the ground, sniffs greedily for a scent. A trail. Prey. Hunting grounds, he called these.
wolfman[MOAR PERCEPSHUN]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
witch[shadowssssss]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
witchShe looks exhausted. Pale, though she wasn't dusky to begin with. Dark circles that are more than smudged makeup. Glassy eyes that are more than blood loss. He is holding onto the dumpster like it's alive, like it's the enemy. Hell; in this world, it might be. She looks on the verge of passing out.
There isn't that much blood. Might need stitches, could probably survive without. Her paper bag from the witchy store is nearby, spilling vials and baggies out: not the books or new tarot decks of a newcomer but the replenishing of supplies she is familiar with.
He lowers, sniffing around, and she watches.
"Should have known," she mutters, sounding as drained as she looks, her eyes half-closing. She prayed they'd run away, go away. Prayers answered. She can rest now. All is
--
Something scrapes. Not metal on stone or asphalt. Something else, nail or claw, shifting against brick. To the right, another moving on asphalt. A faint hiss from above the stucco wall that the woman leans against. There are at least three. Possibly more. One is behind him, directly. Whatever it is. They aren't large.
witch[INIT TIME]
wolfmanShould have known.
Wolf pauses mid-sniff. Eyes move. He looks at her without lifting his head. She never finishes her thought.
Never finishes her thought because
something hisses. And the wolf slowly, softly lowers his other handpaw to the ground. Raises his head. Bares his teeth.
[init! +8 for crinos!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )
witch[all +7]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )
witch[Devon + 6]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
witch[Order:
iguana 15
devon 15
chameleon 11
wolfman 10
basilisk 10
agamid 8]
witch
[agamid:
1. slither out from under dumpster, claw wolfman's leg
R1. bite wolfman's leg]
witch[basilisk:
1. come out from alley and leap on wolfman's face
R1. venomous bite]
wolfman[-2R for extra akshuns!
1a. spur claws on agamid! -1R
1b. bite basilisk!
R1. throw chameleon against iguana!
R2. bite basilisk!]
witch[chameleon:
1. leap on wolfman's back and dig in with claws!
R1. raking claw across his face/eyes]
witch[devon:
1a. kick agamid
1b. again!]
witch[iguana:
1. wall-walk down to devon, claw her scalp
R1. venomous bite]
witch[iguana:
1. claw!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )
witch[iguana:
damage! str + 1 + 2] [A]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
witch[devon cannot soak aggravated damage]
witch[devon:
changing action(s) to throw iguana from her head. basically a punch. diff +1. spending wp.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 4, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
witch[iguana is not attempting to cling. boosh!
devon's damage: str + 2] [B]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
witch[iguana
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
witch[chameleon:
1. leap! dig in! basically a claw.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
witch[damage!
str + 1 + 3] [A]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[change 1a to BITE THE FUCK OUT OF IGUANA. +1 diff, -2 dice.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1
wolfman[damage!]
Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 7 )
witch[iguana:
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[WELL, GUESS I HAVE TO BITE IT AGAIN]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1
wolfman[dam]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
witch[iguana:
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
witch[basilisk:
1. run run run JUMP HAHAHA HELLO FACE. dex + ath!]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )
witch[agamid:
1. slither + slash!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )
witch[agamid:
str + 1 + 5] [A]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )
witch[RAGE ROUND]
[iguana:
R1. staying on devon. venomous bite!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 2, 5, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
witchDLP
witchDLP
witch[RAGE ROUND]
[iguana:
R1. staying on devon. venomous bite! -3 due to injury.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (1, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[take hit for?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[dex specialty!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
witch[iguana:
damage. str + 1 + 2. will do str + 2 unsoakable agg if initial damage roll gets at least 1 success after soak.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[RAR]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
witch[2A. wolfman also takes 5A from the venom]
witch[chameleon:
R1. raking claw over wolfman's eyes! +2 for narrowly targeted attack, +1 for being behind wolfman at the time. nevermind the facehugger.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN9 (3, 4, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
witch[chameleon:
damage! str + 1 + 1] [A]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 4) ( fail )
witch[Correction: Str + 2 Agg unsoakable! from iguana's venom.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[R1 - KILL THAT FUCKING IGUANA. wif teef.]
