It's a busy Thursday night in Columbia Heights tonight. Bodies, hot, smelly, dirty sacks of meat with a pulse, go to and from the shopping center, or enter the rec center. The Shrine of the Sacred Heart sits quiet, a bum laid out on the steps beneath its towering columns. There's a light on inside, a few spotlights on the roof that illuminate the reliefs of saints carved into the outer wall.
That's life on the mortal side of the Veil.
In the Umbra, things are different. This close to the park there are woodland spirits. This close to the city, there are Weaver creatures, spinning spinning spinning their webs, updating the Umbral cityscape.
It is to this side that Dances With the Hurricane has escaped the smell of man, the reek of rot and filthy human flesh.
It is to this side that Storm's Teeth has found himself, as well.
It's quiet here. Not exactly peaceful. Chilly.
Storm's TeethIt's been a while since that minor disaster of a shadow moot. A couple weeks maybe; Erich isn't too sure. It's not at the top of his priorities. His car is -- that Mustang still shut up in Drew Roscoe's shed, slowly but steadily getting stripped, primed, and repainted
in
white.
He tries not to think about that. He tries to think about how he's going to put racing stripes down on the hood, across the roof, all the way to the spoiler. Black, he thinks. Thick, two of them, with a narrow white band in between. Yeah. That'll look good. That --
an icy drop of rain splats on the back of his neck, startling him to alertness. He jerks, slapping a hand over his nape like he's killing a mosquito. Take a short breath, looks around. He still has the text message from the Rotagar on his phone. He's not sure how she got his number, or how she knew he even had a number. 21st century or not, one would be surprised at how backwards most Garou are.
"So what'm I doing here again?" He keeps his voice low.
Dances With the HurricaneIngrid has her ways of getting the information she wants. Sometimes it's unpleasant for her, like visiting the home of the Glass Walker kin-man. If only she hadn't, he might still be elevated a few notches in her estimation. Not to the highest level a kin could reach with her, but up there. Now he's not even on the list.
Sometimes it's less unpleasant. He's free to ask her how she found out. He'd get an enigmatic smile and a graceful lift of a slender shoulder at best.
He doesn't even try to gain that secret. That's probably for the best. It's been a while since what passed for a moot of their tribe. Longer since they scuffled in the rain over a set of keys she didn't have on her. She's wearing that shirt again, unbuttoned enough that on a fuller figured woman there would be more than an eyeful of cleavage. On Ingrid, it just exposes the top end of a tattoo. The skirt has been replaced by a pair of dark trousers. She has pockets now, but Erich still wouldn't find anything but a small handful of talens. Soak, damage, healing, spying.
What is he doing here again, he asks, as if she'd somehow conveyed a purpose beyond, Come when she sent the name of the shrine along with Umbra and her name.
She looks over her shoulder at him, lazy, cat-like. Bored. Her hair is down, waves of soft darkness spilling over her shoulders. Then that dark-as-night gaze slides past the Ahroun, to a stretch of ghostly, incomplete reflections of the surrounding neighborhood. In that direction is Piney Branch Park.
As if on cue, a roar pierces the night from that direction.
Ingrid smiles, steps off in that direction, melting gracefully, abominably, through the forms to Hispo. Without waiting to ensure the Ahroun is with her, she takes off toward the noise.
Storm's Teeth"Ah."
The sound is simple, faintly amused. Well; that explains it. She found something, and now she wants muscle to help rid the world of it. Perhaps Erich should feel slightly insulted to be brought along in that capacity. Mindless jaws and teeth. Rage and calamity.
Or maybe he doesn't mind. His name says it simply enough: Storm's Teeth. A weapon, but not a will. Perhaps he's used to being directed like this. Point-and-kill.
He gets up. It's a quick, bounding thing, all his considerable strength surging up in an instant. The Ragabash takes her Hispo form. The Ahroun remains as he is a little longer, staying in her shadow, riffling through the pockets of that questionably warm, questionably clean hoodie of his. She hear cloth tearing; if she looks over her shoulder, she sees him slapping a stained strip of gauze against his wrist, sees it dissipating to nothing as its energy releases back into he who created it in the first place.
"So are you going to tell me anything at all about what you've found," he mutters out the corner of his mouth, "or is this like a happy surprise for me?"
