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#mossthorn
femalefirestarau · 2 years
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So bluestar and stormstar (crookedstar) are going to have two litters
The first litter is just Mossthorn and he was raise in the guild of thunder (he’s a trans FTM)
There second litter consists of minnowmist, willowstone and silverstream but bluestar had them during the Great Cold and the guild of river was the only one really being fed so she snuck out of camp and gave birth to them and give them to stormstar who raise them in the guild of river, they’re still apprentices when blazepaw goes to her first gathering
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bonefall · 7 months
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not related to the current asks going on- who is mossthorn?? i dont see them on the wiki or anything so i am. a little confused lol
A kit save! It's Mosskit, one of the kits who died under Brokenstar's early training.
ShadowClan is too small for me to sacrifice so many kits while also fixing the timeline. It's abysmally small.
Plus... BB!Brokenstar is WILDLY different from canon. Like, MASSIVELY different. He is still a villain, but a very different kind of villain to fit the story I tell with Better Bones. And one of those massive differences is how he does not regularly use child soldiers.
He used them once for the WindClan Massacre, which was how Badgerfang died, but BB!Brokenstar is a lot more practical. Dead kids don't become strong adults. His goal is the logical endpoint of Thistle Law; to destroy all the other Clans.
So, digressing, Mosskit gets to live a little longer! Though when he dies is still to be decided. She is named Mossthorn by Brokenstar, meant to just sound cool with no thoughts behind it, but it has a funny implication of there being a thorn in your bedding.
It's like if you accidentally got named Pain-in-the-Ass.
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thetrailofflames · 1 year
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Mossthorn
(Mossball / Thistle / Moss)
Calvary; former architect; former soldier
A large, long-furred, white charlie with gray markings with blue eyes. She has a scar above her left eye, left shoulder, and right back foreleg.
He wears two hawk talons in her left ear.
…………………………………………………
Genderfluid ~ Bisexual ~ She/He
Kit of Astéra Jayfire and Déftero Thistleclaw†. Half-Sibling of Leopardstorm. Former courting partner of Mousescratch and Darkstripe? Courting Hornetstripe. Grandkit of Astéra Sunfall† and Déftero Aspenspots† (via Thistleclaw)
Trained by Rosetail. Mentor of Chestnut.
Wild, Calculated, Prickly
Meaning: a multi colored cat who’s prickly and defensive.
Has a blind eye
Generational daddy issues continues
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wickedsrest-rp · 1 year
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NAME: Mossthorn Bog
LOCATION: Nightfall Grove
Most of the wooded space in Nightfall Grove is within Mossthorn Forest – a particularly eerie stretch of woods where the trees have not a single leaf on them yet the sunlight barely filters through to the ground. In the center of the forest sits the one and only Mossthorn Bog, which shares its atmosphere with the surrounding woods. The ground below your feet is soft, the smell of peat moss permeates the air, and there are probably plenty of bog bodies no one has uncovered yet, given the characteristics of the peat bog. Despite how uneasy the area may make some feel, it’s a fantastic place to see wildlife such as birds, and the moss found in the area has special supernatural properties that make it a necessary ingredient for certain spells and home remedies. 
The trees… might all be dead. No one has ever observed a new one grow and year to year they all look just about the same and as dead as always, like they’re frozen in time. Some speculate the lifeless trees are the result of some kind of curse over the whole area. Others wonder if the large undead population in the neighborhood might have something to do with it, somehow. The only thing that seems to be able to grow is the moss and some of the reeds and pitcher plants around the bog.
There are a few experts in town who can identify each moss species found around the bog, and who know the supernatural applications of each. One species may be good for healing wounds faster, while another may help more as a sponge to absorb magic. If you want the really good moss, you’ll have to wander a bit further into the bog. Tread carefully.
Where there’s moss, there are moosleute. Lots and lots of them. Often entire stretches of the bog or woods might be completely covered in their moss, if the population is left unchecked. Fortunately ballybogs like eating the moss and are ignored by the little creatures. Less fortunately, they’re not always around in the colder times of the year.
There’s a reason for the “thorn” part of the name too; in addition to the numerous bare trees, the other plants dominating the forest are tangles of thorny brambles. Some locals try to cut through them to keep them at bay, but they seem to recover quickly, making it hard to pass through certain areas of the woods. The center of the bog even has a particularly nasty tangle growing around something. Maybe it’s important.
The bog relies on precipitation, but that’s not always a given in Mossthorn. Sometimes rain falls from the sky like it should; sometimes, for inexplicable reasons, the area is coated in fallen ash instead. Some of the local vampires take this as a threat from a higher power or very clever slayer.
It wouldn’t be a dead forest without dead people, too. There’s a high density of ghosts found around the bog, and most aren’t the kind you might have a conversation with.
While the bog and woods are mostly silent, the most notable sound you’ll hear is the constant cawing of crows. Sometimes it’s obvious where the sounds are coming from and you can see the crows in question. Other times, there’s not a bird in sight.
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pitruli · 3 days
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One Piece - Warrior Cats AU, but it's a post-apo world with cats playing pirates to replace humans; here's the strawhats first!
Finally made small clean designs of the ideas i had for months haha- Not sure who i'll make next but there's so many characters i want to draw as cats hehe (i can take suggestions)
got some notes under cut
Monkeydawn: can't remember why i made him a colour point- Warrior cat names are a pirate thing, and Dawn is exclusive to the Ds. The ribbon is basically the strawhat here, given by Redscar (i didn't like the look of hats on cats-). Leader of Strawclan but he's bad at names so everyone named themselves
Mossthorn: gray oriental cat. Formerly named Thorn the Fox, Moss is a joke from Snail but also his favorite colour so- He's Clan deputy and a knife wielder, the harness is to keep them on his back.
Waveberry: long hair calico cat. Formerly named Wave, and was Wavestorm in the fishcats' clan. Berries are still a currency here but it sounded better than trying to fit Tangerine in her name. First warrior of the clan and terrain painter. Oh and there's Cloudstar too (names in -star are deities names)
Pebbleflight: black tabby cat. Formerly Pebble and had too many ideas for his pirate name. He grows poisonous plants for projectiles. Wanted as Flyingspark and then Pebblestar (he also has a star on his forehead like WC leaders have in fanarts!)
Snailswirl: Turkish van. Snail is a name he was given by Redleg (such a joke for a french cook but i love it), and Swirl is a joke from Moss. He's both a warrior and a med cat, his cooking experiments helping with faster recoveries.
Antlerfall: Neko no mi, model: lynx. Was named like a pirate by med cat Cherrytree, as his antlers disappear in his full lynx form. He's actually taller than most of the crew in all his forms. The one and only med reindeer !
Ravenbloom: russian blue. Went by the name Newmoon in Baroque Works, and is wanted as "Devilkit". She took back her childhood name Raven when joining the clan. Six legged most of the time because come on it's useful. Studies the extinction of humans (the existence of humans is still to be proven)
Blueflame: blue Mainecoon. Formerly named Littleflame, and renamed Blue by Iceberg, mixed both names when joining the crew. Lost his tail and badly injured his paws in the train accident, so the cyborg part is more like an exoskeleton. And hey, being six legged is fun. Assigned builder of the crew.
Whalesong: Siberian cat. Had his name from the black and white pattern of his fur making him look like an orca, and it fits with Laboon! So yes he is wearing his own fur because of course. His soul form also look like a typical starclan spirit fanarts, and starclan is an old pirate legend here.
Sharkstrike: fishcat! I'm so close to make a whole speculative evolution project about fishcats, but basically, they are cats if they had taken the same evolutionary path as whales. He's not a shark, he's still "just" a cat, but most fishcats are named after sea creatures.
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wonder-in-wings · 11 days
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TIMING: Early February LOCATION: Mossthorn Bog SUMMARY: More like “How to Train your Lamia” AMIRITE Parker (@wonder-in-wings, while on his way home after hunting dinner, encounters a big alligator mutant (@loftylockjaw who wants his food. CONTENT WARNINGS: None
This bog, though cold, was the closest thing Wyatt had to home. Not Boston—not that Boston had ever been home—but the one he’d left behind as a frightened teenager. He wished he could go back, wished he had the courage to face his mother and own up to what he’d done, to what he continued to do… he just felt certain she’d be disappointed, upset, and angry, and he’d never made her feel that way before. At least not that she made known to him. He’d always been her perfect son, eager to help with the restaurant, maintaining his grades in school, excelling in sports and having plenty of friends. But she didn’t know about the night fights, about the money that passed hands when he let himself loose and terrorized lesser creatures and shifters alike. It was one thing to defend himself against the hungry, territorial jaws of his infant siblings and other gators in the swamp, but this was not self defense. This was not even natural, unlike his defeat of the rest of his clutch. This was blood sport. She’d hate that, he knew. It had never been about killing for the sake of killing. So he couldn’t return, and had to make due where possible: that’s where the bog came in.
The lamia was out for a spa day, as it were, ready to relish the muck of the bog and return to his baser instincts—ones that’d been baked in during his first near half-decade of life spent as a monstrous reptile of the swamp. He’d found some decently deep water, which was again, too fucking cold, but no worse than the lake. Actually, it was a bit warmer than the lake, for which he was thankful. The bottom of the bog was squishy and sloppy, the water dark and murky and pungent. The lamia looked like little more than a log among all the moss and reeds and scum, until he opened his yellow eyes at the sound of footsteps. They weren’t terribly close, but not that far off either. He remained still, not really wanting to disturb the peaceful day if he could help it, and not feeling particularly hungry, either. Whoever or whatever it was had gotten lucky today.
——
There was a semblance of where he came from at the Mossthorn Bog, even if the last time he’d been there was when he was interrupted in the middle of his project. Parker held more confidence in that type of environment than any in town, if he was being honest - the soft peat beneath his steel-toed boots squelching as he tread lightly, with a hunter’s gait in an attempt to be as careful as possible. ‘Catlike’, as someone had called it before. He never quite understood the sentiment as he’d previously known cats for being graceless and clumsy as they believed themselves to be agile and clever when jumping up onto countertops that didn’t suit them, but as he finally took the time to learn more, he was starting to come around to the comparison. He tread through the silent, chilly, misty bog that afternoon, feeling slicked with an uncomfortable humidity that coated his skin, but satisfied as he hauled three supernaturally-massive frogs with him with two in one hand and one in the other. It was places like this that reminded Parker of home, and the things he knew to look out for, including him stopping expertly at the edge of what appeared to be more regular earth coated with dull moss. The Warden glanced down at the ground before his eyes scanned up and down an invisible line; the untrained person would’ve missed it but he was standing on a bank, where just under the deceiving surface inches ahead of him was murky brown and gray water. He wondered if there would be any more hibernating frogs in the mud, but as he thought about it and he let his gaze wander absently– When he saw the pair of eyes. Parker recognized them immediately, having grown up with more alligators than humans in his life. As per usual, most of it was completely submerged, having been there long enough to appear to have been reclaimed by nature itself. ‘This is the part where someone else would turn and leave.’ Walker suggested boredly, sarcastically as Parker instead kept his icy blue eyes on the creature, his curiosity and affection for the reptiles keeping him from simply going in a different direction. No, Parker wasn’t someone else, he was Parker, a strange man who lived out in the bayou for his formative years and he opted to find a nearby log to sit on for a while so he could observe it from the shore, wondering how it got there, where it was from and if it knew how far away it was from home. Similar to him sometimes, perhaps.
——
The arrival of the human didn't alarm Wyatt in the slightest, but it did pique his curiosity. He watched as the man stared back at him, then moved to sit on a log and continue watching. How strange. Most folks would've gone running—if they even noticed him in the first place. The pause at the bank was enough of an indicator that this man knew his way around swamps and bogs, and Wyatt wondered very briefly if this was the same person he'd spoken to online, the other Louisiana transplant. Surely there couldn't be that many of them in this town. 
With this in mind, the lamia only waited a few more minutes before moving rather than allowing the staring match to persist for however long the stranger was willing to sit there. With a flick of his tail, he glided smoothly through the pond scum in the stranger's direction. He did angle himself slightly away from the man the closer he came, keeping an eye on him while trying to keep from spooking him. The gator came to a slow stop, lazing at the edge of the water for a few minutes to see if he would remain seated. 
When he did, and when Wyatt felt certain that there was no possible threat, the lamia lifted his massive head out of the water and slid it up onto the bank, parting his jaws and letting out a low rumble of acknowledgement. 
He wasn't going to speak. Not yet, anyway. That fun prank could come later. 
——
However much time elapsed between Parker sitting on that log lightly to when the alligator began to move wasn’t paid much mind by him, and while he did find himself tensing instinctually as the gator moved closer to the shore, he stayed where he was; he’d grown up fighting gators, and now he just had more tools to assist him. There seemed to be something curious about this particular gator as it drew closer to the shore, the Warden thought, in that it was almost moving in a way that wasn’t directed at him. Rather, it seemed as though the creature saw him, the two stared at each other, then it advanced but not out of interest of attacking him. Either that or perhaps the gator didn’t think he saw it, as impossible as that seemed. Parker kept his steely stare on the creature as it drew closer, and closer… and when it could practically come ashore, its head was pulled out of the water in its entirety and Parker realized that this was no ordinary gator. No, this thing was easily twice as big, coming closer to deinosuchus than a living, modern alligator. Admittedly surprised by the size of the head alone, but still not quite afraid (or at least afraid enough to react yet), the Warden grew still. That was, until the massive head was placed on the soft mud, not eight feet away from him - if it wanted to, the gator could’ve tried to take one of his legs and if he himself weren’t quick enough, Parker could’ve gone down the same unfortunate beginning path as Rhett - and opened its mouth.The sound it emitted wasn’t the warning hiss of aggression, but rather… almost like a greeting. Or at least, it certainly knew that Parker was there. Rather lazily, the hunter gathered the legs of one of the overgrown frogs and tossed it over to the creature.
— —
Yellow eyes tracked Parker’s minimal movement, slitted pupils dilating slightly as one of the frogs was picked up. Those parted jaws twitched in response and his head jerked very subtly to the side, but the hint of motion became a full snap at the air to catch the frog in his mouth as it was tossed his way. Free snacks? Fuck yeah, free snacks. Wyatt pushed himself further up onto the bank, getting his arms and legs back underneath him as the water grew shallow around his body. He was built for bipedal locomotion, but his slightly shorter back legs meant that he could easily transition to being on all fours, with a sloped spine and gait similar to that of a scaly, two-ton German Shepherd. 
The man had more frogs, and Wyatt wanted them. He pushed himself up out of the muck, moving slowly closer. Suddenly he was struck by a memory that he’d forgotten about—he’d done something similar to this with a few humans that’d turned up in his swamp back home, when he was about two years old. They were rightfully fascinated by the vaguely human-shaped alligator monster, and surely his small stature at the time had everything to do with them being curious instead of scared. But… he’d shown them, hadn’t he? Ah, yes. He’d bitten off a few fingers of one of them when they reached for his snout. Bearing this in mind as he came to a stop just a few feet from the man on the log, the lamia lowered himself back to the earth. No biting the human, he reminded himself, finding it all too easy to slip back into old habits when presented with a situation like this. It was a tough thing to shake, sometimes, since he’d spent so many years like this after hatching. Maybe if he’d been born as a human, maybe if he’d grown up as a human, he wouldn’t be so inclined to act like a big, stupid creature when he had the chance. But he hadn’t, and he was. He loved it. Thought it was a riot after the fact, but during… well, during interactions like this, he couldn’t help it. It was instinct. 
His jaws parted again and he waited patiently for his treat.
——
The first frog was deftly caught and swiftly consumed, the motion hoisting the large creature a little more out of the murky swamp water. Parker tilted his head slightly and for a moment, he recalled Anita’s large, powerful rattlesnake transformation in the crypt. He wasn’t sure what to call what she was, if there were other things like her but “shifter” would have had to suffice for the time being. He wondered if his unusual company was similar to her. Regardless of whether or not this creature had the intelligence of a human (or at least a mammal), the Warden wasn’t going to treat it as though it was stupid. However, Parker quirked a brow as the alligator monster moved closer to him, stopping just short of one of his steel-toed boots and opening its mouth as though expecting something else. He couldn’t keep a scoff from escaping him and he shook his head slowly, but reached for another one of the frogs anyway. ‘This is why you don’t feed the animals, boy.’ His father reprimanded him in a memory from a long time ago, as Parker emotionlessly pinned an alligator’s mouth shut against the ground after the animal advanced on him. ‘They keep coming back. Start to see you as a dispenser, then get mad when you don’t got anything else for ‘em.’
Wordlessly, he threw the second frog to the large reptilian, taking care not to overaim or accidentally hit the thing anywhere less convenient than its mouth. 
— —
There wasn’t much effort needed to catch this frog, and Wyatt happily gulped it down after it landed on his flat, white tongue. There was not a good reason for this man to not have taken off running yet unless the sight of something like Wyatt came as no surprise. He wasn’t sure if that meant the man knew he was a lamia, a shifter, or just a beast of the bog like so many of the other fucked up creatures around these parts, but… at any rate, it probably meant the man was dangerous. Or at least that he had the capacity to be dangerous, since it didn’t seem very high on his list of priorities at the moment. Still, Wyatt tried to see if there were any visible weapons on his person, and finding none, rose to his feet once more. This time, though, he rose to his full height, stretching clawed hands up over his head and letting out a guttural groan.
Feeling a bit limbered up, the lamia sat in a squat beside the man, angling his head down again as he set one clawed hand on the log. His long snout bumped against the man’s side, perhaps silently asking for that final frog.
The catch was expected. The giant reptile standing on its hind legs and stretching as though it were a person was much less expected and it was the closest that Parker had gotten to actually considering retreating for a moment. This was reflected in a subtle move, his legs shifting and repositioning in such a way that made it even easier for him to leap to his feet to get out of the way of a snapping maw with several tons of bite strength behind it. And yet, even as he felt that animal instinct tugging on the corner of his mind, he still couldn’t help but admire the thing; the muscles rippling under its slick, plated skin, the way its teeth neatly layered themselves over its lower jaw. The gleaming yellow eyes, even its humanoid, sloped body. The long, powerful tail. Parker was compared to reptiles on occasion, he remembered throughout his childhood. ‘Why? I don’t understand.’ He had asked, his dull tone still managing to make itself sound curious in its own way, the way his mother had long since grown to be able to tell. ‘You’re an ambush predator.’ His mother replied as she absently cut vegetables for their dinner. ‘You lie in wait for someone or something to bother you. That’s when you strike with decisive precision.’ Did Parker see himself in this creature that “sat” very close next to him now, claws inches away from his flesh and a massive nose nudging him? No. He wasn’t capable of that level of self-reflection, he didn’t think. Alligators were powerful, adaptable and cunning. And this one, a strange blend of human-adjacent movements and primal reptilian genetics, was nosing into his side expectantly, to which Parker calmly gathered his third and final quarry and offered it to the lizard. “Last one I have.” He finally spoke to the creature.
— —
Wyatt devoured the final frog just as quickly as he had the other two, and found himself disappointed that that would be the end of it. His more human, more civilized thoughts were falling into the background, muffled and quiet as his baser instincts took over. He was a hatchling again, toddler-aged and knowing no other life than the life of a swamp monster, only much bigger and much more dangerous, now. 
He could eat the man, and be satisfied for a time. This idea, one that he’d previously told himself to abandon, came back to the forefront. He could be eaten. Flesh torn, blood spilled, bones crunched… memories of eating humans flooded his mind and he let out a low rumble in response, his gaze settling on the seated figure with new intent. He hadn’t been very hungry before, but passing up a meal as easy as this would be a mistake, wouldn’t it? The lamia’s open jaws hung dangerously close to the man, and he was as perfectly still now as he’d been in the water, contemplating a strike. The taste of mammal blood on his tongue was a welcome one, and he wanted—
Wyatt blinked, closing his mouth again and moving to a less threatening proximity, lowering himself to the ground once more. Don’t eat the hand that feeds, he reminded himself, trying to draw on the humanity that’d momentarily been lost. This could be a sweet deal. Just keep playing along. An idea struck him, a rather genius idea, he thought, and he stared up at the man for a few beats before parting those massive, toothy jaws. 
“... last… one,” he grated, doing his absolute best to make it sound like he’d hardly ever spoken in his life. 
——
The monster snapped up the last of his quarry and while Parker was rather looking forward to those, he didn’t blame anyone or anything on the decision he’d made. It would’ve been just as easy for him to simply turn the other way and abandon the beast to the swamp, knowing that it wasn’t close to starving, to go home and prepare the abnormal frogs for himself. He didn’t, though, and now as he sat there, observing the creature getting closer to him, he himself stared up at the thing that now stared back down at him. There was a sense of familiarity about this scene, as Parker himself moved imperceptibly to retaliate if the monster decided to give into its primal nature but unlike last time, when an overwhelming futility had gripped the core of his humbled frame, this alligator mutant wasn’t nearly as large or daunting as the mighty serpent beached in that rocky cove months ago. He might’ve sustained damage. He likely would’ve sustained damage. But he could also move fast enough to exchange a bite with his own dagger to the creature’s golden, slitted eye that stared back down at him. He himself remained nearly motionless and even his breath seemed to cease… until the creature lowered itself, creating some space between the two. Parker, with his blue eyes still warily on the reptilian, allowed himself to breathe again though he felt himself instinctively tensing all over again as those same golden eyes were exchanged with him–
Then the monster spoke. Eyebrows raised in what could’ve been called surprise as the Warden wasn’t expecting this turn of events. Parker was sure that if this had been almost any other human except for Rhett perhaps, this wouldn’t have gone over the way that it was going. He was sure someone else would’ve emoted more. “You’re either more intelligent than I previously thought or I’m under more hallucinogens.” He admitted, his expression returning to its emotionless stare though he kept one of his brows quirked in evident interest. He pointed to himself, not going out of his way to be exaggerated with his motions. “Parker.” 