Dice: 9 d10 TN5 (3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 8 ) Re-rolls: 2
wolfman[dam +7]
Dice: 16 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 8 )
witch[iguana
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
witch[iguana: x_X]
wolfman[UGH. redo. fuck's sake. +1 diff for changed action, -1 die for dmg mods.]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 6 )
witch[DLP 4]
wolfman[dam +5]
Dice: 14 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 7 )
witch[same soak. iguana still x_X]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 6, 10) ( success x 3 )
wolfmanR2 - kill basilisk! this is akshully his original akshun.
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
wolfman[dam +4]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
witch[diff of R2 = 3. basilisk's belly is basically against wolfman's face. suxx = 7.]
wolfman[2 moar dmg!]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 8) ( success x 1 )
witch[basilisk:
soak (vs 5]!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
witch[basilisk:
R1. venomous bite. on the face. -1 for injury / diff -1 since, y'know. he's right there.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )
witch[basilisk!
damage. str + 1 + 2] [A]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
witch[agamid:
R1. bite!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 2 )
witch[agamid:
damage. str + 1 + 1][A]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 4, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[*sacrifices tings to kahseeno* LET'S HAVE SOME ROUSING SUCCESSES NOW, TAY.]
witchIt doesn't take long for him to realize there are not two not three but four: each one the color of shadows, each one resembling a skink with the curved claws of a bird of prey and the razoring fangs of a shark. They are, however, the size of coyotes, of dogs, rushing at him from the darkness.
Well: three rush him, leap on him, rake their claws toward him. One climbs down a wall, rapid as a spider, towards the head of a young woman already injured, bleeding from the side.
When they bite at him, foam gurgles up from their throats, gagged up as they hiss. It is varicolored. It is not unlike going through a tricolor foam portion of a carwash, all white and pink and blue and gold and dripping, sticking. It burns through his fur and flesh when it sinks in, bubbles within an already gashed and bloody wound.
Wounds that knit as soon as they are taken, to a point. That talen helps; it drinks in the pain, the blood, all of it, hungry for more until it is sated,
and worthless,
falling off his skin in a scrap of tattered nothing.
Devon is bleeding heavily from the scalp, her face a dark red-turning-black mask, spitting it out of her mouth. Her glassy eyes can barely stay open now; she is severely weakened.
Only one of the things lies dead at the wolf's feet. Only one of them twitches to stillness, its belly torn open, its head nearly ripped off. It was the one that opened up her head and send blood rolling thickly down her face. It was the one that was about to poison her before, fuck his life, he threw his arm between its fangs and her throat, feeling teeth sink into his body, instead.
Even with lashes sticky with blood, Devon's eyes are a startling, sparkling blue. They glimmer as richly as cut gemstones. She looks at him for half a second. Her eyes close again; her breathing is labored.
At least now, the surviving three are clinging to him by tooth and claw, gnashing their teeth hungrily.
[End Round 1:
iguana: x_X [3A overkill]
devon: 4A, 1L
chameleon: OK
wolfman: 2A
basilisk: 3A
agamid: OK
witch[wolfman: +1R for the facehugger still clinging to his face spilling its intestines onto his cheek
+1R for damsel in some pretty serious distress + y'know these things being pretty terrible]
wolfman[+7! cuz injurd.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
witch[witch!
+4 cuz ow]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
witch[basilisk
+6 cuz ow]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
witch[chameleon + agamid
+7]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 5) ( fail )
witch[Round Two:
wolfman 14
agamid 12
basilisk 11
chameleon 10
witch 9]
witch[devon:
1. witchy things. uses WP, also burning WP for suxx.]
witch[chameleon:
1a. just claw the shit out of wolfman's back
1b. for real, tho]
witch[basilisk:
1a. venomous bite to the face! desperation!
1b. also clawing!]
witch[agamid:
1. hamstring wolfman]
wolfman[my god you vicious little shits! -2R again!
1a. BITE THAT BASILISK FUCKER BACK.
b. AGAIN.
R1. slam back to wall, squish stupid chameleon.