Dances With the HurricaneNo reason for calling this particular Ahroun is given. There are just too many to choose from. Ingrid will bide her time, watch, see which one is the best answer to give forth, should they have the opportunity. Or it can stay a secret. She's fine with that.
Her ears flick back at the sound of tearing cloth, but she doesn't look back. What the Ahroun does to prepare himself is of no real concern to her. The full moons are made for war more so than the rest of them, and as such Gaia has granted them the use specific things. The smell of dried blood tickles her nostrils, faint, barely noticeable. It's all she needs to know.
Erich mutters something. Ahead of him, Ingrid-the-dire-wolf lets out a growling sort of chuff. That must be what passes for a laugh in this form, because she finally glances back at him, and there is a twinkle of mirth in her now-golden eyes.
Better to show. How quiet can you be?
Storm's Teeth"Quieter than you'd give me credit for," he replies, and on that note throws his balance abruptly forward - hits the ground
not on hands and knees but on four paws. Erich's wolf-shape is solidly, unmistakably grey-pelted. His is not at all the deep-chested, broad-muzzled build of a Shadow Lord. He has a lean, hungry look about him -- a wolf of the north, his fur is thick and shaggy, particularly at neck and shoulders. Surprisingly light on his feet, he ghosts along half a bodylength behind and to Dances' left.
In the stillness of his night, his breath comes in white plumes. He keeps his jaws closed, eyes open.
Dances With the HurricaneAnother chuff for that. Erich isn't the only Lord who doesn't fit the profile. In Homid, they tend to be Eastern European, dark-haired, light-eyed, though there are exceptions. She is small and slight and Korean. In their furred forms, they are powerful, sleek, fur black as night. Ingrid is smaller, gracefully slender, her snout a little shorter and coming to a little more of a point. And her fur. Her fur is dark, yes, but mottled, patched with shades of grey and hints of brown. She is foreign, and a mutt, the breed of her natural tribe lost to the ages.
When they're both on four legs, Ingrid flicks her ears back at Erich, gives a slight hop forward, and takes off into the night.
She leads him through the ghost village, the structures of newer housing pale and translucent. They weave swiftly, moving with quiet, deadly purpose in the direction of the park.
The Wyld is strong here. Not out of control as it is in patches out west, but strong. They come to the edge of the verdant forest, and Ingrid slows. They have not heard another roar, but the night does not remain silent. Ahead some distance, there is a CRACK!, quickly followed by the creak and groan and crash of a tree falling.
A sharp wail pierces the night like a knife, and abruptly cuts off. For a moment the forest is eerily silent. Ingrid has all but ceased to breath as she steps carefully, almost daintily forward. She weaves them through the trees, and then stops.
Through a break in the trees ahead, Erich can see movement. Ingrid falls back, allowing him to see what she's no doubt already discovered.
What he sees when he moves forward is this:
A tree forced to the ground, great spreading branches on one end, jagged, splintery mess on the other. Beyond it, a great misshapen shadow moves, ducks, moves again. Something huge like a paw slams onto that fallen trunk. A clawed sort of hand appears from beneath a huge silvery-green scale, gripping the wood hard enough to crack it.
The shadow behind the tree moves then, shifts forward, into the half-light. It looks like an ankylosaur, if ankylosaurs had actually been dog-like creatures covered in silver-green plate mail. The great plates cover it all over in layers, the only openings visible the shadowy holes where its eyes must be.
It dips its snout to the tree, and another keening wail piercies the night, high and terrified, cutting through the wolves like a claw down the spine. The head of the monster lifts, and in its jaws something moves. It gives a snap of its head, tossing the spirit up. There is a note of what could be hope in its startled shriek. The mouth snaps shut over it again, silencing it.
The glade fills with the crunch squick squish as the armored beast slowly devours it.
Storm's TeethThe Garou have stories of other changing-breeds, lost to the War and Rage and the mists of the past. Erich has heard the stories: the cats, the rats, the bears, the lizard-kings. If he were a more fanciful sort, or more inclined to be stricken by racial guilt, he might think he faced a lizard-king now. That might be the first thing on his mind.
He's not fanciful. He knows those ghosts are dead. This creature, on the other hand, is very much alive.
Creeping with his belly low to the ground, Storm's Teeth's hackles nevertheless begin to prickle upright. A low growl rumbles in his throat. It's not that he's a treehugger. He's not particularly softhearted. But something about the sight offends him; twangs against some deepseated, amorphous sense of fair play in him.