— —
“Parker,” the beast repeated, struggling with the ‘p’ sound but otherwise mimicking him perfectly. No name would be given on his part—this was the man from Louisiana, the one Wyatt had shared recipes with. There’d be no indication to him that the creature in front of him was a shifter, at least not one that had ever shifted in its life. Wyatt couldn’t even be sure that he’d know what that was, but judging by the abnormal frogs he’d been carrying, there was a chance. Besides being an easy source of food, this was free entertainment. It wasn’t malicious by nature, but there was some amount of bullying behavior in the lamia’s decision to play along like this woven into the deception. Not that Wyatt was psychoanalyzing it himself. He never did that, he likely wasn’t even capable.
Turning himself so he could slowly begin to back up into the water, Wyatt kept his head low. “More…” he growled, wriggling himself deeper into the mud as his top half remained visible. “Parker… more.”
— —
This was a strange situation, indeed. It repeated his name back to him, in a rather clean imitation. If Parker didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that this creature was capable of further speech, but he opted not to think too much about it. The reptilian monster moved once again, slowly turning to sink itself back into the murky depths of the bog once more. Then the Warden’s brow furrowed slightly at the next words the creature said, not taught to it by Parker himself. So it did know other words. “You’re a giant alligator mutant.” He replied first, rather dryly considering the scenario he found himself in. He was still tense, though, ready to move in an instant the millisecond the creature decided to discontinue the conversation in favor of attempting to eat him. “Surely you can hunt for yourself.” He had already given the creature the entirety of his quarry that day; he wasn’t a depository for alligator monsters out in the swamp. ‘I told you once you feed things, they get attached.’ 
— —
A rumble that could’ve been categorized as ‘grumpy’ (if you were the type to assign emotion to animals) sounded in response to Parker’s insistence that Wyatt could feed himself. Of course he could feed himself. He could feed himself right now if he wanted, could have a veritable feast in the form of one bayou transplant that’d keep him full for weeks. He wasn’t incapable, goddamnit, this was just a bit of fun. 
As if to push the point, the creature sank back into the muck and just stared at him, as silent as he’d been when the man had first arrived. He might get back up again and follow Parker if he left, he might not. Wyatt was a fickle creature, guided by instinct and impulse rather than careful, planned out action. Following him would probably be more fun, though. And it might get him to understand that the want was for him to return here another day, with more treats, maybe. 
Only one way to find out, and it required patience. So the beast lay in wait, staring at Parker, challenging him to rise from his seat and try to leave.
No response aside from what sounded like a grunt, almost a begrudging ‘hmph’ at what Parker had said. It was impossible for the Warden to know this was what it meant, if that was what it meant, but it clearly knew other words that Parker hadn’t taught it so the likelihood that it held some semblance of higher sentience or intelligence than other brutes was relatively high. The reptilian creature trudged back into the mud and disappeared below the surface until it was back to staring at the hunter with its slitted yellow eyes. And Parker contemplated. He had already made more deals over the past few months than the rest of his life combined up until that point and from what he could gather about this particular arrangement, he got absolutely nothing from it aside from an alligator mutant who probably only saw him as a food source, whether that was from the things Parker hunted or the Warden himself. This was the problem with mammals, he had learned years ago; he didn’t expect critical thought or deep emotions from reptiles. They existed, acted on their instincts and held little if any remorse over their actions. Reptiles were adaptationally intelligent (enough) but emotionally vapid, simple things that were easy to predict because there was no advanced circuitry below the scaled flesh. That was why Parker could identify with them. For now, though, he offered a pointed exhale of his own, not quite a scoff but it also wasn’t as much of an actual ‘hmph’ of his own as it could’ve been. “We’ll see.” Parker replied, placing his hands on his belt and starting to get to his feet though he never removed his icy blue eyes from the smoke-shrouded gaze of the reptilian. 
— —
They were locked in a staring contest as the man rose to his feet, Wyatt waiting patiently until he’d finally moved far enough away that the lamia’s second emergence from the bog wouldn’t seem like an imminent threat. The last thing he needed was this guy pulling a knife on him, or something. Not that it’d do much, the durability of his scales was tried and true, but still. This wasn’t meant to be a fight. 
Keeping on all fours, the beast lumbered slowly after Parker, his head turning this way and that as he glanced around them, a sort of non-threatening display of a lack of laser focus. Part of him wondered if the man lived nearby, because he’d like to know where he lived, if only to further his ability to play little pranks on him. Maybe someday he’d find a gator asleep on his porch, or slinking into his kitchen through a broken window. What fun that would be! For Wyatt. Probably not for Parker. He didn’t really care if it was fun for Parker, though. 
When Parker stopped, he stopped. When the human moved, he moved. He was like a massive, growling shadow, curious to see where his waiter for the afternoon was headed. 
——
His hearing might’ve been deficient but the other nuances in the hunter’s skills didn’t pass him by - he was being followed. Not that the reptilian seemed particularly built for stealth on land, but it still gave the Warden pause on occasion, and he stopped every few steps, noticing that the alligator monster would, too. What was its angle? The swamp provided a measure of humidity that was otherwise absent in the rest of the town, for sure, but the fog didn’t keep the unpleasant chill from stinging Parker’s skin and nose, so he found himself curious about why the reptilian would bother following him. Eventually, as he kept calm and fell into a more steady pace of walking, the unlikely duo neared the edge of the Mossthorn Bog, where Parker eventually turned, keeping one of his hands near the hilt of his broadest dagger just in case the monster decided that the fun was over and that the frogs he’d been given weren’t sufficient enough. “Are you going to follow me into town?” He asked, regarding the creature and locking eyes with it again. “I’m not sure where your level of intelligence rests but I don’t recommend it, if that’s your plan.”
— —
Into town? He lived in town? Damn. So much for that plan. Wyatt took the info rather poorly, letting out a long, soft bellow of complaint, ending it with a hiss for good measure. He sat back on his haunches, regarding the man thoughtfully for a few moments longer, then whipped his tail through the underbrush of the bog and rocked forward, letting his clawed hands sink into the hardening mud. He was planning to stay put, it seemed, and when the warden walked away from him a second time, he did not follow. 
He did, however, wait until Parker was a good distance before calling out in that same deep, gravelly voice, “More!”
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thunderstroked · 2 months
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Capture Deez || Mona & Chris
TIMING: late october. LOCATION: mossthorn bog. PARTIES: @chrisgates & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona finds chris in a rather precarious position. CONTENT: none!
“Just… Stay… Still.” Through the lens of a camera, a warm, brown eye fixed itself on an iridescent dragonfly that sat precariously upon the edge of a leaf. With a breath, it fluttered off into the autumnal breeze. A sigh escaped the photographer. “Why does everything have to be difficult?” He asked himself, but carried on anyway with the hope he might find it again — or something else, something cool or beautiful or interesting. Anything that would look nice on his website or in print. There was a commission at the back of his mind, but right now he needed to not think about work.
Christopher trudged through thick brush and came upon a bit of wet earth that stretched into what he assumed was a swamp of some sort. Or maybe it was that bog he’d heard about? What was the difference, anyway? He didn’t have much time to think about what set them apart or even pull out his phone to do a quick search when he noticed a small, bright light emanating from between the tall cattails and grass. It danced lazily among the foliage, beckoning for him to get closer. That wasn’t like any insect he had ever seen. 
Unable to really help himself, the photographer took a step forward; his hiking boot sunk into the soft, water-logged soil a little, enough for anyone to want to return to more solid land, but Chris wanted to keep going. Where there was one, there was another just further ahead — they created a line deeper into the marshland, their dance entrancing and delicate. He really couldn’t say no, even if something in him told him this was wrong. 
– 
Mona had heard through the grapevine that if in need of a snack, Mossthorn Bog was probably her best bet. Most would visit a convenience store or a restaurant, but the gumiho satiated her hunger with something a little different, a little more uncommon than the typical individual. The ghosts that populated the bog were often the distraught kind, and perhaps if Mona weren’t so hungry, she could listen to the way they begged for their spectral lives, but in all reality, they were already gone– left to be forgotten. A bitterness grew within her regarding spectral entities and what they were meant to provide her, and others like her. Maybe she would be disappointed in herself, but that version had been lost some years ago. 
So after she had consumed a ghost or two, she made the move to go back into town. It was a dangerous landscape, and one she shouldn’t expect to be completely unharmed in. There were mumblings of various different species treading over the land, both spectral and not. She hadn’t anticipated to see a human amongst the reeds, but there he was– camera in hand. For a brief moment, Mona considered turning her back. How would she know he wasn’t one of the very beings plastering photos of her gumiho form on the forum boards? But her hesitation got the better of her as soon as she saw what was drawing him into the water. 
He was about knee deep now, following after something bright in the air. Mona stared after the object of his sudden desire, and then to the individual. After a moment, she recognized the scent of wet dog. Of course this couldn’t be just a normal human. With a sigh, Mona moved towards them. “Hello?” She called out first, hoping for some reaction. 
Chris heard the voice. His fingers twitched in response and his head tilted towards it just slightly. He heard it in the back of his mind, but something in him kept him from looking in its direction. He couldn’t bear to tear his eyes from the glowing, blue brilliance before him, unblinking and completely drawn. The wet of the earth was evident and he felt the way it crept up the material of his jeans. It was so cold. 
His hands had fallen from their cradling position from beneath the camera and instead hung limply by his sides. But he was too lost in the light before him to be too upset about the piece of photography equipment that now sunk into the mud. He would have at least tried to grab it, to stop its fall, but he did nothing of the sort. Nothing but continue on his dead set path, lured in like a shrimp to an angler fish. He wouldn’t do this… No. This was really wrong. A shaky breath escaped him as the chill from the water crept up further still; for just a second, he paused, but his eyes stayed on the dancing light source.
It dangled tantalizingly in front of him, as if trying to up its efforts after having realized that Chris stopped. No. It wouldn’t take much to continue the pull again, even if his insides urged him in the other way. 
Her attempt at getting his attention was futile. It almost seemed as though he’d turn around and ask her what she was doing bothering him, but he stayed facing the blue orb of light, gaze transfixed on something that had no pull with her. Mona became slightly frustrated. 
She watched in muted horror as the camera in his hands fell into the water. She knew how expensive those things could be, and while she had no personal attachment to the one that Esther– Edith, whatever she was going by here, had forced her to use for the business, she knew that perhaps this specific individual would be less than ecstatic by the loss of his camera. Mona didn’t approach him at first, waiting for him to get a few more steps forward before she was dipping her hands into the water, feeling around for the camera. Once she found it, she pulled it up, frowning as it was now waterlogged and caked in mud. He was not going to be happy. 
Mona knew she would need to do something in order to keep him from drowning. She focused all of her energy on the orb of light, doing her best to make it curve around, to return to the shore of the bog. It fought her for a moment, but ultimately relented. She hoped that in changing its direction, it would change the person’s, too. “Just follow it,” Mona muttered under her breath, backing up towards the shore. One hand was extended into the air, palm open and fingers arched as if she were trying to grab the orb of light, and the other was clasped around the soggy camera.
Its efforts seemed to have worked. Chris felt his legs mechanically move towards it, his body on complete autopilot, moving through the thick swamp as if he were in a dream. If he were anywhere but the trance he was currently in, he would have noticed that the blue light had changed its trajectory. So instead of the watery grave it had intended on giving him, it led him towards dry land.
He also felt a presence near him; he knew he wasn’t alone, but with the magical blinders on, he couldn’t see who or what it was. It made him nervous as he wasn’t fond of people being in his blind spots, but he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from the light. What if he did? What if it wasn’t there anymore if he looked back? He didn’t have a good answer for that, couldn’t even bring himself to figure out why he even cared in the first place. All he knew was that he needed to go towards it, to maybe even catch it.
A step in a better direction lowered the water level from over his knees to just below them. Another step found sturdier earth for footing through thick sludge. Unfortunately, with how entranced he was, he couldn’t focus on keeping that balance. What he surmised was probably a stick or some kind, maybe coated with algae, rolled from beneath his sneaker and caused his body to lurch forward. The break in eye contact with the light urged his hands to fly up at the last second, catching himself from getting a face full of mud.
The rest of his body wasn’t as lucky. He blinked and frowned, clearly confused as to why he was in the middle of the swampy lake instead of on solid ground. “What the fuck…” He started, frustration evident in the way he flung the mud from his hands and surveyed the soggy mess that was his clothes.
It seemed to be working until it wasn’t. Mona let out a disappointed sigh as the victim of the orb nearly face planted into the mud. He had been so close to the water’s edge, and yet… 
Quickly, Mona shook her hand through the air as if to dislodge a bug, and the orb shot off into the distance while the stranger was preoccupied by something else. God forbid he try and chase it. She approached him slowly, wincing as she noticed the way the mud was now caked into his clothes. “You’re in mud.” That much was obvious, so she attempted again, “do you know how you got into the mud?” She didn’t think he would remember, but it was worth a shot. Did it matter at this point? At least he’d been saved. 
With another sigh, she held out his camera, water dripping down the lens. “You dropped this, and I tried to save it, but I’m not sure if it actually did save it, or if you’re fucked.” She tucked the camera to her chest and nodded at him. “You should get out of there, you don’t know what kinds of things might be crawling beneath the surface.” It was cryptic, but she figured it was better to give a warning than none at all.
As Chris brushed excess mud off the front of his jeans, a woman appeared very suddenly on the bank and graciously captioned his predicament. Her out of thin air visage startled him so much that he lost his balance and fell onto his behind. An irritated sound that was crossed between a sigh and a groan escaped him before he looked up at the stranger with an expression that said he was over it.
“No… I have no clue how I got in here,” he really shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but at least he was still clothed. “I was just.. Walking and taking some pictures..” Suddenly he remembered his camera and looked around him at the mud in a flurry of panic - until she mentioned the camera he so desperately searched for. His shoulders visibly slumped. He didn’t think it could get worse.
“Oh.. I’m fucked,” Chris gave a little nod as he stared at the waterlogged camera. He was ready to get out of the muddy mess, but her warning and the feeling of something squishy between his fingers got him back onto his feet and onto solid earth again real quick. Other than the usual insects or frogs or leeches (did Wicked’s Rest have leeches?), what else lurked beneath the sludge? He didn’t think he wanted to find out. 
“Thanks for grabbing it, anyway..” A slight wince was visible in the way his eye twitched when he realized he verbally thanked someone; he completely forgot. “I appreciate you trying. Most people wouldn’t have done that.”
Mona watched him carefully. What would she have done in his situation? What if she hadn’t been able to help, especially without confirmation that she too, would not be hurt? She watched as he fell onto his butt, wincing again as the splattering of mud went upward. It caked every inch of him, aside from his face. 
The camera was definitely waterlogged and it was beginning to make her wrist ache from how heavy it was. As he spoke, she shook her head. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Better than being dead.” This wasn’t the kind of situation that’d warrant wanting to die, she didn’t think. Even if of embarrassment. Then again, what did she know. 
The stranger jumped up with enough vigor that Mona took a small step backward, arching the camera slightly in his direction, ready to chuck it at his head. It didn’t look like he was going to attack her, it looked more or less like he was concerned with what might be beneath the surface of the water. 
Relaxing slightly, she nodded. “I’m a photographer too.” It wasn’t much of a lie these days, she did in fact run the business in full, especially with no sight of Edith back in Wicked’s Rest anytime soon. “So I get it, these are expensive.” She looked down at the camera, the full weight of it more obvious now that she wasn’t distracted. “This one is much heavier than the one I use, and before you ask me which one I use, don’t, because I don’t know the brand.” She moved the camera to her other hand before beckoning him forward. “There’s a clear stream over there, you can wash your hands off at least, maybe your feet. But you’re covered in mud.” 
This wasn’t like the “other” situations. He still had all of his clothes on, albeit they were pretty gross, and there was no blood to be found, no sirens to be heard and no screams to pierce his ears. Nothing but a soggy mess, a broken camera, and a strange woman who left him with more questions than answers.
It could’ve been worse.
Chris, already pretty tired of everything that had happened to him that day already, had to offer her a scoff, but he kept it friendly enough with a sheepish smile. “To be honest, I’m surprised I’m not yet…” Maybe that was a little too morbid when meeting someone for the first time, but he didn’t really care. Besides, she looked like she could handle something a little weird, especially considering where they were.
“Really? How long have you been doing it for?” Despite the obvious loss of his camera, he did perk up at that information; he liked meeting fellow artists, including photographers, even if they were just starting out. “You’re telling me… I’m not stoked about this. And, okay.. that’s fair. Do you like using it, though?”
Chris looked to where she had pointed and, sure enough, there was the stream. He could hear the water just barely rushing by and dancing around rocks, hear the water bubble and dip during little falls. It sounded refreshing. But he also noticed that she still held his camera in her hand - “here, let me take this sad thing with me. I know it’s dead but I should wash it off the best I can anyway…Thank you again for getting it.”
The closer he was now, the more he smelled like wet dog and mud. A werewolf’s ability at controlling their shift varied by person, and she didn’t know where this person landed. She was just glad he hadn’t tried to rip her throat out in the confusion. That would have gotten them nowhere, and Mona wasn’t looking to be endangered after helping somebody. 
She let out a soft laugh at his comment. At least he was aware of the dangers that were within Wicked’s Rest. Or maybe he was mentioning his werewolf-ness in passing. “Well, I’m sure somebody is glad you aren’t. I’d say I am, but I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment.” She paused, eyebrows knitting together, “I guess I did help you though, so there is a part of me– you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re alive.” She didn’t need to make things complicated with her words as she always did. 
“Um…” Mona counted back the months she’d been in Wicked’s Rest, “since… October, maybe? September?” That sounded right. The weight of the camera was annoying now, and if she hadn’t started a conversation with the poor sap that was covered in mud, she might just drop it on the ground. “I took the job for a friend. I’m getting better over time.” Maybe she could trade in saving his life for some lessons, that way people on the internet would stop being cruel about her skills. 
He seemed to notice the stream finally, too, and as he requested his camera, she shoved it forward. “Here, it’s kind of heavy now that it’s filled with water.” She wasn’t much for technology, but she knew that submerging it into water probably wouldn’t help its ability to function, but what did she know? Maybe it was waterproof. After handing over the camera, she paused before looking around. “So um, do you know how to get out of here?” 
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chrisgates · 10 months
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... I Know What You Are ...
TIMING: Just after the events of Take Me To Your River LOCATION: Dance Macabre, Mossthorn Forest PARTIES: @chrisgates and @rn-zane SUMMARY: Chris can't sleep and goes out for a walk somewhere he shouldn't. He finds Zane in distress and the two learn - and deal - with some heavy truths. WARNINGS: N/A
Nightmares for Chris were plentiful. Either they plagued him or he stared at the ceiling, hoping and praying for sleep. Even the nightmares. Instead of either, he decided to wander around the town and get some fresh air. That might do him some good. So wander he did — his walk of peace seeking led him out of the Pines and into Nightfall Grove, an area he’d never been to nor seemed to pay too much mind to as he steadily crept by.
Lost in his own sleep-deprived thoughts, Chris rounded a corner and made it maybe a few steps into what turned out to be an alley too creepy for its own good. He didn’t realize where he was exactly until he heard the sound in front of him. Some ways down, there stood a figure. Now, he couldn’t exactly make out who or what it was, but he decided that now was not the time to engage. It was way too late, he was tired, and they could be a drunk that stumbled out of the nearby club. He was pretty sure the club was around here, anyway. 
Still, Chris decided it was time to just turn around as quietly as possible and head back the way he came. Unfortunately for him, quiet just wasn’t going to happen. It was comical, really, the way he’d stepped backwards and stepped on a piece of plastic. It crinkled beneath his boot heel and practically echoed off the alley walls. Chris scrunched his face up. Fuck.
Zane should have left by now. Every fiber of his being had been screaming at him to get out of here but walking felt impossible. The club had exceeded its own reputation with the complete disregard every smoker that entered the alley showed. No one really seemed to mind the vampire glued into the corner, still bloody and not meeting anyone’s eyes. Maybe they just assumed he was on a post feeding high. He should have been, probably would have if not for the soul crushing guilt threatening to swallow him whole. 
They alley was blissfully empty as his legs seemed to regain the function of movement again, slow and shaky but it was something. At least, Zane had assumed the alley was empty, the sudden noise making him jump, every alarm bell going off in his head as it whipped around towards the noise. It wasn’t dark enough to shadow the face staring back at him which meant his own face, still red eyed, fanged and crusted with blood, probably wasn’t invisible either. To top it all off, the face staring back was familiar. 