R2. throw agamid far away. far, far away. I AM GONNA THROW SUMFING TONIGHT.]
wolfman[1a CHOMP]
Dice: 6 d10 TN5 (4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 5 )
wolfman[dam+4]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 9 )
witch[basilisk
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )
wolfman[1b CHOMP MOAR]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (1, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
witch[basilisk:
x_- (incap)]
wolfman[oops. +1dam for 1a]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )
wolfman[changing 1b to chomping agamid! dam+4]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 8 )
witch[agamid:
soak!]
witchDice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )
witch[agamid:
1. changing hamstring to claw. -5 for damage. +1 diff.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (8, 8) ( success x 2 )
witch[agamid:
damage! str + 1 + 1]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
witch[basilisk:
incapacitated. fell off wolfman's face and lies twitching slightly on the ground, oozing.]
witch[chameleon:
1a. claw! -2 diff for being behind wolfman. -2 for split.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 7, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )
witch[chameleon:
damage!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
witch[chameleon:
1b. claw again! -2 for being behind wolfman. -3 for split.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 5, 9) ( success x 2 )
witch[chameleon:
damage!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
wolfman[soak!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 7, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
witch[devon:
1. witchy things! -1 WP to use
wits + empathy, adding WP. -2 for injury]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
witchAll she can do, as her blood coagulates at the scalp and her side aches, is watch. Her backpack isn't with her tonight. The herbs and the incense and oil in that bag won't do any good without time to brew. She closes her eyes while the wolf nearby keeps the attention of the lizards; she holds her side and she allows the top of her skull to open. She breathes. Panting slows. She takes herself out: of this place, this pain, this noise, this resentment, this fear. She withdraws from all that and hovers outside of it a moment.
Then she goes back in. Enters her body and feels the pain. Feels the pounding of her heart. Feels the panic threatening to overwhelm. Feels the cuts on her side that she knows are nothing compared to the gashes over her scalp. Feels her face sticky with blood and lets herself feel disgust. But none of these things overtake her. None of these things become her. And then she opens her eyes.
She looks at the bag on its side nearby, the corked bottle half-rolled out the top. She looks at it, and looks at it, and her breathing tightens, and her face pales, and her lips drain of their blood. The pounding in her skull and heart makes fresh blood run from her wounds.
He is about to throw himself backward, but she isn't paying any attention to him. Not until she jerks her head, suddenly, a sharp turn towards him.
Something dark smashes against the face of the lizard on his back. It flies over his shoulder, past his ear, shattering apart. The glass does not hurt him, so long as he does the instinctive jerk away from something flying towards his head. The smell of the oil inside does not hurt him. It is bitter. It resembles absinthe, but it has a refreshing, bright quality, eye-opening and alert. Dark brown glass shards sift through his pristine fur. The lizard on his back, catching the oil and glass right in its bulbous eyes, thrashes suddenly, letting out a hissing shriek as it flails. It is smart enough not to claw at its own eyes but it does not know what else to do: it twists in pain and confusion, blind, on the alleyway floor.
witch[chameleon:
soak]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[rage 1: changing to biting chameleon! +1 diff for changing action, -2 diff for blind target]
Dice: 8 d10 TN4 (1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 8 ) Re-rolls: 1
wolfman[dam +7]
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 11 )
witch[chameleon
soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )
wolfman[TROW THE LAST WUN AGAINST A WALL OR SMTH IDK]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
wolfman[dam+1]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
witch[agamid
soak?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
witch[End Round Two
End Combat
wolfman: 5A
witch: 4A, 1L
iguana: x_x [3A overkill]
basilisk: x_- [incap]
chameleon: -_x [incap]
agamid: x_x [2B overkill]]
witchAt least
at least the one that opened up the head of the Good Witch of the North
is dead.
That does not make the fact that three others are clinging to and clawing at him in the dark any better. They smell terrible: unwashed, acrid, suffocating. The venom bubbling at their maws smells of bile and is not pure liquid; the multicolored foam bubbles with chunks of some half-melted matter turned into poison by their infernal digestive systems.
They are fast now, still, but not as fast as they were at first. They are not terribly strong nor overwhelmingly fast. Their power lies in numbers, in picking vulnerable prey, in ambush, and in coming very quickly right at the start. They are not meant to fight Garou. They are not meant to do more than rush in, clawing and biting, before they settle in to eat. Their bodies, even with the armored flesh that shrieks like metal when he claws or bites at it, are not made for long battles.
Still they cling, rather than run. One of them gags and shrieks as it spills its intestines against his face, struggling to maintain a grip. They are rather stupid; they think they can still eat this one, too. Even with one of them starting to rot on the ground already, its ridged flesh collapsing as nauseating, yellowish steam rises from its open mouth, its bowels, its many wounds.