He chuffs: "Just the one? Have you seen others?"
Dances With the HurricaneJust a soft whuff in response. "No."
She hangs back, shifting to her much preferred Crinos form. With one hand, she taps her chest, slowly withdraws that ancient looking sword. Her other hand retrieves two small talens from somewhere on her person. One, a small vial, she snaps between monstrous thumb and forefinger, and she smears a dark liquid along the edge of the blade. The other, a stone, she imbues with a fraction of her small amount of Gnosis. It fortifies her body, strengthens it, making it more resilient.
"Watch for the tail," she adds.
[gnosis roll for damage talen, -1G after for soak!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Storm's Teeth"Thunder help us if I ever need battle advice from you," retorts Storm's Teeth, ferocity edged in laughter. "Just try not to die. Sometimes I get a little ... hotheaded."
Another Shadow Lord might think to use their advantage of surprise. Erich's upbringing was a little different. He doesn't pause; he doesn't think twice. He bursts out of cover and hits the direwolf form, his big paws tearing up earth as he bears down on the armored creature.
Stealth isn't even on the horizon. He actually snarls as he charges, as though worried that the creature might have failed to notice him otherwise. It's a bloodcurdling sound. There's a savage joy beneath it.
[-1Gn for me too from earlier! Also -1WP for resist pain.]
Storm's Teeth[RAR! char+primal urge: bolster friends and terrify foes!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Dances With the Hurricane[blur!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
Dances With the Hurricane[i don't care about these bad rolls so long as they get good when they count! stealthify!]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1
Dances With the HurricaneStorm's Teeth bursts into the small clearing, roaring as he goes.
Dances With the Hurricane has no qualms taking advantage of the distraction. Her figure blurs, nearly vanishing in the darkness. On careful feet, she moves through the trees, headed for the thing's side.
As for the thing, the dog-like creature with the great plates of armor, rippling down over its body, its long slender legs, like giant, several inches thick scales of silver-green something, it sees that dire wolf. Its head whips toward Storm's Teeth. With a final snap of its jaws it finishes off its snack. The paw-like hand grips the tree, is joined by another. Together, they splinter it apart into three pieces as the creature leaps forward to meet the Ahroun.
Behind it, a long, whip-like tail slashes into view. It jerks back and forth, agitated, excited. The trees there suddenly shift, slide, fall to the ground, sliced cleanly apart by the huge, crescent-shaped blade that makes up the last four feet of the tail.
[inits!]
Storm's Teeth+8!
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
Dances With the HurricaneIng
[+9]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[+7]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )
Storm's TeethThe sight of that death-scythe of a tail isn't enough to make Storm's Teeth quail, but it's enough to set a cold edge of wariness in his otherwise incandescent rage. One supposes the Ragabash was right after all. He'll have to watch out for the tail.
[Declares:
4 Rage!
1. Jump on its back!
R1-4: Bite at back of neck!]
Anky
[1a: Bite meat! (Erich)
1b: Bite again!]
Ing
[1a: Jam sword up under a plate, targeted]
Ingrid
[Jab! dex+melee, diff +2 (targeted) -2 (side/surprise!)]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 1
Dances With the Hurricane[dam: +2+5][L]
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 10 )
Dances With the Hurricane[soak?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 7) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[Bite! dex+brawl -2, -1 (ow)]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 5, 5, 9) ( success x 2 )
Dances With the Hurricane[dam: str+1]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )
Storm's Teeth[soak!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 1 )
Storm's Teeth[leap! str+ath vs diff 6]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Dances With the Hurricane[*magic ST wands that away*]
Storm's Teeth[whoops. left out a die, cuz strength is one higher than dex.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[1b: Bitin' again! -1]
Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (3, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 2 )
Dances With the Hurricane[dam: +1]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 1 )
Storm's Teeth[soak!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Storm's Teeth[R1 - rip a chunk of armor off! +2 for targeted. -2 for behind. +1 for action change.]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )
Storm's Teeth[damage +3]
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Dances With the Hurricane[armor]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (7, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Storm's Teeth[R2 - keep tearing at the armor. same diff.]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 1
Storm's Teeth[damage +5]
Dice: 14 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )
Storm's Teeth[FUCK you, kahseeno.]