His brain was still slow, too slow to properly try to diffuse this situation or do… anything, really. Turn away, retreat back into the club, come up with some lame excuse. Anything. Pure panic was all that made its way into his throat, even as the deranged hilarity of the situation dawned on him. A strange mirror of the night he’d found Chris in the woods, covered in someone or something’s blood. At least Zane was clothed, a strange refuge to find in all of this but it was all his frazzled brain could come up with. “I…” Burning eyes never left the other man’s, part of him hoping that he would just run off already. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Chris’ realization came like dominos falling. It took but a breath to comprehend that this was a person, and in the next it was Zane, the man who’d helped him in the woods some time before. But it didn’t end there — he caught sight of the blood around his mouth, the vivid abnormalness of his eyes. He blinked, thinking that maybe he was just seeing things. No, definitely not. Their eyes were red, brighter than that of the blood that smeared around his mouth. Chris felt his skin crawl; the closeness of the alley, suffocating almost, didn’t help.
You shouldn’t be here.
He was instantly transported back to that night, when he was the one who refused the company of someone else thinking that was the safer option. For them both. This very well could be a similar situation — the blood was a good indicator. Chris did take a step back, but he didn’t leave. Not yet. Instinct told him he needed to heed those words, but he knew that Zane wouldn’t have left him. He hadn’t. He remained stubborn and compromised his own safety even after Chris told him to just leave him there.
“What’s going on..?” He asked hesitantly, though he was concerned. He didn’t move. “Are you okay?”
Zane watched the other recoil back a step, feeling his stomach drop even though Chris was doing exactly what the vampire had pretty much instructed. The look in the man’s eyes was something Zane had never experienced directed at him and it was nauseating. Even though he’d seen general fear and distrust in this exact pair of eyes before, this was so much more potent and direct. But Chris didn’t leave. 
The soft question, so unbelievably unexpected that it came like a slap to the face, was all it took to fill the meter for Zane’s complete breakdown. His legs, having previously just gained the strength to take a step, crumpled under him. It felt pathetic but there was no will or thought left, just complete defeat as the pale face of the man he’d almost killed flashed across his eyes. Stomach rolling over, threatening to empty out in what would most likely be a disturbing display of blood, he gasped for a breath he didn’t even need. 
“I almost killed him,” he said numbly, feeling his fangs retract, wanting his whole body to retract and disappear as well. It wasn’t even meant for Chris to hear, really - Zane just needed to say it out loud. Feel the weight of it hit him, remember the utter lack of control. Eyes, now fading back to their normal color, squeezed shut. He wanted the other man to leave, needed him to almost, because he could barely stand to be with himself at the moment, much less another person. Especially not a person that he’d recently attempted to help which, wow, the idea of anyone coming to him for help now…
A great manner of odd and, frankly, spooky things had a habit of cropping up in the cozy city of Wicked’s Rest. Sure, he’d experienced the constant battle of days missing or fighting the authorities, but nothing like what this place had to offer. Zane’s color changing eyes definitely made the list. Chris could try to chalk it up to the club’s signage or the streetlight, but nothing felt right. None of it made sense.
That wasn’t important, though. Not now. Not when Zane looked like he really needed some help; he’d be a fool to leave him. Steeling himself, Chris took a few tentative steps forward. The blood meant something bad, so even though there was a streak of kindness in Zane, Chris didn’t know what he was capable of. That meant he’d keep his distance unless otherwise invited. Zane looked like he didn’t want him anywhere near him to begin with.
Chris decided to crouch down to make himself as innocuous as possible. There was still some distance between them. What was he supposed to say? What could possibly make this any better? He tried to clear his throat but to no avail. “You’re..hm,” his voice cracked. “You’re going to be okay… whatever happened is.. It’s over.” The event might be over, but that haunted, far away look was too familiar to Chris. He felt it deeply.
Zane felt ridiculous. Probably would have succumbed to total embarrassment if there had been room for any other feeling in his chest right now, kneeling on the ground of this alley, eyes closed as if that would fix the problem. See no evil didn’t exactly apply when the evil was apparently crouching within. But Chris didn’t leave. His tentative steps closer were vaguely registered but the unsteady voice managed to break through Zane’s muddled thoughts. He dared to open his eyes. 
The fear of the unknown was still very much visible in Chris’s eyes but it didn’t manage to hide the worry that also glimmered there. Zane realized how stupid he’d been before, thinking that anything he had to say would have made Chris feel better that night in the woods as the other man tried to offer his own words of comfort. Strangely though, the presence did manage to offer some respite, however subtle. It wasn’t like anyone from his clan had gone to check on him or maybe they hadn’t even noticed his absence at all. “I… we, feed on… on blood.”
He didn’t know where the incessant need to tell Chris was coming from. Maybe Zane just needed to tell someone or maybe he hoped it would repel the other man and prove to the gnawing voice in his own head just how monstrous this all was. “He offered and I didn’t - couldn’t stop.” His eyes left the other’s then, hands balled into fists, the reminiscing reminding him of the taste still lingering in his mouth. “I almost…” he trailed off then, the words unable to make it up his throat for the second time. Killed him. 
Chris frowned in confusion. His mind went to the first thing that made the least sense — vampires weren’t real. Sure there were people who liked to pretend to be vampires. They liked to drink animal blood and wore fake teeth, but actual vampires? Like Dracula and Nosferatu? They didn’t exist. There was no way. Maybe Zane was one of those people, maybe that’s what he meant. But that still didn’t explain the change in eye color. Colored contacts were one thing, but he didn’t know of any transition lenses, just the sunglasses type. 
Chris felt bad for Zane. He felt a strong sense of familiarity in the sad and almost pitiful nature of the other man. He saw himself. It distressed him, to say the least, but he was determined to help Zane any way he could, even if it was at a distance. “Almost.. It was almost,” Chris parroted back; he hoped the word stuck. “But.. you didn’t. You didn’t, right?” Maybe this was a waste of time. He knew for a fact that none of this helped him, and while not everyone was exactly like him, Zane seemed like someone who had an idea of what it might be like.
“You did-’ his voice cut off when he’d heard the doorknob at the club’s side door turn. It opened, much to Chris’ dismay, and a head appeared on the other side. Another young man, handsome, but with a mean glint in his eye, was responsible for the interruption. “Zane, what the fuck- oh,” came the velvet voice and cheshire smile that sent a shiver down Chris’ spine. “What do we have here?” His voice absolutely dripped with curiosity as he slunk into the alley. The intruder snapped and a couple more bodies followed suit.
They sniffed once. Then twice, this time with more gusto. They let out a bark of a laugh and looked between Zane and Chris. There was a look in their eyes, a look that felt familiar. Chris knew what it was — it was hunger. “Did you get this just for us?” They sniffed again and laughed. “It’s been, oh.. Much too long since I’ve had a werewolf,” he licked his bottom lip through his grin.
The surprises kept coming, providing enough of a shock to keep Zane from teetering over the edge. Of all the responses he could have imagined someone giving to the confession, being comforted wasn’t one of them. No one normal could have taken the situation with this eerie sense of calm. Not unless they knew. Flashes from the night in the woods passed, Chris bloody and scared and confused, admitting that people would only get hurt if he tried to ask them for help. The puzzle pieces were there, scrambling to be put together and he found himself wanting to leave here with Chris. Wanting to know more, possibly tell him more, an unspoken understanding between the two. 
At the sound of the door opening, Zane was on his feet faster than he’d thought possible given how limp his legs had felt just seconds ago. Hearing his name spoken, his head snapped towards the owner, unwittingly taking a step back. Closer to Chris, almost shielding him from the other vampire’s view. More followed and Zane found himself tensing - the general feel of the group felt off in a way he hadn’t experienced to this degree before. It had been diluted inside the club, this complete disregard for being seen as human but out here, it made the air thick with tension. 
“He was just leaving,” was the only response that came to mind, meekly delivered, but the question that followed made his stomach churn. For us. Chris wasn’t for anyone. Not in the way the owners of the gleaming eyes were thinking or any other way. Aside from the fact that it seemed highly unlikely that Chris wanted to get bitten in some alley, Zane found himself repulsed by the idea of these vampires being the ones to do it. They were his clan, sure, but something in the way they were looking at his friend (or at least something akin to friend) made his skin crawl. Not like he was a person at all. 
And then the second blow came. Werewolf. Another puzzle piece to join the ones already scrambling around in his brain, making it hard to focus. Could it be? It did fit nicely with the other ones, the mystery of that night in the woods, but there was no time for slowly juggling together pieces now. There was a chuckle from the group, no one seeming to find anything at all odd about this situation. “Looks like the freshman beat us to it, though.” Zane glared at the one who had delivered the snide comment, anger boiling up in a way it hadn’t in a while. Almost like a symbiotic being, the small group of vampires loomed closer. Instinctually, Zane backtracked closer to Chris, making sure to keep himself firmly planted between them. 
“Aw, come on. You’re not going to share?” The first vampire, Razul, spoke again, the mildly patronizing tone Zane had gotten used to from him now dripping from every word. It was easy to brush off under other circumstances, kinda like getting through a hazing period portrayed in every college movie ever, but here it made Zane’s blood boil. 
“There’s nothing to share. He’s leaving. And so am I.” The venom in his words almost took him by surprise, authority spawning from a place Zane hadn’t even known he possessed. That feeling of protection he’d felt in the woods was increased tenfold, no longer up against some invisible foe that only Chris knew. A voice whispered in his head, confirming the feeling that he’d fight them to get Chris out, if he had to. 
It was Chris’ turn to feel his knees buckle and weaken. The sudden group added to the pair already there was enough to raise his anxiety, but their words sent his head reeling. They all were predatory, hungry, and looked intently at him. It was one thing to feel hunted for sport or vengeance, it was another to feel like actual prey. Even though he was confused, he felt sick to his stomach and absolutely terrified. But something inside him wanted to stay, it wanted to stay and rip those smirks off of their faces.
He had stood moments after Zane and wished he kept to his crouching position. The burst of adrenaline that ran through his body started to cause his hands to shake. Did he hear that right — werewolf? Who, him? Vampires, now werewolves... Horror movie monsters. None of it was real. None of it could be real. There had to be explanations for all of it. Multiple personalities, maybe a sleeping disorder or two, iron deficiency? There had to be something. Something other than the supernatural had to plague him.
Regardless of the explanation, they needed to leave. The situation was tense and obviously dangerous; Chris wanted to put as much distance between him and these assholes as possible. It was noble — stupid, but noble — of Zane to put himself between them. He knew these men. It did surprise him to see that and it made him wonder if Zane was as bad as them and merely faking it — or he got roped in with them somehow. Either way, Chris had a lot of questions. 
Unfortunately, his curiosities had to wait. Chris’ head wouldn’t stop spinning, so he used the wall beside him to try to steady himself. He felt that familiar rush of blood to his head and the tunnel vision that came; the ringing in his ear only grew worse. It felt like he would pass out, but he couldn’t do that to Zane — not now. 
By this point, Chris had his back to the wall with both palms pressed to the weathered brick. He had started to edge away slowly towards one end of the alley, hoping to put more distance between them without making it obvious. Everything in him told him to run, to get out while he still could, and he would do anything to achieve that. He would leave Zane, if he had to. Zane was a stranger, but still immeasurably kind, and Chris wouldn’t want anything to happen to him if things turned sour. 
What would happen, though? More often than not, Chris was the survivor — he was the one to wake up in a pool of blood, the one to come out with bruises and broken bones, but with their life wholly intact. Was he truly the monster? Would he be able to hold his own against these aggressors? Chris’ fingertips curled and dug into the texture of the bricks. He didn’t want to find out.
“Zane..” Desperation coated the name.
Chris supposed he was lucky he hadn’t gone too far into the mouth between the two buildings, but if he couldn’t run, his advantage would be moot. If Zane wanted to go, as well, they needed to leave now. 
He’d gotten too distracted in keeping an eye on the other vampires, waiting and expecting any sudden movements. It wasn’t until one of them cocked their head, looking at something behind Zane, that he realized Chris was moving. Not very fast and not seeming very steady on his feet. The vampire didn’t know just what was causing the crippling tension in the other but a nagging feeling told him he didn’t want to find out. Hearing his name, Zane moved to turn, to get the other out of here, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder instead. “Where you going, freshman?” 
It wasn’t thought out, the instinct to shove the hand off, and even less so was the shove that followed, straight into Razul’s chest. Zane didn’t want to stick around to find out how the other would take that disrespect. Moving quickly towards Chris, the train of not thinking things very well through continued as he wrapped his arm around the other’s waist to steady the shaky feet, hoping it wouldn’t get him punched in the face but not really caring. 
The two of them moved fast, disappearing out of the alley and a few blocks down until Zane was sure there was no one on their heels. He slowed the two of them to a stop, immediately backing off to give Chris space, trying to find words that would mend this situation. Nothing came to mind. “I’m sorry. They’re… I’m…” He took a moment to recuperate, some of the strings from before finally starting to connect now that he wasn’t staring down a group of vampires he thought he could trust. Werewolf. That night in the woods. Chris’s fear. His panic in the alley. Had he known? Was this… the first time this thought had crossed the other’s mind? 
“I won’t tell anyone,” was all Zane managed to say, wanting so bad to know what Chris was thinking and suppressing every urge to ask. If the other man wanted to sprint away, Zane would have to let him. 
The only thing Chris could really make out was the blood rushing to his head and the pounding of his heart in his ears. He couldn’t keep track of the conversation anymore, or what little there was. He didn’t know if he would have to fight his way out (if he could stay conscious long enough) or if this was it — the way he was looked at, no, stared at, made him feel so incredibly small. If Zane hadn’t been there, he didn’t know if he would just simply perish. The idea made him feel sick to his stomach.
His stomach lurched even more when Zane grabbed and rushed him off. He felt completely jostled by that point, like a child shook up their soda bottle and the pressure built underneath. Chris felt like he was going to explode — and then they suddenly stopped. The only sound that filtered up through the night air were crickets. He could feel his breath come in heavy; his feet were on solid ground and there wasn’t a gaggle of aggressors but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
Chris stole himself against a wall — he could feel brick beneath his fingertips, but he had no idea where they were now. He was just grateful to be out of that alley; the walls felt like they had started to close in. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent down at the waist with head bowed; the hand that pressed firmly to the wall behind him tensed. The pain came in quick, rolling waves. It wanted to come free, it wanted to lose itself so badly. He could feel it claw against the inside of his skull, its daggers sharp and slashing. 
He could hear Zane’s voice — it sounded far away, smaller. As if he were speaking to him from a far off underground tunnel. A thick knot had Chris doubling over and both hands flew up to cradle his head. His breath came in quick, shallow pants. 
I won’t tell anyone.
Chris shook his head furiously. Already the poison of denial tried to creep its way back in. With every thought of doubt came a flash of pain. He held out an open palm to Zane, as if to put a stop to whatever else wanted to come out. “I’m… fine..” he forced out, but he most certainly was not fine. He shook like a leaf. “Just…. gimme.. A sec…”
This wasn’t good. Zane’s current knowledge of werewolves - provided that the other vampires hadn’t just been messing around - consisted of movie and TV show trivia. If it was anything like with vampires, some of it rang true while other stuff was complete bullshit. Either way, Chris was in trouble and whether or not that trouble meant him turning into a giant werewolf or not, Zane couldn’t just stand here like an idiot while it was happening. The gritted out words had the opposite effect of convincing the vampire that Chris was fine and despite the outstretched hand, he dared to take a step closer. Not touching him but providing a presence. 
After a moment of more heavy breathing, Zane crouched down instead of looming over the other man, worried hands twisting with one another. With the innate longing to provide a comforting touch. “You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing like that,” he finally said, matter of factly despite the panic he felt, tone mirroring the ones he used in the ER when patients were having a panic attack. Which was definitely what it looked like Chris was going through. 
“Focus on what you can hear right now. Things you can smell. Feel your hair under your fingers. And breathe. Just breathe.” Zane had no idea if this was making things worse or not but if the choices were this or stand there, do nothing and hope for the best… “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Chris didn’t want to listen to Zane. He didn’t want to try to calm down - he didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want anything to make sense, he didn’t! He didn’t want some stupid horror movie monster to be real and he didn’t want it to happen to him. He didn’t want to be that monster - because then it’d be true. All of it would be true. Everyone he’d been accused of killing or maiming or scaring - his sister, for god’s sake!
No, no he wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine at all.
Chris felt himself sink down to the ground. He needed to get up. What if those assholes were just around the corner? He couldn’t very well have a panic attack now. But he didn’t get up. Instead his panic only grew despite Zane’s effort to calm him down. It was commendable, but he wasn’t the first person to try to help Chris out - and they all ended badly, as far as he could remember. Zane managed to get by without incident the first time, but this time? This was worse. He didn’t want to hurt Zane.
“I’m..” He struggled to breathe now. “I’m not-.. Okay,” he choked out. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he ignored the burn they caused as he tried to hide his face. His right arm ached - that was a really bad sign. He could feel his fingers stiffen and twitch and the veins beneath his skin seemed to writhe with new life. It was too late.
“Go… Please.”
Yup, obviously the one thing Zane sort of knew how to do wouldn’t work because that would have been way too easy. Everything was spiraling further and it was becoming a full time job to shoot curious onlookers warning glares to move on. He just prayed that no one would get worried enough to call the police. They needed to get out of here, way too exposed on the street and with way too many people around if what Zane thought was happening was about to happen. But where would they even go? He couldn’t bring Chris back to the house that would at the very least have three or four vampires, probably more, and the other man wasn’t exactly in a state to give directions to his home. 
Chris was managing to make himself surprisingly small, his words barely audible from behind the hands covering his face. This was bad. Why hadn’t Zane told him to leave the second he’d walked into that back alley? There was no more pretense that this situation wasn’t already shit and honestly, probably nothing Zane could do to set it right. All he did know was that he would not run away after dragging this poor guy into a raging shitstorm, accidental or not, and leave him here. Not to mention all the people around. If and when this went to shit, he was part of it. 
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he breathed, scooting closer and wishing that Chris would just take in a single, deep breath. Zane was definitely panicking but thankfully, his voice didn’t betray him and reveal that fact as he spoke. “I dragged you into this. Whatever happens, I’m fairly hard to kill.” Definitely false bravado as he had no idea how in the world he would fare against an honest to god werewolf. If nothing else, maybe he would be a distraction to give everyone else on the street a head start. Shit. 
This was in no way shape or form Zane’s fault, but Chris was in no shape to argue. He became painfully aware of the passerby that let their stare linger a little too long, some worried and others disgusted. His wonder of their thoughts helped to ease some of the panic that steadily grew, but only for a short while. If he didn’t get out of there soon, he knew something bad would happen - something always did. It followed him like a bad stench, like a plague intent on killing everything in Chris’ path.
There weren’t a lot of places Chris could think of that would be good to decompress in - everywhere felt too public, too open to prying eyes. It only proved to make him feel even more helpless, but he needed to push past that. He needed to get out of there - and he supposed Zane was going with him. Chris didn’t like the term, ‘hard to kill’. That may have been so, but he didn’t want to hurt the guy to begin with. He didn’t want that to be either of their realities, which meant he needed to come up with a good place to retreat -
“Help me up..” he instructed; Chris had a firm grip on his right forearm. The squeezing seemed to help, but feeling his veins and muscles move beneath his skin left him queasy. “Please..” he added and gestured towards the visible treeline with a nod once he was back on his feet; it was within sight, but they’d still have a walk ahead of them. It would feel like torture. “I think.. I think the woods are my only option here..” He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to believe in any of that shit, but if he passed out or did whatever it was that he did, someone was going to end up dead. 
He could never remember himself actually doing any killing, only flashes of what he thought could be from a movie or a game, which a lot of cops said was awfully convenient despite his prints or DNA at the scene, all of which Chris vehemently denied. Those guys that just threw around that word like they’d known him all along, like they knew all the bad shit he’d done, cracked his veil of dismissal. It was the safest place, but there weren’t a lot of people in the woods, if any at all at this time of day. It was the safest option for everyone else - he just worried about Zane.
“I don’t know where else to go..”
It was a relief like he’d rarely felt before when something in Chris shifted and not in a catastrophically awful way. Zane honestly could have cried at the request because it seemed they had a chance at something other than ‘let shit go down and deal with the consequences later’. There was no hesitation in touching the other man now, with permission granted, and he moved quickly to wrap his arm around Chris’s waist and hoist him up as carefully as he could. The offered plan wasn’t exactly a five star one but it was a plan all the same. “Alright. Alright, we’ll get you there,” Zane breathed, gripping the other tighter even as he felt muscles shifting under his palms in a way that wasn’t normal. With one last look into the panicked gaze staring back at him, mustering every bit of false confidence that this was going to be alright, they walked. 
Taking as much weight off Chris as they slowly made their way to the destination was the easy part. Seeing and practically feeling how much pain the other was in with every move, every breath, was horrible. Zane wasn’t really aware when it had started but at some point, a steady stream of encouragement and affirmations had started to pour from his mouth, breathed out softly with every step and every pause. We’re close. Come on, you’ve got this. Just a little further. You’re almost there. Whether it was more for his own benefit or Chris’s, he wasn’t really sure. 
Feeling that first crunch of leaves under their feet was a blessing and the moment the two of them had a tree or two as cover from the bustle right outside the woods, Zane stopped and gently helped Chris down to the ground. “I’ll stay out of the way. Promise.” Even though he wasn’t really sure why, Zane could tell that the other man cared whether or not he got hurt. Probably didn’t want anyone to get hurt. As it wasn’t a promise he was sure he could make, the vampire refrained from stating that he would find Chris afterwards. There was no telling where he might end up or in what state. At the very least, Zane knew he would be roaming the woods for a little while this evening, making sure that if things ended up like the last time the two of them had met, at least it would be Zane stumbling unto him and not some other stranger. 
Placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying and failing to find a single word of comfort, he settled for giving it a gentle squeeze instead. And then made good on his promise, backtracking the way they’d just walked, ears perked as he walked. Hoping this situation had at least been somewhat salvaged. 
Chris learned early on not to trust people, even the ones in uniform. It didn’t matter what kind of oath they took or how well meaning their intentions were, they all turned him in in some way. They all ranged from overtly kind to absolutely fearful and confused, but every instance ended the same — with questions, metal bars and then a new home address. Before the distrust, he’d seek out an emergency room, and he could get by with claiming an animal attack, which he did fully believe, but once the pieces started to come to light and he couldn’t explain certain things, the safety net dissipated. It was worse with the police.
He’d thought Zane would be the same when he’d found him the first time, and even still after they’d parted ways. Chris waited impatiently for the other shoe to drop, wondering if he was going to be ratted out or hunted.
Whether it was a good thing or not, some other shoe dropped instead and it started to make sense as to why Chris had been shown such mercy, such care and compassion without making it feel like an interrogation. Others had tried to help, but it was always wrong — the wrong timing, the wrong words, the wrong touch. They’d tainted his perception and made him fearful of even helpful people. He felt absolutely spoiled under Zane’s care, and he reveled in it quietly, but he wondered for how long it would last.
He ignored the initial panic when Zane helped him up, but that eased quickly. This was just like the last time, everything was going to be fine. Chris was glad he didn’t really have to focus on moving, instead he used what little attention he had left to stave off whatever threatened to come out. Werewolf. The thought of that only made him feel worse. But it made them feel alive. Every time that word found itself among his musings, flitting quickly, his stomach flipped.
And every time one of Zane’s comforts found the warming air, everything settled, like waves crashing into a beach. It was a tumultuous back and forth, but he was moved quickly and without question. Soon enough, the woods welcomed them in and the street atmosphere dissipated. A tightness continued to encapsulate Chris as he was eased down; it was going to happen again and he couldn’t stop it. 
‘I’ll stay out of the way. Promise.’ He believed him, but would it be enough? The hand that found its way to Chris’ shoulder was met with his own after its’ reassuring squeeze. The whole walk was silent on his own end, only keeping to his breathing and the underlying pain that wracked him. “Thank you.. Again..” was all he could manage before Zane withdrew and left him with the wolf.
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nicsalazar · 9 months
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A will(-o') and a way || Ariadne & Nicole
TIMING: Current LOCATION: Nightfall grove PARTIES: @ariadnewhitlock  & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Ariadne and Nicole's respective walks get threatened by shiny foes. CONTENT WARNING: Sibling death
The campus green was beautiful. Sometimes Ariadne still thought of the chance that she could have had, to study abroad in a place that was entirely unlike where she’d grown up. However, that had quickly become obviously impossible, and though being an optimist wasn’t something that she found easy now, she did acknowledge that she could at least work to enjoy what she had.
She’d decided to go out for a walk - it was nearly dusk, but after all, she was some sort of monster-creature of the night, wasn’t she? Mossthorn Bog wasn’t somewhere she’d ever been as a child, really - but now there was a sickly sort of comfort. Which wasn’t something Ariadne felt especially proud of, but it was a fact, and one she supposed she had to get used to. There were some lights, flitting about, and Ariadne bit her lip - she’d watched fireflies as a child, but somehow these seemed even more magical - except if they were fireflies, chances were, they’d stress themselves out soon. 
Taking a step back, she steadied herself - and her breath. Content to just watch for now, though if her heart could have raced, she was certain it would have.
Nicole stopped trying to understand how Nightfall grove worked. It was one of those things she couldn’t think too hard on. To preserve her sanity. When it came to Wicked’s rest, there was always a growing list of those. The only thing she knew about the neighborhood was that it gave the fire department constant headaches. Other than that, it seemed like the worst place to take an evening walk. And she should’ve been deterred by the creepiness of the forest as soon as she arrived, but she was curious enough. She promised herself to visit every corner of the town. Those were good enough reasons not to go back to her car.
She was initially drawn to the flickering orbs in front of her for its resemblance to fireflies. Fireflies. Nicole could stay and stare at them for a while, then continue her stroll. The sight was more enticing, anyway. On a closer inspection though, the orbs danced around like smoke, which set off all kinds of alarms in her head. Nearly made her reach for her backpack to find something to extinguish them. But when she really zoned in on them, she knew they weren’t fireflies. Nor smoke. She’d seen this before, not quite like this but— as an experienced hiker, she’d seen them more than once. They were as enthralling as they were dangerous. 
And she wasn’t the only one who had stopped for the spectacle. Nicole took notice of a young woman, (a kid basically) to her far left. And a third presence right on the other side of the bog. A man. She took a few side steps until she was closer to the girl, never tearing her gaze away from the orbs. “All good? I think… we might be in trouble” 
She practically jumped at the woman’s words. “I -” blinking rapidly, Ariadne did her best to regain her train of thought. “I’m fine. I think? I just got distracted.” By lights. Which made her feel like shrinking into herself for a moment, because that was possibly one of the more childish ways that she’d behaved recently. Even if she should have been bored, by all accounts and prior experiences (no offense to any fireflies), she found herself unable to look away from them.
Looking closer, she saw that they looked almost smoke-like. Which didn’t make sense, as far as fireflies went. Or at least Ariadne didn’t think it made sense. She’d never seen smoky bugs before - or, were she honest, smoky anything that wasn’t getting burned up.
“Wait, trouble?” The words finally registered. “Why? Are they gonna light something on fire?” Ariadne took in a steadying breath. “That’s bad. Do - is there someone we can call about that?”
“Yeah…” Nicole replied absently, the orbs still holding her undivided attention. They were beautiful, no doubt about it. And something in her pulsed, an urge to get closer, maybe even touch them. How bad could it be? She was a firefighter, she could handle— The questions reached her ears, but the trance she was in didn’t allow for much processing. It was the sound of a branch snapping underneath shoes that pulled her out of the daze. In front of them, the man had stepped forward, closing in on the spectacle as he extended his arms.
“Yes,” Nicole responded to the question still floating in her head. “I mean, no— no. Don’t think they’ll set something on fire” though they may. In that case, she felt a lot better about their odds. She shouldn’t have found the second question amusing. Was there anyone to call about another creepy occurrence in town? It depended on so many factors. Someone to get rid of smoky orbs? Unlikely those even existed. “We’ll be fine on our own, I think. We just have to—” the smoke danced around, and Nicole noticed just how close the man had moved. He was actively in their territory, hovering right above with his hands ready to grab. Nicole’s stomach dropped. 
The second he dared to touch one, everything changed. The orbs floated along his arm, taunting around his neck before going up his airway. Nicole froze as he inhaled, her heartbeat drumming in her ears, waiting. Something was going to happen. This wasn’t the end. And sure enough, as a shaky breath left his lips, he dropped to the ground, full on choking. 
“Uh-huh,” her own attention was held by the floating lights, too. Which was odd. Not that Ariadne had never been a distractible child, but she was usually more able to focus on conversations than what was happening right now.
“Oh. Okay. That’s - good, right? Setting stuff on fire is bad, wouldn’t want that… unless it’s like, birthday candles or for a holiday or something like that.” Ariadne sighed. She was supposed to be good at conversations. Even when she’d been relatively shy as a child, she’d still been good at talking to people. Or at least she thought she had. Maybe that, much like a lot of other stuff about herself, wasn’t as true as it seemed. “Okay, you’re sure? You look like you know what you’re doing. So I wasn’t trying to make it seem like I thought you didn’t.” She was truly failing at just about everything she could fail at right now, wasn’t she?
“He -” except she couldn’t finish her sentence, her thought, any of that because the man they’d both shifted their focus to had fallen to the floor. “We should help him!” Ariadne looked over at the other woman. “Right? What - what are we supposed to do?”
Fire bad yes, Nicole vaguely registered the woman’s observation, incapable of passing any judgement. Her own brain was too scrambled to come up with anything clever. Why were those orbs so damn addictive to look at?
“What? I’ve no idea what I’m doing—” she fully turned to the girl then, surprise evident in her eyes. “It looks like I do?” it was so not the point of anything, but an involuntary half smile tugged at her lips. That surely was something she had acquire through the years of firefighting training. Because most of the time, she had no clue what she was going on outside of work. And yes, a guy was choking in front of them, but the little ego boost felt nice, okay?
Which… there was a guy choking in front of them. Right. Focus. The orbs had completely taken a hold on the man, leaving both women unscathed and slowly regaining their focus. Nicole despised that she had to weigh their options at all. But... what if him choking meant they could escape? Because— the smoky spheres would come for them after. Right? Wouldn’t be happy with one killing. Her stomach sank as she processed her own thoughts. This man was very likely dying or encountering another terrible fate. “How… how? I’ve never seen these things do that,” she breathed out, jaw clenched, eyes stinging with angry tears. How could they help? Beat the orbs out of him? Drag him away? The orbs would still follow along. They had to leave him behind. 
She never wanted to make a choice like this, but there was one life she could save. She’d deal with her own mental hell later. “I need you to not be angry at me,” Nicole whispered before she could stop herself. Maybe, she wished she could’ve said those words before. A lifetime ago. Wished she could’ve been absolved of her actions. Were they angry at her, that night? When she chose her survival over— She was the one who ran, right? That was her specialty. She grasped the young woman’s arm, tugging gently. “Can you do that for me?” She glanced at the woman briefly, before her eyes darted pointedly in the direction of the forest. We have to go. Maybe if she didn’t say it, it would be less horrifying. She’d be less of a bad person. She was counting on this girl to get it.
“You really do.” It was the truth. Ariadne very rarely saw any good reason to lie, and especially not when it involved complimenting someone else. There was always something genuine to appreciate about everyone, she figured. Especially people who tried to help. It was admittedly harder to concentrate on doing anything right now, given the appeal of the little glowing orbs. 
She followed the other woman’s gaze to the man a few yards ahead of them, who seemed even more taken with the orbs than either Ariadne or the other woman were. A small part of her, one that she loathed immediately, felt jealous that they were attached to him. A similar way to how as a five year old, she’d felt jealous when Chance had gotten his ice cream before her. Even on a hot day when it meant his started to melt faster. Except in the pit of her stomach, she felt sick for a moment - the man was choking, and here she was, sad and mad about the fact that whatever was attached to him was killing him.
That had to qualify her as a monster, didn’t it?
“What?” The other woman’s voice startled her from her own spiral of thoughts. “Mad? I - why?” Slow to register what the other woman was implying, when it finally hit her, Ariadne’s eyes grew wide. Well, wider than usual. “Go to - leave?” She bit her lip. Balled up her fists so that her nails dug into the palms of her hands. “He’s - let him -?” She found herself unable to finish her thoughts. “I - but - he’ll…” 
“Well… thank you” heat crept up Nicole’s neck, and she was thankful they had more important things to worry about than her bashfulness. “But trust me, I’m not. I’m just… I’m trying not to freak you out” she seemed to be doing a decent job at least, though it would depend on how the rest of the night unfolded. 
However, it was not looking good for the man, who twitched on the ground, choking sounds becoming more desperate. Her hands clenched into fists, keeping the nausea at bay. Rationally, Nicole knew she should’ve reached out. She had to. And then… then she should’ve performed CPR or something to keep this man breathing despite the smoke (or whatever that was) inside his airway. If this were a normal situation —big if— she should’ve jumped to help. But her body wasn’t obeying her, instead, it screamed at her to run. She couldn’t test her luck with those orbs.
And when the man went limp on the forest ground, his cries slowly extinguishing until there was nothing but eerie silence, Nicole definitely wanted to hurl. She let this happen. The sight snapped her back into action. She pulled harder, harder than she should’ve. They couldn’t wait longer. She’d carry this girl on her shoulder if she resisted. She jerked her around and ran, dodging the trees standing in her way. Until the bog was imperceptible under her nose, having distanced themselves enough. 
Nicole leaned against a large trunk to catch her breath, tugging the young woman to her side. She let go of her wrist, but gripped her shoulder instead, fingers digging into flesh. Anchoring herself before she did something weird like giving her a hug. Because this was a fucking stranger, she reminded herself against the ill-timed memories her head wanted her to revisit. A stranger. Not her— 
She would’ve been around her age now, her heart overturned logic. A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her. Maybe. If she had held onto tightly like she did tonight. If she had been quicker to react. Then maybe. Maybe… her sister would’ve made it into adulthood. Maybe would've reached this girl's age. 
God, she’d never be unshackled from those ‘maybes’.
“I’m sorry” Again, she wasn’t sure who she was talking to. “Wish you didn’t have to see that. It was… couldn’t risk them coming after us” they didn’t know, technically, what those orbs had done. Did it look worse than it actually was? Nicole had to hope so. But they couldn’t get back there and check, not tonight. She’d make sure to take a hike first thing tomorrow. And then, she was staying the fuck away from Nightfall grove. “You’re good, right?”
“I - you’re welcome.” She wasn’t sure if that was the proper sort of response, but right now, there were a fair few things that Ariadne was more than a little bit confused by. “Well, you’re doing a good job, at least helping me not be totally freaked out.” Which was true, and given her tendency towards freaking out about nearly anything, this was a solid win. As much as anything could be considered a win in the current circumstances. 
She let herself be pulled along by the other woman, no matter how much she wanted to run back to the lights, to the struggling man, to all of it, but instead she stayed complacent - even if this had to mean that she was now responsible for another death. Because he had to be dying, didn’t he? Even if the thought made her stomach turn, made her whole mouth feel bitter. Horribly, it made her crave a nightmare, too, but Ariadne shoved that thought out of her head as fast as she could, because the very last thing she needed right now was hunger pains.
“You - no, I’m sorry.” Ariadne wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, but it felt like the right thing to do, for whatever reason. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but it wasn’t the woman’s fault, and it would have been extremely unkind for her to think. “I’m glad they didn’t come after us.” That much was absolutely true. “I’m - yeah. I think?” Ariadne pressed her fingertips against closed eyes. “Dehydrated, I think.” She bit her lip. “Are you okay? Good? Sorry.”
“Fine” Nicole nodded curtly, raising a thumb to emphasize just how fine she was. She exhaled slowly, waiting on her heart to stop pounding in her ears. She craned her neck from behind the truck, looking back at the trail and scanning the ground for any signs of the smoky foes. None. Her attention returned to the girl, suddenly realizing what she had been doing. She dropped the hand she kept on her shoulder, clearing her throat. “I’ve water in my backpack” she said, twisting the bag to her chest and rummaging for the bottle. She handed it without looking up, too busy searching for her protein bars. They could use some food after witnessing— she didn’t finish that thought, instead offered one of the bars to the girl.  
“C’mon, let’s keep moving— just in case” Nicole nodded ahead, pulling herself off the trunk. She turned her head every now and then, confirming they weren’t followed. Ripping the package with her teeth, she ate in silence, letting the whole experience sink in before they could unpack it. “He might be alive…” she muttered, mostly to herself. But once she realized she had spoken out loud, she glanced at her companion. She let the sound of their footfalls fill another silence, before she shared her thoughts. “We don’t know what those— I mean, I’ve seen them before but never like that,” she had seen them guide other hikers towards dangerous places, but never go anywhere near human cavities. “So it doesn’t have to— he might be alive” she repeated, the corner of her lips twisting into something akin reassurance. 
“You got somewhere to be? I’ll drop you off. Not letting you out of my sight yet” her steps came to a halt, as Nicole paused to reorientate herself. Where was her car now?
She grabbed the water quickly, mumbling a thank you so much before she opened it and drank at least half of it probably far too quickly for her own good, but it gave Ariadne something to focus on that wasn’t whatever had just happened (she knew what had just happened, but even thinking the words would make it all too real). The water was still surprisingly chilly, which was good - something something about a shock to the system being good to not hyper-focus on anxiety, right?
“We can keep moving, yeah.” The words felt foreign to her, as though she wasn’t the one actually speaking them. Which brought Ariadne back to right after what had happened, months and months ago. How everything felt uncertain, rocky, like she wasn’t supposed to do. She took a protein bar from the woman, and began to nibble at it, trying to focus on the flavors, to once again have anything to focus on that wasn’t the fact that she’d just watched a man die in front of her and hadn’t done a thing to stop it. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen them before - I - I thought they were like, fireflies. Or something like that.” She nodded at the woman’s words. “Yeah, maybe he’s just got like - what’s it called?” She bit down on her lip. “Narco-something - lepsy! That makes you just fall asleep, doesn’t it?” Ariadne looked toward the other woman for any sort of confirmation that that was even possible.
“I - just back at my apartment.” Ariadne sighed, “you don’t have to, if you’re like, busy, you know. I don’t want to be a bother to you.” 
“That’s how they get you” Nicole mumbled after the comparison to fireflies. She was drawn to them too. Got lost in their beauty. If she had moved forward and tried to touch like she had wanted to, then she would’ve been the one convulsing on the forest ground. Just a split second decision separated her and the dead— not dead— guy they left behind. “Don’t trust any shiny bullshit out here” she warned, though it may have been pointless by now. She thought the girl was traumatized enough not to go near anything like it again. 
She blew a tense breath, her half-chewed protein bar forgotten in her hand. She wanted to entertain the girl’s idea. She couldn’t discount any possibilities, really. So maybe it looked like the guy was toasted but there was something else going on inside. She’d have to ask Leah if she had any information on those orbs. Nicole nodded, mostly to convince herself. “Yeah, let's hope he’s got that… magical narcolepsy. I’ll uh— I’ll, come check on him tomorrow. See if— see…” she shrugged, the end of her sentence clear enough to be understood in silence. 
Nicole turned around a few times, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration. Until the spinning stopped, and she settled on a direction. Car's that way. Her steps resumed, slow at first for the girl to catch up. When she heard her speak, she glanced back at her like she had grown another head. “No,” she tried to adjust the deep scowl on her face to something friendlier, more in line with what she was really thinking. There was nothing wrong with the girl’s words, but Nicole was confused. Why would taking her home bother her? “Where’s your apartment?” she asked, pushing past her confusion. “You’re right not to trust a stranger right now,” she conceded after a moment. Maybe that’s where her apprehension was coming from. She extended her hand. “I’m Nicole. And I will take you back home. Made you run after all”.
“Oh.” Ariadne frowned. “Okay.” She still felt waves of confusion wash over her, but for now, she decided to ignore it (as much as she could, anyhow), because adding more to her already deeply confused state wouldn’t do anybody any sort of good at all. “Noted. But like - does that include jewelry, or just random shiny bright things that are out and about?” She hoped that she didn’t sound too clueless, though she supposed that she was, in fact, quite a bit clueless about this. 
“Okay - if he’s just asleep, will you let me know?” Wide eyes nearly met the other’s before she quickly turned away, because despite all her hope, she knew that the likelihood of the man still being alive was not large. That it was, in fact, likely practically nonexistent. Still, Ariadne didn’t like thinking that way, and she’d learned over the past year that thinking that way didn’t quite change things, no matter how much she might’ve wanted it to.
“It’s just downtown. I - just - not too far from the high school.” Ariadne walked a bit faster, doing her best to catch up with the other woman as quickly as she was able. “I’m Ariadne.” She gave the woman her hand to shake, wondering how quickly she’d realize just how cold she was. “Running’s not so bad. Good excuse for exercise, or something.” She made a face, a poor attempt at humor once again. “Sorry if you’ve said this but you - work out here, or…?”
Nicole opened her mouth, having no real answer to her question, so she closed it. Only to try again a second later. “I’d say… uh, only the random shiny things on the ground” she nodded to herself, yeah. That made sense, though logic didn’t come into play a lot when it was Wicked’s rest. She was curious though, and if Leah couldn’t supply answers maybe she’d ask Jerry. No one knew the trails of Wicked’s rest better than he did. He must’ve seen this before.
The girl’s words shook her off her thoughts. Nicole raised her eyebrows, giving away her surprise as Ariadne requested a follow up. Maybe she wasn’t as traumatized as she thought. “I will” she promised, a small but genuine smile on her face. “I’ll need your number or—or an email or something but, yeah. I’ll…uh, you’ll know” she confirmed, twisting the empty package of her protein bar in her hand in an anxious move. 
Nicole took the woman’s hand and shook it quickly before letting go, too used to Leah’s warm touch to think anything extraordinary of Ariadne’s cold hands. Everyone was cold compared to her girlfriend. “Oh, yeah. That’s on my way home so, no problem” she shot the girl a reassuring look, in case she still felt like she was imposing. Or that Nicole was a murderer. Though at this point, if she were —and Nicole wasn’t— she would’ve had enough time to attack already. She almost missed the next question with the odd tangent her mind was entertaining. “No I was… taking a walk. Exploring the neighborhood, don’t really come here” for good fucking reason, it seemed. “Not really my scene but, it’s good to know what’s out here”. 
They walked in silence for a moment, slowly but surely (as far as Nicole could tell) making the way back to her car. A question lingered in the back of her mind. But she didn’t want to sound too concerned or stern or— “Why were you out here by yourself? I mean it’s— you’re pretty young, that’s not… it’s dangerous”. 
“Okay, I’ll do my best.” Ariadne still didn’t fully understand, but she also wasn’t going to question whatever Nicole was saying, because she very much seemed to be knowledgeable about the outdoors, and life in general, by extension. At least in Ariadne’s mind. Plus, she was an adult, and Ariadne wanted to respect her views and what she said, even if she felt confused (but only somewhat). 