In a single bite, he opens the belly of the one clinging to his face a little more, leaves its body in one piece but hanging by threads of rough reptilian skin, and it shudders, dropping wetly to his feet, leaving a trail of its yellowish blood and hints of that venomous foam down the pristine white of his fur: his ruff, his chest, his abdomen and thigh slimed with it. It twitches on the alley floor, struggling for life that it will not get back.
The taste of it is in his mouth, clinging like oil and smelling of vomit.
Biting the next one, dropping to all fours to wrench the next lizard out from under the dumpster with his jaws, will not get that taste out of his mouth. But that is what he does. He yanks it by its face, crushing its surprisingly fragile skull within his maw. It survives, barely, thrashing about. Even this close to death, it manages to open a whole new gash across his chest, hissing at him in defiance. Stupid, disgusting creature.
Another still clings to his back, but has given up blinding him. It rakes at his back with forelegs and hindlegs both, but his back is strong and his fur is thick: it slices but does not strike deeply enough to take him down, or even to the point where pain would stop him. It tries to clamber over his shoulder.
That is when something flies from the other side of the narrow, narrow alleyway and smashes into that lizard's face, stinging its eyes with shards of brown glass and soaking it with oil that it cannot rub away, oil that burns, oil that smells bitter but bright, oil that drowns and blinds. Devon, back still to the other wall, looks like she's about to throw up. Pass out. One or the other.
He wheels on it, opportunistic and vicious, and in a hard snap of his jaws the otherwise perfectly unhurt creature drops, its sinuous spine half-shattered. He heard the bones crack as he bit down.
It feels the way it always feels. The sound of it. The feeling of something dying or close to death because of his violence.
One still moves. He grabs its skull, its sunken skull with that bile-colored bood dripping into its eyes, and whips around, slamming it to the brick wall that the fianna kinswoman sits against. Perhaps he smashes it more than once, in a fury. Perhaps it is one single toss: a clench of his hand-paw, a quick snap of his arm. The end is the same: it hits, grotesque and shattering, and then drops, leaving a smear of its blood and bits of its scales in a splash and trickle down the wall.
It ends up in a heap about a foot and a half from the young woman's hip.
She is staring at it, and then she turns her head to one side, her pupils different sizes, and throws up. It is not one quick gagging emptying of her stomach: it comes in a few waves, as the worst vomiting does, convulsing her torso. Once she begins it is like she cannot stop: the smell and the things she's seeing and the thing she did a few seconds ago and the way her head feels all collapse in on her and she throws up, helplessly, until her body is shaking from the exertion and she is crying.
Everything is, at the moment, quite terrible.
She leans her head against the brick beside her. It isn't very clean, but it's not where one of the things died. And it's cool to the touch.
wolfmanFeels good.
Is he not supposed to admit that? Maybe he's supposed to be a fucking paragon. Feel nothing but pity for the disgusting little things. But he's not a paragon, he's a werewolf, he's an apex predator and he's asserting his dominance, and it feels good to tear those little shits to pieces. Rip through their scaly skin, crush their frail little heads in his teeth, grab that last almost-dead one and end it with one brutal palm to the wall.
Feels good. That one feels the best.
Then it's all over. The rush of battle, the heightened awareness, the way the air itself seems to fluoresce with how sharp his vision becomes, the rage-dilation of time. Things collapse back to reality. Caustic slime is dripping down his white white white fur. His palm burns where shards of crushed skull pierced his tough hide. With a low, slow snarl of disgust he whips muck from his handpaws, flings a knotty streak of it against the brick.
Carries his immense weight well, light on his enormous hindpaws as he lopes toward the girl-witch-woman. Lungs so big makes breathing audible, there's no way around it. He crouches on his haunches. Meanwhile she vomits up everything she ate all day. The stench in the alleyway grows. He spares his delicate nose: reverts slowly, grotesquely to his man-shape, fur receding, bones shrinking.
Looks like hell, if we're being honest. Chewed up and spit on. Looks like burning victory, and that's also honest. Ferocious eyes and a swagger in his air. He pulls another raggedy bandage out of -- somewhere -- and smacks this one on her forehead like he's putting a bumper sticker on her.
"Still want that ride?"
[-1Gn! +3HP!]
witchShe feels him coming.