“You can have my number,” she paused, “uh, do you want me to write it down, or should I just put it in your phone? Whatever works for you.” Ariadne’s gaze went to Nicole’s hands, the twisting of the wrapper a far too familiar feeling - one she was guilty of, even if usually it involved picking at her nails more than twisting wrappers around. But then again, most of the time she just had small candy wrappers, or whole bags, and Nicole wasn’t like her, so she clearly had other things to fiddle with. “Thanks - I - uh, yeah. I’d - it’d be nice, just to hear from you again, too.” She hoped that wasn’t too weird to say, that she hadn’t been such a bother that the very last thing Nicole would’ve wanted was to ever run into her again.
“Oh, okay - good. I just wouldn't want to make you have to go out of your way for me.” Ariadne fought back the urge to say please don’t do this, I don’t deserve it - and for a moment at least, was mildly impressed with herself for avoiding telling Nicole that. “Oh, that makes sense.” She wasn’t sure if it did, but very little made sense anymore and she figured that she could at least fake it when it came to what Nicole was saying. Relatively speaking, her explanation did make more sense than a whole lot of other things.
“I - I like walking, and - I dunno,” she finally acquiesced, “just wanted to go for a walk, and my cousin was… busy.” Which was to say that Ariadne didn’t want to ask Chance to go for a walk with her, no matter how much she wished she could’ve. “I - I’ve got pepper spray.” She looked down at the ground, then back up. “There’s a car over there - is that one yours?”
“Oh, right yes… of course” Nicole shoved her hands inside her back pockets, trading the empty package of her snack for her phone. A picture of her and Leah with the sun setting in the background flashed as the screen lit up, before she unlocked her phone and promptly handed the device to the young girl. She furrowed her eyebrows, surprised by Ariadne’s admission. Like friends? Had she managed not to completely freak this woman out? Enough that she might consider talking to her further? She gaped at her for a moment, a shy smile slowly creeping on her face. “That’d be nice, yeah. Could help you out picking better trails” she shrugged, unable to keep the teasing lilt off her voice.
“All good,” Nicole waved dismissively, knowing the young woman didn’t want to be an inconvenience. It was a good thing she didn’t have to lie, Ariadne’s apartment was on the way home. She wasn’t sure she’d sound convincing at all if the opposite had been true. She nodded in silence, willing every facial muscle to go for reassurance. If she was successful, she couldn’t tell. And the girl likely couldn’t either, with how dark the forest was. 
“Alright, yeah. You’ll need someone to join you on your walks, for when your cousin can’t make it” Nicole briefly wondered about the rest of Ariadne’s family. Were they not around? Just busy? Was she here for school? Were they dead like pretty much everybody else’s families in this town? Maybe if the other woman did take her up on her offer, then she’d end up finding out eventually. “Pepper spray is good. A start, at least. We’ll have to make you a backpack with more stuff, though” her heart did skip several beats at the thought of a girl walking around the forest with only pepper spray on her. “First you’re gonna need—” She looked up at the question, following Ariadne’s line of sight to find her Subaru Crosstrek. “There it is, yeah” she let out a sigh of relief, turning back one final time to convince herself the smokey orbs were not going to return. It wasn’t often she had the urge to leave the woods. She unlocked her vehicle, a hand on Ariadne’s back urging her inside. Only once she was in front of the wheel she felt the rest of her anxiety roll off her shoulders, letting out a shuddering breath. “Right, so you need a starter pack…”
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dark-myst28 · 1 year
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Warriors AU: Fire’s Step to Change
FStC
Beginning Arc
ThunderClan - The Brave and Intelligent
Leader: Glacierstar—blue-gray she-cat, tinged with silver around her muzzle. Apprentice, Firepaw (Warrior name Glacierbreathe)
Lives 4
Deputy: Redtail—small tortoiseshell tom with a distinctive ginger tail. Apprentice, Dustpaw
Medicine cat(s): Spottedleaf—beautiful dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a distinctive dappled coat. Apprentice, Ravenpaw
Warriors:
Lionheart—magnificent golden tabby tom with thick fur like a lion's mane.
Apprentice, Graypaw
Tigerclaw—big aggressive dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws. He is the brother of Frostfur and Miststorm.
Miststorm—big white-and-grey spiky furred she-cat with amber-blue eyes. She is the sister of Tigerclaw and Frostfur
Whitesnow—big white tom. Apprentice, Sandpaw
Darkstripe—sleek black-and-gray tabby tom.
Harpytail—pale tabby tom with dark black stripes. (Longtail) Rumored to be either Halfclan or Half-Kittypet
Chestnutwing—angry light brown tabby tom. Rumored to be either Halfclan or Half-Kittypet
Cherrysnap—spiteful tortoiseshell she-cat extremely pregnant. Rumored to be either Halfclan or Half-Kittypet
Eaglebreeze—swift tabby tom.
Willowpelt—very pale tortoiseshell gray she-cat with unusual blue eyes.
Mousefur—small heavily scarred dusky brown she-cat. Former Rouge
Apprentices:
Dustpaw—dark brown tabby tom. Older brother of Ravenpaw Dustfang
Ravenpaw—small, skinny black tom with a tiny white dash on his chest, and white-tipped tail. Younger brother of Dustpaw Ravenglare
Graypaw—long-haired solid gray tom. Half Brother of Darkstripe Grayclaw
Sandpaw—dark tortoiseshell and ginger she-cat. Sandscreech
Firepaw—handsome ginger tom with bright green eyes. Firespark
Queens:
Frostfur—beautiful gray and white she-cat and blue eyes. Sister of Miststorm and Tigerclaw
Kits - Cinderkit Swiftkit and Snowkit Age 3 Moons
Father of the Kits Unknown
Brindleface—brindle grey tabby she-cat with pale green eyes. Former Rouge claims to have come from a Clan called SkyClan
Kits - Elderkit and Tulipkit Age 2 Moons
Father of the Kits Ash
Goldenflower—pale ginger coat.
Kits - Brackenkit, Brightkit, and Thornkit Age 5 days old
Father of the Kits Unknown
Elders:
Sparrowtail—big dark brown tabby tom with part of his tail missing.
Nightfish—pale gray she-cat, the oldest cat in ThunderClan.
Dappletail—once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat.
Thrushpelt—sandy brown tom with light green eyes
Rosetail—once pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a bright red tail Rumored to have had Redtail, Willowpelt, and Spottedleaf but she will never say.
ShadowClan - The Cunning and Mysterious
Leader: Brokenstar—long-haired dark brown tabby. Apprentice Batpaw
Lives 7
Deputy: Blackfoot—large white tom with huge jet-black paws.
Medicine cat(s): Runningnose—small gray-and-white tom. Apprentice, Damppaw
Warriors:
Stumpytail—brown tabby tom. Apprentice, Brownpaw
Boulder—silver tabby tom. Apprentice, Wetpaw
Clawface—battle-scarred brown tom. Apprentice, Littlepaw
Nightpelt—black tom.
Mossthorn—gray-and-white she-cat with dark blue eyes
Volewhisker—dark brown tom
Mintclaw—grey she-cat
Marigoldheart-dark tortoiseshell she-cat
Apprentices:
Brownpaw—dark brown tom Browntoad
Wetpaw—dark sleek-furred grey tom Wetspider
Littlepaw—small ginger tabby tom Littleclover
Queens:
Dawncloud—small tabby.
Kits Marshkit, Bogkit, and Rodentkit Age 5 Moons
Refuses to mention the father
Flowerstep—black-and-white she-cat. (Brightflower)
Kits Jackdawkit, Deerkit, and Cedarkit Age 1 Day Old
Father of the kits Boulder
Elders:
Ashfur—thin gray tom
WindClan - The Swift-Footed and Spiritual
Leader: Tallstar—a black-and-white tom with a very long tail.
Lives 3
Deputy: Deadfoot—a black tom with a twisted paw.
Medicine cat(s): Barkface—a short-tailed brown tom.
Warriors:
Mudclaw—a mottled dark brown tom. Apprentice, Webbedpaw
Tornear—a tabby tom. Apprentice, Runningpaw
Onewhisker—a young brown tabby tom. Apprentice, Whitepaw
Bristlefeather-light brown tom
Father of Runningpaw
Stoneheart-handsome dark greyish-brown tom
Thrushwing-beautiful sandy-brown she-cat
Apprentices:
Webbedpaw-grey tom Webbedfoot
Runningpaw-light brown she-cat with yellow eyes Runningstorm
Whitepaw-black she-cat with blue eye and a white-tail Whitetail
Queens:
Ashfoot—a gray queen.
Kits: Eaglekit Age 3 Moons
Father of kit Deadfoot
Morningflower—a tortoiseshell queen.
Kits: Gorsekit and Briarkit Age 4 Moons
Father of kits Mudclaw
Elders:
Crowfur-snappy skinny black tom with blind white eyes
RiverClan - The Devious and Spiteful
Leader: Crookedstar—a huge light-colored tabby with a twisted jaw.
Lives 2
Deputy: Oakheart—a reddish brown tom
Medicine cat(s): Clovervine-beautiful brown-and-white she-cat with green eyes.
Warriors:
Blackclaw—smoky black tom. Apprentice, Heavypaw
Stonefur—a gray tom with battle-scarred ears. Apprentice, Shadepaw
Loudbelly—a dark brown tom. Apprentice, Silverpaw
Silverstream—a pretty slender silver tabby.
Leopardfur—unusually spotted golden tabby she-cat.
Whiteclaw—a dark warrior.
Apprentices:
Heavypaw-thick dark-brown almost black tom Heavybird
Shadepaw-black she-cat Shadefish
Father Stonefur
Silverpaw-angry silver-grey tom Silverthorn
Queens:
Mistybreathe-gorgeous dark grey-blue she cat with haunted orange eyes
Kits: Reedkit, Splashkit, Maplekit, Oakkit Age 5 Moons
Father of the kits Blackclaw
Elders:
Graypool-eldery grey she-cat
Cats outside Clans
Yellowfang—old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face. Former ShadowClan Medicine Cat. Originally called Stormfang
Smudge—plump, friendly black-and-white kitten who lives in a house at the edge of the forest.
Barley—fairly young black-and-white tom who lives on a farm close to the forest. Formerly apart of a group of cats called The Forsaken
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spottyissleepy · 2 years
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…… why am I thinking of shipping blackfrost with Mossthorn and blackfrost being the sire of swift, cinder and bracken?
👀👀👀👀 ooh
O O H
Honestly?? That would be fuckin EPIC, honestly. That could really be a big driving force for Swift, especially; he looks so much like his sire, and he wants desperately to prove his worth and prove that he’s Not Like Him
I like the parallels 👀
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bonefall · 9 months
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Sorry to send in more asks about Mossthorn, they just stick with me bc of how they died. Like wow… kits snapped their neck (albeit while they were a 3 moon apprentice). Brutal.
Will you be keeping their cause of death, if it’s even possible for cats to accomplish? You do a great job of balancing canon on one end and realism + fantasy on the other so I’m just curious :3
Hmm... Well, BB!Mossthorn is going to die in the WindClan Massacre, I could give them an equally brutal death. The neck-snapping thing was always a bit odd, cats don't have weak spines weighed down by bowling-ball brains like human beings do.
I could have them get a concussion from Deadfoot's Bonker, and have them die of brain swelling a day or so later. Scorchflare dies of bloodloss right there, and Mossthorn dies afterwards. Volestrike will get some pretty nasty infections but ultimately survive. That way, Moss can keep their unique death while making it fit BB
Sound good?
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thetrailofflames · 1 year
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I know Mossthorn and Hornetstripe are pregnant, but who's giving birth first? Is Hornetstripe based on anyone or just a random oc?
They’re giving birth around the same time but Hornetstripe will.
Hornetstripe is actually a canon character, just unnamed. She’s the tabby queen with distinctive black markings. I immediately thought of a wasp or hornet and went from there. Everything else was from me.
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wickedsrest-rp · 4 months
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Between a rock & a hard place | Group Thread
TIMING: December 5th PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Metzli (@muertarte), Cassius (@singdreamchild), & Caleb (@dirtwatchman) SUMMARY: On a stroll through the cemetery, Wyatt disturbs a crystal monster from the mines, sending it into an accidental rage. Metzli, Cassius, and Caleb all happen to be in that same cemetery that night, and hurry to his aid. They beat the thing, but not without some bumps and bruises (and more) along the way. CONTENT WARNINGS: Body horror
Something big was lurking in the shadows of the cemetery, moving among the headstones. It had been a long trek out of the mines, but the creature had only one thing on its mind as it lumbered along, its crystalline body glinting in the moonlight. 
Hands in his pockets, enjoying a rare night off from the Pit and the restaurant, Wyatt thought he’d go give this Mossthorn Bog a look, wondering how much (if at all) it might remind him of home. That would be nice. On the way, he’d become distracted by the sprawling cemetery in Nightfall Grove, doing a little bit of research as he neared its open gate. Loads of missing person cases, huh? Fascinating. Feeling like he could handle whatever this cemetery tried to throw at him, the lamia boldly entered, unaware of the danger that lurked inside. It’d just be a quick loop around the place, then he’d be on his way. Nothing major. 
The beast from the mines had other plans.
It was surprisingly quiet, all things considered. It spotted the shifter from a distance, crouching low into the dirt and looking for all the world like a big, fancy boulder. Wyatt paid little mind as he walked by, hearing some sort of… commotion in the distance, and being far more intrigued by the light he could see moving between the trees and mausoleums. Was someone having a party out here? The rock was only spared a passing glance, and as if offended by his dismissal of its presence, it took a swipe at him. 
Being soft and squishy at the moment, the lamia was sent hurtling through the air. His instincts took over, sparing him any grievous damage as he shifted in the blink of an eye, shredding through the clothing he wore and sending a nine foot tall gator crashing into the tree instead of a very breakable human. Even still, the shock of the sudden impact left him rattled and he had no kind of grip on the branches, dropping back to the hard earth with a loud oof! and, more poignantly, a loud “What the fuck?!” as he stared up at the gemstone beast that’d taken a swing at him. 
“Fuck you!” Very clever, this one. The beast reared back, letting out a roar and lunging for him, forcing him to scramble out of the way. “I liked that fuckin’ shirt—” Wyatt complained, “—and I don’t like fightin’ for free! Piece of—”
There was nothing to move in Metzli’s chest, no swing of a brush or dust from a sculpture could spark any sort of joy. It reminded them of all those years with Eloy, everything coordinated perfectly so that he could retain the power he had accumulated through the years. How strange it was now though that Chuy of all people was in charge, plans of his own to extend his reign now that Eloy was gone. 
It made for a rather difficult time in Wicked’s Rest, their connections feeling more like characters in a book they could stow away for another time. Which was strange because Metzli was the expendable one, not their friends. They supposed it was better that way anyhow. Once Chuy made his move, not feeling their connections torn from them would be easier while numb. That was, of course, if Chuy allowed them to stay numb. Which he likely wouldn’t. 
Metzli sighed deeply, walking and thinking, taking a break from MuertArte in hopes of something activating within. There was nothing, much to their dismay. They were just about to give up and head back when they heard a man yelling about some shirt, followed by a roar. A fight then? Metzli’s curiosity was piqued, and they sprinted toward the sound with their knife in their hand, putting their body between some scaly humanoid thing and sharp claws. 
The razors shot into their shoulders, sending them to one knee with the amount of pressure it applied. But there was no extreme pain, just a hint of warmth that was the tiniest bit enough to feel similar to what their loved ones once caused in their chest. Metzli almost smiled then, cocking their leg up and shoving it into the gemstone beast. It was too heavy to send away like a regular opponent, but it stumbled back, granting them enough space to regard the stranger they just helped. Blood collected thickly from their wound, a black goo dripping as they asked, “Can you fight?”
Cassius hadn’t been back out to visit the cemetery since his crypt had been coated in goo. Well, not his crypt anymore. It was Lydia Hanover’s again. Still, he couldn’t help but come back out and check on it from time to time to see if there was any possible way to retrieve the items that had been stuck inside. No such luck. It was almost comical what had become of what he had learned to call home. 
He thought back to the moments he had with Inge not too long ago, where they had a heart-to-heart followed by some nefarious pacts. He thought back to the countless poems Cassius had penned within its walls, the not-so-wonderful attempt on his life from the slayer he now knew as Owen, and, of course, the return of his sire that he had long-presumed to be dead. Or at least, dead to him. 
His attention was stirred elsewhere when he heard a loud commotion coming from the mausoleums. Every instinct told him to get out of dodge and escape, but he didn’t. Instead, Cassius found his feet carrying him to the direction of the noise. That’s where he found an alligator and a familiar face. An interesting pairing, but a pairing all the same. 
“Hey, what’s going on?” He called out, brows knitting together in confusion. He spoke before he saw it. A giant purple thing hulking over them, roaring as it began to charge toward the two. “Run!” He shouted as it sped up, hurtling itself toward the lamia and Metzli. His shouting had been a terrible ideas, as it shifted its course of direction straight for him. Before he knew what had happened, Cassius had been tossed through the air as if he were nothing more than a sack of feathers. The air was knocked out of him as he was thrown against the side of a crypt. Groaning, he righted himself and looked toward the others.
It wasn't often that Caleb ventured to other graveyards to try and dig up another body or two but these days he was completely desperate. Most of his attempts at, well, murder were either thwarted or complete failures because he was gutless...a spineless, gutless, freak of nature who should have been able to kill a simple garbage human being but couldn't bring himself to do so. Which led him to scour the graveyards in the neighboring parts of town for freshly dug soil in an attempt to find something, anything that could help him stop some sort of horde from forming in Wicked's Rest. His night in Nightfall Grove was not going well. 
Shovel in hand, the zombie started to make his way back to the truck that parked in a shaded area of the cemetery when an angry roar stopped him in his tracks. “What the hell....?” Another loud roar filled the night air, Caleb taking a few tentative steps forward before stopping again. It wasn't until he heard the shouts of others that he took off running towards the voices without thinking. 
The sight that met him was one of the strangest he'd ever encountered in this town and that was saying something. Caleb was behind some sort of creature covered in or made of the crystals he'd been warning people against, running up just in time for him to see it throw a blond man into a crypt. The monster reared its head back to roar out its frustration into the night before it started toward the other two people in its path, people that seemed like they could be injured already. 
“Dammit...I'm about to do this, aren't I?” 
His feet were already moving and there was only a moment's hesitation before he gripped his shovel with both hands and swung as hard as he could at the monster in front of him, sending a small piece of crystal flying. The monster turned on him, Caleb scrambling away from it the best he could but tripping before getting far. He was on his back, shovel still in hand, when the monster grabbed him by his right foot and threw him, the zombie landing and skidding ten feet across the earth. Dust and gravel were both flying before he came to a stop, Caleb closing his eyes as it settled around him. A groan escaped and he allowed himself a split second to let the pain radiate through him before his eyes landed on the crystalline figure heading towards him once more. Once again, he was scrambling, hoping to reach the shovel laying behind him before the monster could reach him. “What is this thing?!”
Yellow, reptilian eyes went wide as someone intervened, looking very… normal. What the fuck were they doing? Before he could shout at them to get out of there, they were taking a forceful hit from the beast and… not crumpling like an accordion? Okay, so there was something there—something that became even more obvious, though still not named, as they pushed the beast away and turned to face him. 
“Ew,” he commented without thinking, gaze fixed on the thick black ooze coming from their wound. “That’s—you should get that looked at.” Oh, right. They’d asked him something. “But yeah, I can fight. S’how I make a damn livin’.” 
Hey, what’s going on? As another person entered the fray, Wyatt pulled himself to his full height and shook off the residual dizziness from slamming head-first into that tree. Why were more people showing up to get themselves killed? Lord, this was why he preferred arranged fights. Then he didn’t have to worry about anyone but himself. The creature was coming at them again until it wasn’t, now heading for loud blondie over there. Wyatt grumbled to himself, giving the person in front of him a curt nod before preparing to leap after the thing—oh. Ow. Blondie took a severe hit, sending him through the air and into the stone side of a crypt. Then there were four, and the lamia cursed aloud, watching as yet another average looking human took a swing at the crystal creature with a… shovel? Why did they have a shovel—never mind. Jesus, never mind. This was insane. 
Huffing out an exasperated breath, Wyatt looked to the person closest to him. “Gonna bite its head off,” he informed them. What is this thing?! the third stranger cried as he recuperated from being hucked just like the rest of them, but Wyatt was too busy to respond. He galloped toward the beast on all fours, leaping through the air once he got close enough and scrabbling up its side like a lizard scaling a wall. Large jaws parted as he reached its back and he lurched forward, snapping them around the monster’s neck and biting down. It wasn’t soft, of course, and while the gator’s jaws did apply a fair amount of pressure, nothing more than a few crystals broke loose. Still, he didn’t let go, trying to shake his head as violently as he could to do more damage. At the very least, it was keeping the creature from being able to see straight, holding it more or less in one spot as it tried to buck him off. 
The verbal disgust did nothing to faze the vampire, not when more people were being added to the rising battle. One of them, in fact, Metzli recognized as he was thrown roughly into stone. They tilted their head curiously, calculating what the next right thing to do would be. At least two of them were actually capable of fighting if the reptilian wasn’t lying about his job, and at the very least, Cassius had his preternatural strength, and the man with a shovel was…resourceful, to say the least.
“Bite head?” Metzli began to circle slowly around the beast, keeping an eye on its legs for its next move as they continued  to speak. “Break your teeth, may…be” And of course, conversation was the last thing the man wanted, cutting it all short as he made his first attack. Sure, Metzli hated conversation with people they didn’t know, but strategizing well was what was going to get them all out safely. Not impulsivity.
“You! With shovel!” They pointed at the man with their knife, shooing him to stand behind the beast as they circled and paced carefully, slowly filling and old role from a past they could not get away from. “Cassius, hurry and get up! Position around.” They pointed to an empty spot. “Do not get hit again.” The man had a good hold, that much was evident. Metzli thought perhaps they could use that time to properly set up the battle, surround the creature so that it could not focus on more than one opponent all the time. It was a common tactic they used with Los Sombras, albeit with a large crowd of humans, but the tactic was still a good one. 
“And you!” Yelling at the crunching stranger, Metzli watched the formation take shape, a blindspot needing to be filled. “Let go and help surround! Attack one at a time!” It would give everyone a short reprieve to gather their wits about them before their next attack, and it would benefit them all to be able to have eyes on each other. “Once we know attack pattern and weakness, we arc and push—” They were interrupted, dodging a sweep to their body. “Then kill. Together. Okay?” As they waited for any form of agreement, Metzli tossed their knife toward Cassius. They had a spare anyway.
Hearing Metzli’s call to get himself off the ground, Cassius groaned and hoisted himself up off the ground, dusting off his pants as if it mattered in a moment like this. He cast a glance over to Metzli, then nodded his head once. He ran over to the spot that they had pointed out for them to stand in, focusing his attention on the giant rock monster. Man, the thing was huge, it had to have come from the tunnels, right? He narrowed his eyes and frowned as he thought to himself. 
For a moment, he was glad Metzli was there to organize everyone, they seemed to be good at it. Cassius only knew that he’d get his ass kicked if it had been up to him. At least this way, they had a chance of taking this thing down. 
He tore his gaze away from the monster long enough to look at the others in the group. A gator, who seemed to be able to understand human speech, which led Cassius to believe they were some kind of shapeshifter. Naturally, in a town like this. He then looked at the man with the shovel. Well, it was definitely a choice.A man with a shovel in a graveyard… hm. Cassius kept his eyes narrowed at Wyatt for a moment longer gefore turning his attention back to the rock monster. 
It let out a creaking groan as Metzli dodged their sweeping attack. Cassius quickly grabbed the knife that was tossed his way, and jumped backward with uncanny speed as the monster brought its fist down to where he had been standing. He began to study its moves. So far, sweeping and smashing seemed to be his hits of choice. Okay, he could work with that. He glanced in Metzli’s direction for a moment, waiting for them to give some kind of order, then turned his attention back to the monster, waiting for its next move.
All Caleb could do was stare as the reptilian creature started to scale the crystal giant, his movements slowing to a stop and his mouth hanging open. He'd seen some things in his life but watching a gator tear little pieces of crystal off of a monster made of the stuff took the cake. Wicked's Rest just got weirder by the day. It wasn't until he heard someone shouting at him that his attention was torn away from the battle in front of him. If there was anything Caleb could do correctly, he could follow directions so the zombie gingerly got to his feet before taking his stance behind the creature as he was told. This person seemed to know what they were doing, Caleb all too happy to be a soldier following their leadership. 
Even if he was a little terrified, an emotion he tried to mask while he grasped the shovel tightly. It wouldn't do anyone any good for his fear to be on display while they were trying to get rid of whatever this thing was. He could freak out later. 
As Caleb waited for his next command, a little piece of crystal that had been torn away from the monster  by the reptile came flying towards him. The zombie tried to sidestep it but the smaller piece seemed to develop a mind of its own and somehow gripped his arm, clambering up almost the same way the alligator had done to the much larger monster. “Oh, hell no.” He quickly pushed the smaller rock off of him with as much force as he could muster, the thing landing with a thud in the dirt and breaking into two more pieces. Caleb wasted no time and brought this shovel down hard onto both of them, smashing them up as much as he could until they stopped moving on their own. 
“This might make things a little harder.” Caleb turned back to face the person who had given him the earlier command while still keeping the larger monster in the corner of his questioning eyes. “I can take on the little ones while you all keep tearing away at him?”
Wyatt wasn’t used to working as a team. In fact, he’d never done it once in his life. As such, he almost ignored the commands that were being shouted back and forth, zeroing in on the enemy and having little room for consideration of anything else. Still… it wasn’t the cheer of a crowd and eventually the gator did come back to his senses, realizing with some delay that the first one to show up had told him to get down and help them surround it. He growled and hissed as he begrudgingly loosened his grip on the creature’s neck, sliding down its back with claws hooked to break away as many small bits as he could on the way down. They rained to the dirt and grass below, and looking up just in time to see—hang on, the guy with the shovel was Caleb? The lamia scoffed as he watched Caleb smashing some smaller pieces of crystal to bits with his shovel. “What are you—” before he could finish asking, the smaller pieces that he’d dislodged during his dismount were springing to life and running right at him. 
Wyatt did not like small critters, he oftentimes felt creeped out by them or like he might crush them if he looked at them wrong, and these miniature abominations were the cherries on top of that particular slice of pie. “Oh, fuck!” he yelped, gaze darting between the little army of nuggets that were only a few steps away and the big motherfucker that was whipping around to try and take a bite out of him, understandably pissed about the whole chomping and gouging thing. Wyatt hunkered down onto all fours again to leap out of the way of the smaller rocks while taking a swipe at the big guy’s head, hooking it by the jaw and dragging its head down close to the ground. Another, much faster bite was delivered—ow—and then the gator released it again to back away, heading for Caleb this time, with his trusty shovel, apparently. “Can you smash those for me I do not like them,” he rattled off quickly as he tried to move back into position without the little fuckers attaching themselves to his scales. 
Everyone was capable, it seemed, but there was still a disconnect in each of their skills. Two were more apt for smaller, weaker foe, while the other two had experience with opponents of the monster’s size, or even just fighting in general. The plan had to shift if they were going to make it out alive and in one piece. Begrudgingly, Metzli decided to call for a separation, deeming the shovel and Cassius’s strength and knife to be suited well for the little rocks. 
Or were they gems? Cass would be upset if Metzli couldn’t differentiate them. Maybe they could ask her later—they shook their head, refocusing on the matter at hand. “Divide!” They exclaimed, lunging forward to sink their knife into the creature’s blindspot. With considerable force, Metzli tugged and dragged, leaving a gaping wound just before clarifying their instructions, in agreement with Wyatt. “He is right! Cassius and Caleb! Attack small things. Me and him will keep this thing—” A gem creature screeched as it pounced toward Metzli, and they reacted quickly enough to punch it straight to the ground. “Busy!” They finally finished, turning back to the beast and trusting the other two to take their plan into more than just consideration.
“You are a good fighter,” They said in a small break in the chaos. The large creature roared and swiped, just barely missing the two in the midst of Metzli explaining next steps. “We attack in pattern, yes?” Another swipe, and another dodge. “Be on opposite and attack only when other is retreated. It will come to defense and leave itself open for attack when it goes after one of us. Have sense?” There wasn’t much time to allow for a verbal agreement, so Metzli had to trust that Wyatt would listen just as he did before. Even if he was slow to do so last time. They groaned to themself, pushing away the thought and instead opting to trust him to collaborate. Everyone seemed smart enough to listen. Metzli just hoped they were all strong enough to survive.
Letting out a withering sigh, Cassius turned his attention to the smaller crystals that were breaking off and forming sentience around him. This was something out of some comedic horror writer’s wet dream and he wasn’t appreciating it very much, thanks. He let out an indignant scoff before having a flashback to his experience with the fury a few months back. “Wait, I… those creepy things from the mines,” he began to explain, trying to remember what they looked like. “They had geodes for faces, one of them attacked myself and someone else, they had these venom sacks that melted the crystals.” He looked to where the entrance of the mines were, and frowned. It would be a gamble to find one of them right now, but it was something at least. 
“It could stop us from having to deal with breaking off a million tiny rock monsters?” He then added, stomping a crystalline miniature hellion into the earth with his Doc Marten. A blonde strand of hair got in his eyes, and he blew it away with an annoyed face, then stomped into another mini crystal creature with his left boot. This would be embarrassing for someone to witness if it wasn’t a life or death situation. Another strand of hair flew into his face, and this time it pissed him off enough to quickly throw his hair into a quick messy knot on the top of his head. 
A group of the crystal miniatures jumped up onto his pant legs, and began to do their little tiny punches into his thigh. “This is more annoying than painful,” he muttered to himself as he chanced a glance behind him at the giant creature that Metzli and Wyatt were currently keeping occupied. The more damage it did, the angier it seemed to become, letting out a creaking groan that sounded more like earth settling more than it did a cry of pain or anger. He began to pluck the little crystal things off of his pants and crushed them in his hands as if they were nothing to him. 
The tiny pieces were starting to become a hassle, Caleb doing his best to smash them as they came barreling towards him with each blow to the much larger version of themselves. They were easy enough to take on but too many of them could prove disastrous, especially since he didn't know what damage they could cause. He'd learned a long time ago not to underestimate even the smallest of creatures. Busy trying to shake off another tiny monster that crawled up his leg, the zombie's attention was momentarily caught by the gator creature, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when it trailed off during it's question. Somehow the voice sounded familiar but he didn't have time to ponder too much before a group of the smaller crystals started to come at them, two of which joined their hellian sibling latched onto Caleb's clothes. These little things were persistent.
Voices were heard while he knocked the three off of him, stomping them out one by one, but he couldn't quite focus on what they were saying while he kept an eye on the giant thing looming over them all. One was speaking about splitting up, another about something in the mines, so Caleb decided his best course of action was to continue with what he was doing. Maybe he could distract the little ones while the tall blond (Who he assumed was Cassius after hearing the names called) went after what they needed.
It was the accent that sparked Caleb's memory as the gator ran towards him with the request, blue eyes widening when he realized who this could be. He'd never heard it from anyone else in this town and the odds of two of them around here were slim. But they were trying to fight a monster the size of a bus that spawned more with every hit it took. This was no time for the many questions forming in his mind. Nodding at the request, Caleb reared the shovel back before smacking the creatures with the curved edge to send them skittering a yard or so away. “Go, I have them.” He turned to look at Cassius. “You too, I can take care of these.”
Giving Caleb an appreciative nod, Wyatt circled around the beast to where Metzli was to draw it away from the other two. Cassius was saying something about a mine monster, and… huh. That did sound better than biting this thing until his fangs started falling out. “Think you can lead one out here?” he shouted to the blonde while Metzli punched the fucking thing to the ground (what the fuck), then gave them a reptilian grin in response to their compliment. “Same could be said of you!” he answered. “But—opposites, pattern. Got it!” Ducking out the way again to take up position behind the cranky rock, doing as instructed and waiting to jump on the thing’s back and do as much damage as quickly as he could before hopping back down and drawing its attention his way, leaving it open to attack from Metzli.
Casting a concerned glance over in Caleb’s direction, the gator let out a loud hiss to get his attention. “Hey, you doin’ alright over there with your shovel, sport?” His tone sounded… affectionately teasing, and the shit-eating grin he was wearing was lost somewhere in translation—alligator jaws weren’t particularly expressive, after all. 
There was a clear crack that shot up a hint of warmth up Metzli’s arm. It was the most they felt in weeks, shooting their pupils into large saucers like some sort of high. They smiled lightly, turning in time to watch Wyatt dodge and compliment, agreeing a lot easier than before. 
With the beast open for attack thanks to the shifter, Metzli pounced. They found purchase on a few gems, cocking their arm back and plunging their knife into it over and over again. Its maw snapped and snarled, poorly attempting to rid itself of the tick on its side. Metzli granted its wish and leapt back to allow Wyatt to make his move, only to be swiped at mid-air. 
The pain that surged throughout their body as they made impact with the ground was enough to force a huff of laughter to escape them. But the claws in their chest? That only served to strengthen the feeling, allowing it to bloom into adrenaline throughout their veins. Metzli laughed, truly laughed, and placed their feet against its chest to keep it from causing any more damage while they waited for help. It worked, for the most part, but if no one charged in soon, they were sure they’d be unable to continue helping.
Once he got the go ahead from Caleb, Cassius took off toward the entrance of the cave. Luckily for him, the commotion had brought out more than one volmugger to the entrance. They skittered about on all fours, their geode faces snapping to attention the second that he stepped close enough. There were three of them in total. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe that three was too many to handle. He wasn’t going to go down like this, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else get exposed to the damn things. With a intake of breath, Cassius rushed toward the closest creature, stabbing it in the middle of its geode, rendering the venom sack behind its non-face completely useless. The acid leaked out onto the knife, beginning to eat away at it. He pulled it out quickly, the liquid dripping down his hand and burning away his skin, exposing bone and muscle tendons.
Grimacing at the pain, Cassius lept backward as the second creature made an eerie clicking sound, then acid sprayed in an arc toward him. It got his chest, burning away the clothes and flesh, exposing more muscle and bone. Black blood bubbled to the surface, and he had no choice but to ignore the pain that seared through him. 
The last two creatures clicked at him and sprayed their acid, and this time he rolled away in the knick of time. It eroded the stone where he once stood, leaving bubbling acid in its place. The blood trickled down his chest, and he chanced a glance down at it. His shirt was ruined, and there was no way that wouldn’t leave a temporary scar. It went through the carnation tattoo that he had, and he cursed under his breath. How the hell was he going to explain that to the tattoo artist? 
Cassius didn’t have time to think, the third creature clicked and sprayed its acid at his face, and lunged toward the second and grabbed its head and pulled, a horrible ripping of bone and tendon cut through the silent night as he ripped its head clean from its body. The body fell to the ground lifeless, and he had secured what he was after. The last remaining creature charged at him, and he dropped the geode-like head quickly, the acid spraying onto his legs. It splashed everywhere, achieving the same effect it had on the rest of his body. Wasting no time, he ripped into the creatures chest and tore it apart, rending flesh from bone, terrible ripping and squelching sounds as he crushed its organs in his hands. 
In a swift motion, Cassius tore another head from its body, then plucked up the other head he had discarded in the earth. With clothes and flesh sufficiently burned away, he ran limped back toward the group. “Catch!” He shouted to Metzli, then threw the geode-like head toward the other vampire. “It sprays an acid, it eats away at the rock!” He explained, then rushed over to the small pieces that were forming tiny creatures and tore out the sac from the center of the skull. He squeezed on it and it began to leak. The blonde made quick work of spraying the liquid onto the smaller crystal structures, which began to melt away entirely. 
With Cassius gone, Caleb was almost overrun with the little pieces taking on a life of their own, most of them turning their tiny fury on the pale man churning them to dust with loud blows of the metal stomping them into the ground. Three more were already up his legs with one the size of his head having made it to Caleb’s waste. They were going for his arms, probably to stop him from using the shovel against them. The sound of Wyatt’s voice brought him back to the bigger fight at hand, Caleb questioning how the man could still sound like he was flirting in the middle of this. “Since when am I ‘sport’ to you? I like firebug better.” 
The larger of the broken pieces suddenly clamped its jaw down on Caleb’s wrist, making it clear that these bastards were definitely going for his hands as a sharp end of crystal sunk into his skin and hit bone, drawing up that tell tale black goo. “Shit!” He jerked his hand away and shook his wrist with force, sending the crystal flying only for it to come running back towards him as soon as it landed on its feet. Caleb swiped at it, the end of the shovel splitting through it before he stomped both pieces out with his boot. “Yea, I’m doing great. But I think they have it worse.” Head jerking towards the person being held in place by the monster, he raised an eyebrow as Cassius came running back looking worse for wear. “Or him.”
“You’re right, I don’t know why the fuck I said that,” the lamia laughed, putting a pin in the thought that they were going to probably have to have a conversation at some point about… all of whatever the fuck was going on here. Which… it wasn’t going terribly, all things considered. It wasn’t great though, and Wyatt was left to duck his head and charge at the beast pinning Metzli to the ground. The first hit rocked it in place but didn’t quite do the trick, and the gator bellowed angrily as he backed up to try again. “Fuck off, Mount Rushmore!” Bodyslamming the beast a second time managed to topple it over, just in time for Cassius to come back from the mines, apparently.
Looking like absolute shit. 
Wyatt held out a scaly, clawed hand to Metzli to pull them to their feet, balking at the sight of the blonde. He threw something their way, which Metzli handily caught. “Dude, you look fuckin’ rough,” he half exclaimed, half laughed, hoping that it wasn’t a future for all of them. It could be, if what he said about the acid was true. Blinking back at Metzli, Wyatt stepped out of the way, giving them plenty of space to spray the big rocky fucker that was getting back to its feet. “All you, friend,” he hissed.
Metzli’s eyes were wide and a bit wild from all the sensations they’d managed to develop. It was a rush, leaving them feral to continue, but they knew that they needed to remain at least somewhat composed if they all wanted to defeat the beast. Even if their mouth was watering at the mere thought of a meal. No, they shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut tightly until they saw stars. It did well to refocus them, and they sheathed their blade in order to grasp the geode in their hand.
“Thank you,” they replied calmly, just barely dodging a swipe from the monster with a roll to the ground. Landing on one knee, Metzli took aim and smiled with satisfaction as the acid began to coat the grisly thing with enough to send it screeching viscerally. Que suerte, they thought, rising to their feet to watch and analyze. It thrashed backwards, trying its best to get away from the thing that caused it pain. “You next.” Metzli said, tossing the geode over to Caleb like some game of hot tomato. Or whatever game that Cass tried to explain to them. 
Waving off the comments that were thrown Cassius’s way by the gator man, quickly side stepping monster’s attempts at swiping. His hand reached for the acid sac and grimaced, continuing to spray the vile liquid onto the smaller pieces that had gained sentience. As they melted away, the giant monstrosity turned its attention onto the blonde vampire. It let out a roar as it changed its path, zeroing in on Cassius and smashing down on him. 
As soon as the crystal arm came down, Cassius fell out of the way as quick as he could. The stone came crashing down onto his lower leg, eliciting a cry from the vampire. The geode head he held in his hands tumbled out of his hold and toward Wyatt, leaving Cassius to scoot out of the way of the monster. He rolled onto his hands and knees, wincing at the pain that came with it. Ignoring the pain best he could, he hopped up onto his good leg, hobbling away from the large monster and toward Caleb and his shovel. The acid that Metzli had sprayed onto the monster was starting to eat away at the creature, crystal bubbling away to nothingness.
Slamming his foot down on one of the last of the little monsters, Caleb looked up just in time to see the geode head flying towards him. “Wait!” But there was no stopping them, it was too late. He dropped the shovel to catch the thing, his numb fingers fumbling to keep his hold firm. It almost slipped fully from his grasp until he was able to tighten his hold, accidentally squeezing some of the acid onto his shirt which burned through to the skin of his abdomen. Teeth gnashed against his bottom lip when the pain radiated through him, his focus on the battle lost. There was something building inside of Caleb, something that terrified him more than anything, but he did his best to bring his sights back to the problem at hand. 
Pointing the head towards the monster that was still being eaten away, he squeezed again, much harder this time while strength started to intensify. The acid sprayed over the side of the monster that was now facing the empty space where Cassius had been standing with its head swiveling around to try and take in all of the enemies surrounding it. Its arm was quickly covered, the limb starting to melt away. “Metzli!” The name was growled as Caleb tossed the head back to them so he could assist Cassius in getting away from the thing. He moved to the man’s side to wrap an arm around his waist and support his weight so Cassius could walk better. “Really are trying to outshine us, aren’t you? Let’s get you away from this thing before it tears an arm off or something.”
Staring down at the head that’d rolled in his direction, Wyatt groaned. “Aw, man. Seriously? Like… seriously??” He glanced around—everyone else was otherwise preoccupied with taking the creature and its little fuck off minions down, and the acid really seemed to be doing the trick. “Fuck me,” he growled, reaching down to grab the head with a grimace. “So gross.” Sticking a clawed hand into the weird creature’s… skull—if you could call it that—the gator sprinted toward their larger foe and gave the sac a mighty squeeze (ew), holding it in front of him like a water hose. Kind of a sad water hose, but at least the liquid did excellent work in small quantities. 
He sprayed all down the thing’s side and it shuddered and groaned, collapsing to the ground. It wasn’t dead yet, however dead a thing made of gems could be, but it wasn’t moving fast anymore. Wyatt kept this up until the volmugger dome stopped giving, then spiked it on the ground like a football. “Take that, Kilimanjaro!! Hell yeah!” Now properly pumped again, the lamia leaped forward and clamped down on one of the legs that hadn’t been touched by acid yet, biting as hard as he could stand and thrashing his head around until it broke free, then hucking it over toward Metzli, who had the last of the acid. 
The familiar sound of teeth chattering almost caused Metzli to abandon everything, a longing in their mind building and completely convinced that the source was a ghost that’d returned to life. But when their eyes landed on what they hoped would be Honey, it was just Caleb, a stranger tossing the geode back toward Wyatt. Zombie then, Metzli surmised, watching the scene halfheartedly when they should’ve been helping Cassius, or really, anyone. What would she make of their state? She would know what to do, would go through hordes of vampires with them if it meant they’d be free again, but that didn’t matter at the moment. 