She is in no condition to flinch. She is no condition to pull away, whip her head around to warn him off with those startling eyes, or snap at him not to fucking touch her. She is in no condition to do anything but sit there, bleeding from her hidden side and her head, trembling all over. Her head feels cold at the very top and yet her face is burning hot; her body is wanting to go into shock. She's crying and she is shaking and she feels him coming and simultaneously just wants him to go away and --
something else. Which she doesn't want to dwell on, even in this state.
But she doesn't turn to look at him. She does feel something smack against her head and since he isn't gentle, since he treats her like an inanimate thing again when he does it, the pain of the contact makes her entire body flinch.
Does he laugh?
It makes her tears renew with a sort of yelping outcry of fresh pain. Her face is wet. But really, even the salt water isn't cutting very well through the blood staining her entire face. It just makes it feel stickier. She tucks herself closer to herself, curling in on herself, as the quick flicker of ow, you fucker that goes through her turns into something else. It's not the cool, clean blessing of a gourd talen, sanctified water. This feels very keenly like her skin literally knitting itself back together. There is a brief sensation of worms -- or something -- underneath her skull, which is horrific to her, but they go still and sit there, pulling blood from the wounds, pulling venom and filth from the wounds, until they are sated, and simply fall away from her.
They aren't real. Nothing drinks her blood and falls off her face. It just feels like that.
She doesn't open her eyes though. Her eyes in particular feel stuck open or stuck closed, and right now they are stuck closed. Wounds healing doesn't get rid of blood staining. Thank Gaia for tears; after a few more seconds, perhaps some time after he's spoken. The coagulated blood is loosened; she blinks several times after a slow pulling-open of her eyes, and then she looks out through slits.
At a pool of her own sick.
"Oh, god," she mutters, groaning, curling up tighter. She's still wounded: something on her side, her hand covering it, soaked in blood that hasn't completely stopped yet. A much, much, much smaller gash along her hairline. But she's no longer feeling like she's dying.
After all that, she finally twists her head a little bit and looks at him. Maybe he's seen Carrie. That is what her face resembles: after the prom. After the pig's blood. Before the fires and the screaming.
Maybe he hasn't seen Carrie. Maybe she just looks like a large quantity of blood just spilled down her face in one outpouring of her life. It's gross either way, drying in thick curls and flaky stains.
"Guy was staring at me on the bus," she says, her throat raw from throwing up, her voice scratchy. "Kept moving over closer and started talking to me. He wouldn't back off." She tugs her legs in closer, her heels touching her ass, her back slouched. "I got off early and I was just glad he didn't follow me."
Her eyes fill with tears again, overflow. She presses her back hard to the brick. Closes her eyes tight, hoping flecks of her own drying blood don't get in her eyes, and then opens them, looking straight ahead.
Something she sees makes her shriek, backing up so hard that the leather jacket creaks against the brick. It's just two of the things. The one that was on his face, the one that was on his back before it was blinded: they're both twitching, their sides breathing, and one of their tails just flicked in an arc, flopping against the asphalt. The other two aren't moving. They look like they're melting.
"They're gonna get back up," she says, her voice taut with panic. "They're gonna get back up. They're gonna get back up."
wolfmanShe tells him her story of woe. Softer-hearted man would be moved. Softer-hearted man would feel bad for her. Better man would say something, say the right thing.
The wolf gets up. Straightens from his crouch, his own wounds putting a hitch in the motion. Not quite so flawless, nor so powerful. She tells him she was glad the man on the bus didn't follow her. He laughs, harsh and humorless.
"But those little fuckers did, huh?"
Those little fuckers. Two of them not dead yet. Twitching, flopping, pathetic little things. Someone ought to put them out of their misery. She points at them in a panic. He turns to look, lazy-careless.
"Probably not. But you can go make sure."
witchShe doesn't react as though she's heard him. She does not point, but she does panic. And shake. And cry. Whether he's a good man or a decent man or a man at all.
wolfmanWolf makes a sound. Something like a growl, a guttural noise in the throat; disgust. Turns. Bit of a limp in his swagger, and it takes him a while to get over there. But get over there he does, and when he does
he stomps on the little shits' heads. One, and then the other. Crunch. Crunch.
"Get up." There's brain-matter on his bootheels. He scrapes one against the asphalt. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
witchHis contempt does not spur her, recovering from shock and on the verge of full-blown panic, to prove him wrong. Nothing about him inspires her to stand up, to transform into more of a badass. Nothing about him inspires her at all, except with something that verges on loathing. Or maybe it's just contempt of her own. No matter: right now she is terrified that they are going to come back, that she is going to die. And she does not want to die.