They turned their attention back to the screeching monster, its wails of agony piercing through the space and echoing around them all. Metzli stayed where they were for a moment, staring at the leg that had been thrown toward them by a much-too-energetic Wyatt. At least someone was having fun, they supposed, pulling out their knife again as they limped somewhat confidently over to the beast that was now too sad to really continue. 
Death should be swift if one could grant it, as Honey would say. It was the respectful thing to do, and they’d honor her by thrusting their knife into the creature’s throat and severing its head as much as they could. Viscera and sinew dangled lamely with its head, body slowly going still. Blood and acid mixed together and sizzled against flesh, but Metzli hardly minded (especially not when it allowed them to feel). Caleb and Cassius already had both their clothes and skin effectively ruined, and a job needed to be done, so they’d be a good sport about it and join them. “Think it is dead,” they droned, backing away and tilting their head eerily as they studied its death.
Thankful for the assistance from Caleb, Cassius nodded his head in thanks. “I seem to be exceptional at getting myself hurt,” he grumbled to himself, wincing as he put weight onto his bad leg. Before they could get away from the fray, the monster fell to the ground. Cassius let out a sigh of relief as Metzli declared it dead. “The fuck was it?” He asked as the two of them hobbled towards both Metzli and Wyatt. “Everyone alright?” He then asked, hoping that he had gotten the brunt of the damage instead of someone else. He was thankful he had a connection in his back pocket when it came to getting medical attention. 
Studying the half-melted crystal monster, Cassius’s frown deepened. “Glad we were all here before it got to a populated area.” He looked around the cemetery, there were smashed headstones strewn about, but that was better than innocent people being killed by the thing. “Do we just… leave it here?” His brows furrowed together, unsure what to make of the situation now that the imminent threat had been dealt with.
It was quite the scene really, a giant alligator and three people all messed up standing around a melting giant rock monster in the middle of a graveyard with geode heads at their feet. His face contorted with disgust when he and Cassius got closer, Caleb hardly believing that he’d been involved at all, much less had one of those heads in hand. He gently kicked at one as Cassius spoke. Yea, that was gross. “It looks like a larger version of the crystals growing out of the ground but at least those don’t move.” And thank god it didn’t seem to affect them like the smaller ones did. That could have been an even bigger disaster if Wyatt had suddenly lost himself to the thing with all the blows he’d dealt by teeth. 
With that thought, Caleb looked over towards the alligator but didn’t move towards him. It was safer to keep his distance with his body trying to heal itself. Besides, Cassius still needed some help. “I don’t know if it’s safe to leave it out here…will the acid spread and melt the whole thing?” It seemed to still be bubbling in areas, eliciting another noise of disgust from the zombie. “That’s really gross.”
“Peachy. Not a scratch.” Well, that might’ve not been true, but who had time for splitting hairs right now? Sucking in a deep breath to calm his wired nerves, the lamia lowered himself into a squat near the beast, claws digging into dirt as he leaned over to give it a closer look. Yeah… would have been a shame if it’d reached whatever party was going on deeper in the graveyard. Which… he might have to check out, actually. He deserved it. But first… they had a point, they couldn’t really just leave it here. Damnit. Wyatt glanced around them, yellow eyes squinted. “I mean, it’s a graveyard, yeah? People bury shit here. Let’s just… bury it?” His gaze danced from Metzli to Cassius and then to Caleb, who wielded the shovel. 
Digging a grave for something this big would take the poor man all night. 
With a snort, the gator lifted his tail and started to dig with his hands, raking the earth between his legs. “Not a word from any of ya,” he warned, thankful that at least this spot in particular seemed to be free of coffins. Well, mostly. He had to change course once or twice, but managed to claw out a hole big enough for what remained of the crystal creature in a fraction of the time it would’ve taken someone with human tools. Then came the pushing of the beast, which had them all lined up on one side of it, heaving with all their might. 
As they threw the dirt back over the top of it and filled in the hole, Wyatt leaned over to Caleb, speaking in a low voice. “So, uh… surprise, firebug! Not exactly how I wanted you to find out.” If at all. “I’d ask about the shovel, but…” He smirked, at least as much as an alligator could. “We can chat later.” 
Metzli shrugged at both of Cassius’s questions, still staring at the dead and deflated beast as it continued to sizzle. Their whole body felt similar, a warm haze humming across the top of their skin. It was subtle and consistent, a welcome sensation by all accounts. They looked around at everyone and then at themself, self-preservation obvious in everyone but them, but there was no time for Metzli to linger on the thought when Wyatt spoke. 
“Peach…y?” It was a strange term, and no fruit was around to logically generate such a response. But then that didn’t matter either. Wyatt began to dig in a sacred place, with no care as to the respect the place demanded and deserved. Metzli opened their mouth to object, but it quickly shut as a tugging encompassed their entire head. Eyes went blank, a desire to head to another graveyard overcoming them. Their legs moved before anything else could be commented on. It was like Wyatt had said anyway. They could all chat later.
Grateful that he had fed before the whole encounter, the Cassius already started to feel his wounds healing. Of course they wouldn’t heal instantly, but it would be enough for him to be able to walk on his own without aid from a stranger. He nodded his head toward Wyatt, who claimed he was all good. Good. At least he was the only one that got himself hurt. He could live with that outcome.
Then, Cassius all but blinked as the alligator man began to dig like his life depended on it. He slowly hobbled away from Caleb, giving him a thankful nod, but he had it from here. He watched as Metzli walked off, and he shrugged a shoulder. Guess it was time to get back to the hotel for the night and hope that this whole situation was just one giant weird dream. But knowing the town, it probably wasn’t. “Good luck with all that,” he murmured toward the alligator before walking toward the entrance of the cemetery. Yeah, Cassius was definitely done living in cemeteries for good. 
The sight of Wyatt digging a hole would have sent Caleb into a laughing fit on any normal night. It seemed like the best reaction, right? Fighting a giant crystal monster with three other people and then watching a large alligator dig a hole to bury it was something out of some supernatural parody show meant to terrify and amuse. Instead, all he did was watch with interest, smiling softly while his thoughts kept flicking between a meal and the chef and the two other…were they undead like him? They were both wounded and still upright, Cassius even walking better after a short amount of time. Had to be undead. He wasn’t going to ask outright though and they were both walking away after the beast was buried before he could think anymore on it anyway, almost as if they saw this type of thing everyday.
Looking back at Wyatt, Caleb took a step away from the gator and grabbed the shovel off the ground, still marveling at how the charm the man possessed was coming through even in this form. “We definitely have a lot to talk about.” But he kept slowly walking backwards in the general direction of his truck, not willing to get close just in case. Even if he was in control of himself right now and could push the thoughts of hunger away Caleb didn’t quite trust himself to keep it that way. “I can’t stay here right now though. It’s best for both of us.” The zombie lifted his hand in a small wave and then, without explanation, turned on his heel, quickening his pace to get far away. He’d call Wyatt later, maybe even look for the other two undead to talk further. For now, he needed to get home and feed before the town had a different monster on its hands.
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femalefirestarau · 2 years
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Goldenflower and Featherfall (Dappletail’s deaf kit who dies in canon) have lynxkit and Sunkit I have swiftkit to Mossthorn alongside Brackenkit and cinderkit thanks to @fatal-rewrites-warriors
Lynxkit is going to live while Sunkit (my oc) is a pure boy who becomes one of the caretakers of the monarchs… he’s a good boy and is the only one who can really hold back his feral sister
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wonder-in-wings · 5 months
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TIMING: Late October LOCATION: Mossthorn Forest PARTIES: Emilio (@mortemoppetere and Parker (@wonder-in-wings SUMMARY: Driven by vengeance over what Parker did to Teddy, Emilio searches for the Warden. CONTENT WARNINGS: Physical Torture (referenced), suicidal ideation, drug manipulation (tranquilizers)
Despite everything that’d been happening in town due to the abnormality spitting up viscous, dangerous black tar everywhere in Worm Row, the Mossthorn Forest had been relatively untouched save an occasional hazard here and there. That evening, not that one could particularly tell given how little sunlight made it through the leafless canopy from the dead trees overhead, was chilly yet still. A fine mist had settled over the landscape, creeping along the ground in thick tendrils as it seemed to emanate from an invisible source and there was a distant, eternal serenade of the last few frogs that were still active before entering their respective hibernation states.
Not many fae populated that area at all; indeed, Parker knew that it was a much more suitable environment for the likes of the undead and ghosts but as he approached the unconscious form of an entomid, one whose lithe body was reminiscent of a red paper wasp complete with slick black wings, he realized that he wasn’t really being picky at present. It was considerably more difficult to find entomids as the weather got colder, learning that they preferred to either linger around their homes or coveted aos si where they could be in warmer places, took trips down to the less frosty parts of the world for the winter or simply opted to remain glamoured where they could dress in aesthetic human clothes. 
‘You’ve got a lot on your mind,’ Walker commented as Parker knelt next to the entomid carefully, treading as lightly as he could as the soft ground beneath his steel-toed boots seemed in a perpetual state of wanting to give in, sink him into a patch of mud that he’d been unaware of. “Yeah?” He asked quietly, more of an indiscernible grunt under his breath; it was incredibly rare for him to reply to whatever he heard in his head out loud but as he assumed he was by himself, he allowed it just this once. ‘Yeah. Between the premonition Blue and Jonas gave you, the thing with Rhett and it’s Halloween? Got a lot of junk up here.’ He had long since convinced himself that he was implacable. Parker Wright, the unnatural crystals aside, didn’t feel anything strongly. Things happened as they happened and he was incapable of changing himself. That’s what he told himself increasingly these days as his thoughts absently wandered to wondering if Rhett was okay where he was, if Mack was okay, if all the mediums he met were okay– His brother was right. There was a lot of junk up there. The nymph he had sedated and was now in the process of removing the stinger from was a good enough distraction. Parker wanted to feel the way the sound of pulling a wing from its socket was on his hands, he needed to feed his machine of a mind. He had a pair of wasp wings - he had acquired several over the years - but while he had little intention on killing the entomid, this wasn’t just for collecting. It was a strange, alien thought, one that had found itself in a new place inside Parker’s head as all the junk that rattled inside of it had no outlet, no place to express itself. 
Parker took his time as he mutilated it.
Teddy told him to drop it. It’s not a big deal, they’d insisted, as if they weren’t trembling and shaking and shrinking into themself just thinking about it. It’s not that bad. Just drop it. But Emilio didn’t know how to drop it. Not when Teddy looked so afraid, not when they looked so broken. It was hard to pinpoint when Teddy Jones had come to be someone he cared about to the extent of seeking vengeance on their behalf, but it was impossible to deny that, somewhere along the way, it had happened. Teddy was hurt. Teddy was afraid. And Emilio was going to do something about it.
The research had started immediately after Teddy told them what happened. He’d texted Javier right there from their kitchen, put out feelers. He suspected he already knew one other person who’d met the man Teddy had had their run-in with, but Teagan didn’t know anything more than what she’d told him and what she’d told him hadn’t been much to go on, anyway. So he’d made it his mission to find out more. There were more victims; there always were. Emilio met with a few of them. He pieced their stories together and found a bunker in the woods — one uncomfortably reminiscent of the one Rhett had, though thankfully not his brother’s — and he surveyed it until someone came by. He had a face then. 
He had someone to follow.
So he had. At a distance, from far enough away not to spook him. Emilio was lazy, sometimes; careless when the case was something stupid, uninterested when it was too easy. But he was a good detective. Being a detective, after all, was an awful lot like being a hunter. The difference was that, most of the time, ‘cases’ involved with the two titles had very different outcomes. Most of the time.
Tonight, he thought, he felt more like a hunter than a PI. Tonight, he was pretty sure this ‘case’ would end more like the vampires he tracked down than the cheating spouses he photographed.
Following from a distance — with a bad leg, no less — meant that the warden had already… started by the time Emilio caught up to him. It was confirmation, at least, that this was who he was looking for, that this was who Teddy had had their run-in with. Nauseating confirmation, but confirmation all the same. As much as Emilio hated being too late to save what he presumed to be some kind of nymph from being hurt, he liked getting confirmation. He liked knowing for sure.
In any case, he hoped, he could save this nymph from further torture. He could save whoever the warden might target next. He told Rhett once that by studying the things he killed, by taking out the worst of them and letting the harmless ones live their lives, he was saving more people than a hunter who killed indiscriminately. And this was the same, wasn’t it? He couldn’t save this nymph from what had already happened to them, couldn’t spare Teddy the fear or Teagan the pain, but he could save the next one. All he had to do was kill one warden. It seemed less daunting now than it had before, seemed like less of an issue after seeing that look on Teddy’s face. Maybe helping Andy bury that ranger had helped, too. Kill one, save many. He could do that.
Though, after getting a good look at the nymph… he thought he might want to do it slow. 
The warden seemed lost in his… activity. He hadn’t noticed Emilio in the treeline yet, didn’t seem to hear his approach. The slayer knew he’d need to use that element of surprise. The warden was bigger than he was, taller. Probably had two good legs to boot. Take him down, get the advantage, keep it. Emilio didn’t carry restraints on him, but something told him the warden probably had some on his person, given his hobby. There’d be some poetry in that, in tying him up with his own shit and killing him slow. Emilio pretended not to recognize the feeling of anticipation twisting in his gut, the excitement. He shouldn’t have been looking forward to it, but he was. He really, really was.
Rolling his shoulders, he braced himself. Then, jaw set and knife in hand, he charged forward, knocking the warden off the nymph and onto the forest floor.
Parker didn’t usually wear distraction well, if at all. Distraction was something that was discouraged unless it served to fuel his purpose. Distractions were things his parents used to teach him valuable lessons, roundabout ways to leave a lasting impression. And after the explanation, were they even distractions? Or were they tools. No, this was decidedly a distraction. Parker wasn’t learning anything from it, getting no underlying lesson. It wasn’t to further a goal, add to his collection, or even necessarily eliminate a threatening fae (though now that the stinger had been removed and lay in a bloody mass on the ground next to them, some of the physical threat was removed regardless). The sound of things disconnecting from itself, the visceral squelching of fingers pulling apart flesh, the crack of a carapace being punctured, feeling it on his hands. A sensory satisfaction so rarely enjoyed by him as he pushed such trivial things out of his head when he was harvesting. He really should’ve been expecting some form of opposition, really, but Parker was so absorbed in indulging the thing in his brain, feeding it, satisfying the part that was worse than a hunter that he was completely caught off-guard when he suddenly felt something heavy collide with him. Surprise coursed through his frame, his blood rippling just under the scarred epidermis at the place of impact as the force of whatever rammed into him sent him rolling some feet away from the unconscious entomid. In a flash, the Warden had used the momentum to recover and he stood up with graceful fluidity, pulling his own long, broad knife from the holster on his thigh. And there his sharp blue eyes fell onto the visage of another human. At least, that’s what he seemed like at a glance. It wasn’t another fae, he would’ve felt it. The man could’ve been a vampire or a shifter of some sort, in which case Parker would have to quickly attempt to adapt to the situation, but as of right now, he simply saw a human. Very slowly, keeping his intense stare on the humanoid, he took a miniscule step to the side. He wanted to ask who the man was, what he was, why he did what he did but he couldn’t bring himself to ask anything. He didn’t care. “I recommend you disengage.” He said instead, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.
The surprise was there, albeit briefly. Emilio could see the way it flashed across the warden’s face, the way it rippled through him. He’d been so caught up in what he was doing that he hadn’t known he wasn’t alone. And there was something undeniably sickening about it. Hunting, Emilio understood. Even when he didn’t agree with it, even when he found it unnecessary, he got it. It was what they were trained for, what they were built for. A hunter who killed their prey the way they were supposed to might become a problem if their prey was someone Emilio felt undeserving of such a fate, but they weren’t necessarily a problem that needed solving with deadly force. But this… this was different.
There was no excuse he could imagine for the state of the unconscious nymph on the forest floor. No reason he could think of that made sense beyond cruelty. Why knock someone out and then take pieces from them? For a moment, the nymph became Teddy, his vision flashing. Had they looked like this when the warden removed their tail from their body? The rage flared in the slayer’s chest, and he spun the knife absently between his fingers. Slow. He was going to make it slow. 
Pride drove him to let the warden recover, let his eyes settle on the face of the man who’d attacked him. The element of surprise was all well and good to get him away from the nymph, but Emilio wanted to make sure the warden knew what was happening and why. There may have been more poetic justice in never giving him a reason — after all, he doubted the nymph lying unconscious on the ground behind him had been given any reason for what was happening to them — but Emilio was a petty man. He liked to make sure people knew. 
The warden sounded robotic as he spoke, detached. Far more inhuman than the people he targeted, Emilio thought. The slayer tilted his head up, still twisting that knife. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think I will.” He took a step forward, good leg first. “I think I’ll start with your fingers, yeah? Cut them off one at a time. Can’t decide if I ought to move on to the toes after, or go up the arm. You think I can fit your hand down your throat once I get the thumb off? Not looking to choke you with it. That’d be too quick. But it’d do good to keep you from screaming, I think. That shit gets annoying, you know? Don’t feel much like listening.”
Those questions, the ones that Parker didn’t ask, still floated around in his mind absently as he kept his steely stare on his antagonist. They were inconsequential, he assumed, especially when they started to become replaced with chastisement from his father. ‘You got greedy, boy.’ He reprimanded. ‘You weren’t paying enough attention. What’d I tell you about that?’ This rare occasion, just this one expression of the self through the literal dismantling of something that was called a monster, something that he was raised to believe was inherently dangerous by virtue of existing, had ultimately been foolish. And as his mind recovered, quickly and with little in the way of being caught up on confusion of the situation or shame at being caught (though, automatic as he was, couldn’t keep a small part of himself from flaring up with irritation at being interrupted), Parker’s focus instead went to closely observing the stranger’s body language and the way he moved while he himself remained nearly motionless. All the while, instead of turning around to leave as Parker had given him the warning to do so, the stranger started to talk with a notable accent. One of his eyebrows twitched faintly at the words coming from the stranger’s mouth, betraying the rest of his expressionless face. Torture wasn’t something that most people turned to when they inserted themselves into an unfamiliar situation with two presumable strangers (unless this man knew the wasp fae, which seemed unlikely). Either this man, with the haughty, angry, empty words that came from his mouth was a protector of the weak (even if he didn’t know what he was protecting and how weak they really were, again referencing the wasp on the ground) or he was someone who knew one of Parker’s targets. Without responding, but somehow still deciding to wait until the shorter man was through with his miniature monologue, the Warden reached for what appeared to be a bolt fit for a crossbow, though it was small, much more suited for a wrist-mounted version. Plucking it from a small bundle that was collected in one of the many pouches on his thick, stained utility belt, he hurled it with an accuracy that exceeded that of a normal human; if this stranger wanted to play vigilante justice, he’d have to be a quick learner. “You talk too much.” Parker replied, keeping his icy glare on the stranger as the hand that threw the small bolt swung to his side, slipping his fingers into the spiked iron paperweight that was hanging lazily from his waist. “Next time, I won’t wait.” Assuming there was a next time, Parker thought as the sound of a metal beaded chain lightly clinked in the air and he pulled the hand now adorning the spiked knuckles up in a defensive posture. He didn’t know enough about the stranger; he needed to see how he moved, what he could exploit. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain.
He was armed. Hunters usually were. Had Emilio not already known, thanks to his limited discussions with Teagan and Arden, that the hunter he was dealing with was a warden, he probably would have been able to guess from the weaponry he used. Different hunters carried different arsenals, and thanks to his experiences, Emilio was familiar with all of them. He recognized the difference between the glint of the silver Juliana had lined her pockets with and the duller iron that Rhett clung to like a lifeline. He saw similarities between the way his wife had moved in a fight and the way Kaden fought, too and, in the same sense, he could see Rhett in this stranger. 
A warden. He’d known that already. A warden who went after more than just fae, who’d targeted Teddy for no good reason at all and left them trembling and terrified on the floor of their own home, shaking just recounting the experience they’d suffered at this man’s hands. He didn’t get along with Teagan, didn’t agree with her on just about anything anymore, but he knew she hadn’t deserved what this man had done to her, either. Neither did the nymph behind him that was just beginning to stir. Move the fight away from them, he thought. Let them get away. That’s important. 
The iron bolt flew towards him, slow enough for Emilio to move. He spared a quick glance back, made sure the nymph wouldn’t be hit in the crossfire before ducking out of the way. He was slower than he used to be, bad leg and all, but he was still faster than the average man, still skilled enough to make up for it. It put him at a disadvantage here and he knew it. Still, he thought, his rage would help. His mother taught him to hone that, to make it a weapon just as sharp as the knives and stakes in his pockets. And he had so much of it now. He could have powered an army with it.
“Good,” he spat. “I don’t want you to wait. I want you to lose.” He reared back with the knife in his hand, tossed it with a bitter arc. It spun in the air as it went towards the warden, and Emilio followed behind it, another knife already in hand. Neither blade would be deadly if it landed; that would end the fight too quickly, offer the warden more mercy than he deserved. Teddy had been trembling. Emilio wanted this man to do the same, before he was finished. He wanted him to hurt. He needed that. 
In telling the stranger that he was talking too much, instead of just doing what he should’ve done and throwing the bolt without saying anything afterwards, Parker realized that he was a hypocrite at that moment. He supposed it gave him more time to study the man before him, for what that was worth. It was obvious that the stranger carried vitriol in his voice. It was also obvious that he was a hunter as he dodged the bolt and it sailed past him into the brush. But what kind of hunter had yet to be determined. And Parker wondered if it would truly matter in the long run, as he was quickly confronted with two blades coming at him, one being hurled through the air and the other held tightly in the grip of a man with a limp in his left leg and seething anger in his tone. In an instant, he had to choose which one to take as he couldn’t dodge them both and immediately after he made the choice, it seemed like a non-choice; of course he’d accept a knife in the shoulder if it meant not being stabbed by the one that held more power behind it, one that he couldn’t easily remove. So he took the first one as he moved, feeling it pierce through his shirt effortlessly and lodge itself into his shoulder as he dodged the incoming attack from the knife-holding hunter. He inhaled sharply, accepting the pain as it sent a small spark of pain through his system but he didn’t allow it more than a couple of seconds of recognition, instead focusing more on how the other hunter moved, how he fought. Immediately, he thought ‘scrapper’, a mongrel that had been grabbed by the scruff of the neck, thrown to the wolves and told that if he wanted to survive, he’d fight tooth and claw to establish dominance. He was going to be fierce, but reckless. Dangerous, but blinded. Ambitious, yet foolish. Parker dodged the incoming attack, as previously mentioned, by taking a fluid step to the side and he used the momentum from the dodge to swing the fist that held the spiked iron paperweight with full force at any part of the hunter he could aim for. He wasn’t going to make any quips, nor was he going to pull any punches. 
The knife he’d thrown found a home in the warden’s shoulder, burying itself in deep, but not as deep as Emilio might have liked. He’d only ever fought hunters in training before, but he knew most of them could handle pain well enough that it didn’t serve as much of a distraction. Like Emilio, most hunters were taught to compartmentalize it. Like Emilio, this man was more a weapon than a person. But blades could be broken all the same; he knew that, too.
He let out a frustrated grunt as the second knife, the one in his hand, was dodged. That would have been the better hit. The warden probably knew it, too. That meant he was fighting logically, taking stock of his options and making choices accordingly. Quick on his feet. Not a claim Emilio could make for himself anymore, not with his knee the way it was. The warden had advantages in both height and speed. But Emilio had righteous anger on his side; he could work with that.
The fist the warden swung found the slayer’s ribs, and Emilio felt a few of them give under the force of it. He stumbled back a step, but made the ground up in an instant, moving back in with that knife still in hand. He slashed out, his empty hand going for another blade to throw. 
The warden could take a hit and keep going, but so could Emilio. That was one of the most valuable skills he’d been taught, one of the best weapons in his arsenal. The only way to keep Emilio down was to knock him out or to kill him. Anything less than that, and he’d keep at it. Especially now. Especially like this. The anger burning through him felt so much like what had driven him to fight his way through the streets of San Agustín Etla with a ruined leg and more of his own blood staining his clothes than he’d ever seen before. 
His ribs ached, but he thought of Teddy. He thought of the look on their face, the way their whole body trembled. 
He threw another knife.
Of course fighting with another hunter wasn’t comparable to a fae, even a deft and agile one. It wasn’t two boxers in a ring waiting for jabs at each other, nor was it wrestling with sweat and skin intertwining with each other on a bloodied mat. This was two blades, each trained to the best of their ability, sending sparks flying as they clashed with each other. But it was still imperfect. Parker dodged out of the way for the swinging knife, unable to keep it from snagging his upper arm but still not letting it plant itself into his flesh the way the other one had and he withdrew the spiked knuckles from the other hunter’s ribs when he managed to hear the cracking of the bones. He wasn’t sure if any of them broke but he made an impact and that would have to suffice for now. It was imperfect, as he gathered more information from the non-Warden - the bad leg, the frenzied way in which the latter swung and indeed, the penchant for throwing knives as the second one was sent hurling at him. In a hasty move, Parker turned his body in just enough time so that the hilt of the blade that stuck out of his shoulder reflected the incoming dagger, sending the metal flying upwards with a loud ‘clink’ and eliciting a sharp inhale of pain through his arrow-straight nose as the force of the thrown blade pressed against it. It wasn’t enough to stagger him but for a second, he felt his blood rippling underneath the skin in protest to the foreign body in his before seeping out through the increased opening. He didn’t have time to debate pulling it out - it might work against him - so instead, he lunged forward on the counter-attack, his right hand swinging his own blade in a deceptive motion while his left hand, still brandishing the spiked iron, aimed for the other side of the hunter’s ribs. He wanted to go for the leg; it was the obvious weak spot. But he also didn’t want to risk going for that first and having the adrenaline of the pain push the hunter any further in desperation. He was a mongrel, after all, and Parker had enough experience with animals that they were at their most dangerous when they were seemingly incapacitated. 
No, he needed to keep his hits calculated, death from a thousand cuts. Weaken the main structure so that one hit to the most compromised limb would send the rest of it crashing on its own hubris, pride, and anger. Parker had no idea who this hunter was but he wasn’t planning on wasting his breath asking questions.
If there were less fury burning through him, he might have thought the altercation was fun. Emilio liked a good fight, enjoyed the challenge of it, the way the adrenaline coursed through him, the pain that made him feel more solid than he felt without it. He even liked the rage, sometimes, when it felt better than the alternative. But right now, all he could think about was Teddy. That look in their eyes, the way their voice had broken when they’d recounted their experience with the man in front of him now. Teddy wasn’t supposed to be like that. Teddy was bright and loud and a little too joyous, sometimes. The fact that this man had taken that meant that he deserved far worse than what Emilio could ever hope to give him.
Still. This could be a damn good start.
His knife snagged flesh, but not enough to slow the warden down. But there was blood on his blade and, like any frenzied animal, Emilio was encouraged by its presence. The pain in his ribs faded into background noise, like radio static not quite loud enough to interrupt the music playing in front of it. The blade he threw was deflected, and that meant it was time for a new strategy. That was fine. He was tired of tossing blades, anyway. 
In any case, it seemed Emilio wasn’t the only one with his preferred moves; the warden swung a blade in one hand, a fist in the other. This time, Emilio took a page from his opponent’s book and took the damage from the knife, letting it sink into his side so he could catch the fist. Blade at the ready, he forced the man’s fingers open, bringing the blade down in a fluid motion. Between the joints, through the tendons. A twist, a snap. 
The burning of that blade in his side was more than worth the reward he’d traded for it as he brought his knife back, glinting metal red with blood. That’s a start, he thought. Let’s add to it.
The Warden wouldn’t admit it but he prided himself on being mechanical in nature, in execution, in thought process. Metzli had said that he still felt things, even if they were different then how the vampire did. Parker tended to disagree; unless there was something outside directly controlling him, wrenching it out of his hands and mind like a child with a toy (or an elder with their servant, he supposed), he showed nothing longer than a few moments. As a hunter, as a Warden, and even if he wasn’t the way he was, he wouldn’t have displayed anything other than mild irritation. That wasn’t the case at this particular moment, though, as the opposing hunter had replicated him, opting to take the knife in his side in favor of grabbing his closed fist that held the iron in a sweating palm that was smeared with fae blood. His expression was tinged with surprise this time as he instinctively tried to pull his hand out of being snagged by the other hunter. He wasn’t fast enough, a sensation that was strange even by the Warden’s sharp senses and the sound echoed in the midst of their brawl before the pain followed. Something had been removed, a bone breaking, a tooth being ripped from a socket. Parker blasted an exhale through teeth that gritted so tightly one could almost hear the pressure of cracking enamel. He could feel the shock of whatever had just happened threatening to crash into his mind but he didn’t let it. He gripped the paperweight harder, feeling the blood from a now-gaping wound on his hand, forcing himself to adjust to how he was apparently missing a finger now. The Warden’s retribution over it was swift. Overcome with white-hot pain that pulsed up his crimson-slicked arm, hitting the checkpoints of injury that the other hunter had given him, one of Parker’s legs struck out, a viper in its own right as the heel of his steel-toed boot collided with the enemy’s weak knee.
The shock on the warden’s face sent a thrill of satisfaction through Emilio, and he flashed a smile that was all teeth and too sharp as the severed finger landed on the leafy forest floor. Just the smallest one, he noted, and the warden pulled his hand away before the slayer could do any more damage. It still felt like the smallest bit of retribution as he thought of Teddy, of the nymph stirring behind them, even of Teagan who wasn’t someone Emilio would call a friend but still didn’t deserve what this man had done to her. 
“Guess you know how this feels now,” he sneered, accent heavy and clinging to every word. There was a slight slur to his voice, but even Emilio himself wasn’t sure if it was due to the background noise of his injuries or the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the excitement of the fight. This was what he lived for, what he was good for. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why seeing Teddy the way they’d been when they’d recounted their confrontation with this man had stirred him the way it had, couldn’t put his finger on the feeling in his chest, couldn’t even begin to put it to words, but he could make someone bleed.
The victory was short-lived, of course. The warden’s foot found his bad knee hard, the resulting crack an echoing thing. Emilio had known it was a matter of time before his opponent targeted the weak point; with the way the warden fought, there was no way he hadn’t observed it, no way he wasn’t going to act on it. The leg’s limited ability to hold Emilio up was lost, and he fell back into the dirt with a pained grunt. Shit. It’d be a real pain in the ass to have to call someone to help him get rid of the warden’s body when he was finished now.
Because of course the slayer still wasn’t done. He was a rabid animal — a beast with only bloodshed on his mind. Knife in hand, he used his new position on the ground to swipe the blade at the warden’s Achilles tendon, looking to even the playing field, so to speak. If he had to finish this fight on the ground, he would. But he was going to finish it.
He should’ve found satisfaction in watching the other hunter with the deficient knee crumple to the ground. He should’ve felt superior as he now positively loomed over the other man, their height difference made even more evident now. He should’ve felt as though, even though his severed finger had since been swallowed back up by the thick mist that billowed and swirled around the two hunters as it landed on the ground before the other man followed suit, he had won. But he didn’t. Parker, casually and deftly taking a step back out of arm’s reach from the hunter’s wild swinging of his knife, didn’t feel victory, or satisfaction, or pride. He didn’t feel a sense of needing to kick the hunter while he was down, knowing that he had the advantage of speed and agility firmly planted on his side of the fight now. Bleeding freely from the stump in his hand before his accelerated healing worked on attempting to knit the flesh back together, the thing that it knew how to do when the body had experienced trauma, the Warden’s cold, icy glare regarded the stranger carefully and with a look of nothing but… indifference. He felt nothing towards this hunter. ‘Why not?’ was the question posed by his brother as Parker took the opportunity, the self-recognized lull in the fight to pull the dagger from his shoulder where it squelched loudly, blood spitting itself out as it followed. Carelessly, with a trained hand of his own, the Warden threw the knife as far away from their sparring ground as his arm would allow it. Remove it from the fight, remove the urge to use it against him. Another inhale of pain through his nose as his four-fingered hand flew up to staunch the bleeding, pressing his heel into the wound. All the while, he made sure he couldn’t be reached by a swing, an attempt to cut into his legs as he circled around the hunter on the ground like a big cat waiting for an opening to strike. ‘Why not?’ his brother asked again as his other, unmarred hand pulled all four needle-like daggers from his belt. ‘Why not?’ Again as Parker, dripping with blood, considered his next move in regards to the other hunter. He was light on his feet, his gaze unwavering. In one hand was the cluster of needles; it would take all four of them to incapacitate the other man, if only long enough for the Warden to gather his discarded tools and leave. ‘Why not?’
The wild slash found no home in the warden’s leg, and Emilio let out a grunt of irritation. If he couldn’t bring the warden to the ground, the fight might not go in the direction he wanted it to. He was stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew his leg was out of the fight until his healing factor kicked in to repair whatever additional damage had been done to it. Knew, on some level, that the healing factor might not be quite enough considering how useless the limb was before the warden’s steel-toed boot found its weakest point. For Emilio, this fight would be finished in the forest floor one way or another. So either he brought the warden down with him, or…
Or. It was, as always, a tempting conjunction. He could win the fight, or. He could kill the warden, or. He knew what was on the other side of those two letters, knew that a fight like this probably only ended with one hunter walking away with a heart that still beat. And still, the or was tantalizing. Still, some part of him wanted it.
But there was Teddy. There was the way they’d looked on the floor of their kitchen, small and afraid. There was the way they hadn’t even wanted to tell Emilio what had happened, the way they’d begged him to leave it alone once they had. If he died seeking his own vengeance, a few people would mourn him, but they’d understand that he’d gone out due to his own stubborn pride. If he went out seeking vengeance for Teddy, though… Emilio knew them well enough to know that the ex-demon would blame themself for it. He didn’t want that. He knew he was a bomb ready to explode, had known that since the day he left Mexico. He knew that someday, he was going to blast a hole in the world, carve a way out for himself with smoke and fire. He knew that.
He also knew he had some responsibility to minimize the damage. He didn’t want to cut the people he cared about into pieces with his shrapnel. He wanted to die; he could admit that now. But not like this.
The warden threw away the knife in his shoulder, pulled four daggers from his belt. They were strange looking, different. Part of Emilio almost wanted to ask, but most of him was full of far too much animalistic rage to focus on much more than his own knife in his hand. His other hand went to his pocket, felt around. Another blade, another blade, another… Some must have fallen out, he realized. During the fight, or when he fell. He had stakes and holy water still, but neither would help him against the warden. He had this last knife — iron, doubtlessly swiped from Rhett at some point or another — and that was all. 
Better make it count, then.
He swept out with his good leg, a desperate attempt to bring the warden’s feet out from under him. The knife came from the opposite direction, in hopes that his opponent might catch the blade while dodging the sweep. A sloppy plan, but he was at a disadvantage. He had to take what he could get. Short of biting at the man’s legs like a rabid dog, this was all he could offer.
— The Warden wasn’t sure quite what to expect as he tread lightly, keeping his blood-slicked hand pressed to the wound on his shoulder as he watched closely for any movement. So, naturally, when the other hunter opted to sweep with his good leg, Parker used the movement to his advantage well and he moved in. He stepped over the attempted sweep, noticing the dagger - always a dagger - and he opted to take it though he managed to turn his leg in a way that when it made contact, it was sure to miss the important ligaments that kept him upright, not to mention his thick boots would absorb part of the strength of the blow. ‘Why not?’ The question had been repeated in his head several times now as he felt the connection of the… iron. This blade was iron, he recognized as it pushed through his jeans, through the thick leather and a strap that kept his boot securely attached to his calf. He felt the blade against his flesh, not acknowledging it if it was pushed into him as the one that landed in his shoulder had, though the shot of pain regardless brought him to one knee. Parker fell forward, but still used the momentum to his advantage and this time, he moved his head forward in an attempt to headbutt the hunter. As he did so, the hand that held the cluster of needle-like daggers zipped close to his chest before it lashed out, a rubber band being snapped under immense force and his target was the cluster of veins, nerves, skin and bones just above where a human’s heart was traditionally placed. All four of them would need to hit. The movement was forceful, carrying an unacknowledged emotion behind it and arguably the most fuelled gesture Parker had done so far. There was something there, even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it.
His brother had asked ‘why not’ and as the daggers reached their target, even before they hit (as he didn’t know if they actually word, Parker finally spoke back. Finally answered. “You aren’t worth it.” He hissed through the same gritted teeth. It was a growl, low, quiet but audible. Because that’s what this is, to him. A waste of time, a waste of effort. He wasn’t unreasonably angry, he wasn’t prideful that what had transpired had transpired. He didn’t feel superior because he shouldn’t have been in this situation to begin with. Then again, he also didn’t feel slighted or betrayed that he’d been attacked by another hunter. He didn’t feel sorrow that his finger had been severed by a desperate animal, driven by his own emotions. Parker felt nothing because that was what this hunter was worth. 
This time, the knife found traction in the warden’s leg, but not in an effective manner. It didn’t bring the other man down, didn’t even elicit a satisfying expression of shock the way severing his finger had. When the warden came to his knees, it was an intentional movement. Emilio realized it just a moment before the other man’s head came into contact with his own, sending stars dancing in his eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, unsure if the haze dulling his sight was due to the force with which the warden’s head had slammed against his or if there was blood in his eyes. (And he ought to know, right? Probably a bad sign that he didn’t.)
The momentary lapse was one he’d pay for. By the time his vision cleared, the warden was on top of him, those strange looking daggers moving towards his chest. There was something in that movement, something he hadn’t seen from the warden in their scuffle so far. Not when his blade found his shoulder, not even when he’d sliced through tendon and nerves in his finger. Anger, maybe, though less familiar than the rage that followed Emilio everywhere he went. Less all consuming, less suffocating. He wondered, briefly, what it was like to have an anger that didn’t fill up every room you ever entered. He wondered if it was better.
He tried to move, tried to scramble away from those blades as they came towards him, but his bad leg was more a useless hunk of flesh than a limb at the moment, slowing everything as he was forced to drag it along. Even with a finger gone from his hand and blood flowing from his shoulder, the warden was faster. He spoke — You aren’t worth it — and Emilio answered the statement with a scowl, propelling a stake (the only weapon he had left) forward in a desperate, last-ditch effort. 
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if the stake found flesh or not, didn’t matter if it hit. All four of the warden’s odd blades sunk into the slayer’s skin, and Emilio let out a low grunt as an unfamiliar sensation burned through his veins. Drugs, he realized, remembering Teddy’s story, Teagan’s. Had some sedatives and everything, Arden had said. This is obviously something he’s done before. Already, Emilio felt his limbs growing heavy. The thought of losing consciousness, of being completely vulnerable, was nauseating. Like any wild animal, he lashed out with everything he had left. Aimed sloppy, drug-laden hits at the damaged hand, the bleeding shoulder, the knife in his leg. 
But, if anything, the desperate flurry of movement only sped up the spread of the drug through his system. The world turned to static around him, his vision darkening. Just before it all faded, he had the presence of mind to look back to where the nymph had been laying before, found the area empty now, the warden’s latest victim having already awoken and disappeared during the fight. Good, he thought bitterly. That’s good. 
As the drugs pulled him under entirely, he wondered if the warden’s final statement meant he’d at least kill him quickly while he was out. 
— The resistance of metal slowing as it entered flesh wasn’t a concept to Parker’s unique daggers; they were smooth, rounded, not made for laceration or even extending lasting damage. They went deep and, most importantly, they incapacitated with quick, silent mercy. It was the prick of a needle before the sensation of something entering your body, your bloodstream, your system. And they were so light sometimes, especially with the Warden’s strength and speed, that lesser experience wouldn’t have been able to tell if they had even hit their mark.
They did, though, as Parker’s four-fingered, bloodslicked hand that pulsed with pain, ever presently trying to force his mind to shut down so it could properly assess the damage, shot down like a snake latching itself onto its prey and stopping the attempted stabbing from what appeared to be a stake. Slayer. While it was knowledge to gain, it wasn’t something to care about as the needles were placed and the hand that held them now worked to stop the flurry of slowed attempts to make any last-ditch marks against his wounded body.
And then… the slayer was unconscious. Movement stilled, giving way to unsteady breathing as Parker could quickly gather that the other hunter likely experienced no peace regardless of what state he was in. And if he was a slayer, sleep was probably a luxury he didn’t take advantage of, anyway. The anger had been rendered dormant, the mongrel muzzled. Opposition ended. Disengage.
Leaning back with a rough exhale of his own, sitting back solidly, the Warden’s first order of business was to draw into one of his pouches for a roll of gauze that he wrapped around the stump on his hand promptly. He finally allowed his breath to appropriately match the searing agony that snaked its way through his nerves - his leg, his shoulder, his head, his hand. His breath was unsteady, shallow, shuddering as he knew he was sitting amongst the blood from the two of them. His severed finger laying somewhere on the foggy ground. Parkerdespised the sensation of blood drying on his hands, making them sticky, dirty, dark and crackling.
Blinking erratically, the machine starting to show signs of malfunction as the adrenaline steadily seeped out of open orifices, Parker cast a quick glance over to where he had left the wasp entomid. Of course, it had reached consciousness and evacuated from the area, which was disappointing but the Warden knew what he looked like. Both forms. And for the moment, he was missing a stinger. One of his eyes twitching in latent irritation, the Warden looked back to regard the unconscious slayer as he made his way back over.
Gently but with a hand that trembled slightly, Parker’s four blood-caked fingers reached over to examine the slayer more closely. Brown eyes. Teeth inside bleeding gums, had seen damage. Sleep deprivation. Parker’s eyes glazed over for long few moments as he wondered if he should… ‘He attacked you while you were unawares.’ His father slithered in his head. ‘Return what you owe him and take what he owes you.’ A finger circled around one of the slayer’s jittering eyes slowly, starting to press into the socket before he stopped and pulled his hand back quickly as though he had touched a hot surface.
“Not worth it.” He replied in a murmur. The Warden considered tying the man up, but he ultimately figured that that was a waste of time, effort and supplies, things he had already spent too much of on the slayer. Instead, he placed both of his hands behind the slayer’s head, pulling it so close to his that their noses could’ve touched before Parker passed his mouth and went to his ear.
“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” He whispered.
Without wondering if what he said managed to find its way into the unconscious slayer’s subconscious, he carelessly dropped his head where it landed with a solid ‘thud’ and collected the daggers that were still sticking out of the hunter’s chest. He gathered his bloodied iron knuckles, found his finger (which he robotically sliced the print off of before placing it into one of the slayer’s now-daggerless pockets), and limped off.
He probably should tell Rhett about this.
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