She is barely paying attention when he stomps on the heads of those things, releasing clouds of more of that noxious pale yellow steam. Thick enough to soak the cuffs of his pants.
This starts to calm her. She watches as they start to disintegrate, skin collapsing, bones melting, bodies turning to little more than slime. She exhales, her lips wrapping around the breath, as he scrapes his heels. Tells her to get up, somewhere in there, but she doesn't just yet. She hunches a bit, realizing what her mouth tastes like. She turns, looking for --
reaching, with her left hand, for her bag. She drags it over, glass inside clinking a bit, and then gets her feet under her. Uses the brick wall for leverage as she pushes herself to her feet, slowly standing. The dried blood holding the gashes on her side together split open a bit, and she winces tightly, then just starts walking out of the alleyway.
Glances at him, or his side, from where she's hunched over. She is surprisingly close to him, for really disliking him as much as she does.
wolfmanHe lets her go ahead of him. Follows when she's a pace or two past. Neither of them are moving very fast. She's hunched over, he's limping. They're a fucking mess.
Turns at the alleymouth. Looks back in. The little shits are more of a mess. Decomposing where they lay. Dissolving into yellow rot. The wolf thinks he ought to clean up the mess some. Preserve The Veil and all that shit. Can't be fucked right now. He follows the girl out of the alley.
His car's waiting where he left it. Ink-black sedan with its perfect paintjob, its gleaming chrome accents. Driver sees them coming and gets out, hurries to open the back door. Stands at attention, stares straight ahead. Knows better than to ask questions.
Inside of the limousine is all cream leather. Carpet is deep and plush. Upholstery is flawless. Windows are privacy-tinted and there are little curtains that come down if one wants the extra sense of enclosure. Wheelbase is a few inches longer than your average sedan; makes for a hell of a lot of leg room. A miniature fridge tucked in carries a small but ample selection of liquor and wine. An entertainment system could lower itself from the ceiling, but it's stowed away right now.
Wolf climbs in after her. His rage, even half-burnt as it is, makes the interior seem suddenly smaller. He pulls the door shut and collapses into the seat with a grunt, wincing as he jars his mauled arm. "Where do you live?"
witchNo argument from her. Blood-soaked, bile-tasting, still shaking, still even bleeding, she doesn't go to the bus stop defiantly. She hesitates at the mouth of the alley, trying to stay in the shadows, even when the driver goes rushing out to open the door for her. It takes a moment for her to go to it, climbing inside, trying to maintain a grip on her right side all the same.
That creamy leather isn't going to be in great shape later. Not with the wolf's blood on it, not with the smell they're both reeking of. She sees the liquor and wine through the glass door of the mini-fridge and, even as he's getting in beside her, she reaches for the door. This is the hand that is less bloody: right hand. Tugs it open and grabs a small bottle of vodka. Twists it open and tosses it back. But not to drink: she swishes, then shoves open the door on her side and spits it out. Does it again with the second mouthful from the tiny bottle, then pulls the door shut again.
There's blood on the handle now.
"Eleventh Avenue Hostel," she says, exhaling, leaning back. "On Broadway."
wolfmanShe goes for booze. He doesn't blame her. She doesn't drink, though. She swishes, she spits. Blood-tinged vodka hits the pavement. He laughs under his breath, hits a button to roll the window down a little. Smells awful back here. Car's going to need reupholstering.
She gives her address. A hostel. He eyes her a moment, eyebrows together. Driver's in the front seat listening; car's running, but it's not moving yet.
"Can't go back to a hostel looking like that." The wolf buckles himself in, careful to avoid the worst of the wounds. "People ask questions you won't want to answer. I have a place in town. You can get cleaned up there."
witchBlood and vomit-tinged vodka. Of course. It's mostly ethanol; better than anything else in his fridge for swishing. And she wouldn't spit whiskey. She's Fianna.
She's shivering. The window opens and lets some cool air in, some smell out. She is trying not to look at him, but she does, and he's covered in his own blood, he's covered in slime, he's actually pretty bad off. Her brow is furrowed, which makes the blood on her forehead crack and flake a bit more.
"Okay," is all she says.
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