Storm's Teeth[Okay, note for posterity: Niko's computer is being weird so I'm putting in the dice she's telling me.
This is armor soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Storm's Teeth[This is Erich's R3, and I swear to god if he doesn't get this chunk of armor off soon he's gonna berserk.]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6) ( fail )
Storm's Teeth[R FUCKING 4, KAHSEENO WHY DOST THOU MOCKETH ME]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )
Storm's Teeth[WHAT IS THIS SHIT, YOU FUCKING MISERLY BASTARD, GIMME SOME GOOD ROLLS]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
Storm's Teeth[armor soak from ST!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5) ( fail )
Dances With the Hurricane[woo i'm back in!]
Storm's Teeth[*waves banners and pennants*]
Dances With the HurricaneThe differences in these two Lords could not be more apparent. Erich, powerful, brutal, in-your-face. Ingrid, graceful, swift, deceptive. Storm's Teeth stands square before the armored creature, fangs bared, roaring anger and defiance. It does not roar back an answer, merely digs its feet, and bursts forward to meet the wolf.
As they clash, a huge, hulking shadow glides from the cover of the trees. Ingrid takes advantage of Erich's gleefully supplied distraction (is this why she invited him here?), slides in beside the creature. And in one graceful, deadly stab, jams her blade up beneath one of those heavy scales. Black blood immediately gushes down the blade, spilling over handpaws, pooling on the ground. The creature lets out a howl, would turn toward the woman, but there is something closer. The four-legged thing in front of its face, that tasty morsel, it is what takes the retaliation for the pain. It snaps at Erich, but distracted by the pain, those heavy, brutal jaws miss the Lord by inches. Not so with the next snap, which threatens to remove Erich's ear.
With Bear's gift of pain resistance to dull the physical, Erich is able to ignore it. He bunches his legs beneath him, then springs up, over the head of the beast. It's not fast enough to snap at his feet. Then Erich is on the armor-plated back, back legs dangling down the sides to hold his balance. Rearing back his head, the once-Modi snaps forward, head moving with snake-like speed to bite and tear at one thick plate. Its a difficult task he's taken, the armor is securely held in place by Gaia knows what. The first bite shifts it, then nothing for the second, the third. With the fourth he manages a little further tear, can tell by feel that little more than a tendon or sinew holds it to the creature's body.
Alas, it is too late. Grandfather Thunder may have accepted Erich into his tribal embrace, but his blood boils with the fury of Fenris. With each bite that misses or does nothing, next to nothing, his rage rises and rises, until it finally bubbles over, staining his vision the color of war.
[new inits!]
Dances With the HurricaneIngrid
[+9]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (6) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[+6 (-1ow)]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
Storm's Teeth+10! i miscalculated last round.
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[Hm, my meal is gone, and something is tickling my side. Think I'll scratch it!
Tail slice on Ingrid!]
Ing
[1: Use sword to lever off scale
R1: Stabbity!
R2: Stabbity! (hey, look who remembered she had rage actions!)
The moon is small. It's a sliver, a sickle in the sky. It doesn't change the fact that Erich's rage is an enormous, dreadful ocean, pulled by the twin spheres of the moon and his own violent-minded self.
He leaps onto the creature's back. It only takes a single bound. The thing's too stupid to try to shake him off, but likely it wouldn't have done much good. The young Ahroun is a sight to behold: as steady as if his four paws were nailed to the creature's back. With a short, sharp growl, he seizes an arc of armor plating. The thick muscles in his withers and neck strain to trembling. He tears at the armor,
tears and tears and tears,
and it just. won't. come. loose.
The growl rumbling in his chest is starting to escape his control. He's snarling, it's a wild, feral noise, he feels his temper slipping through his fingers like a bolt of raw red silk, and then all of a sudden some flint strikes a spark that echoes down the corridors of his mind, touches on the gasoline in the heart of him. His ears pin back. His eyes are glaring and empty. Spittle flies off his jaws; mindless with wrath, he snaps at whatever he can reach.
[1, R1-4: A LOT OF BITING.]
Storm's Teeth1. DIEEEEEE
Dice: 9 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Storm's Teeth...IIIEEEEE.... (+3 dam)
Dice: 12 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1
Storm's Teeth[.... *deep breath* *sacrifices a motherfucking cow* I SUBMIT, KAHSEENO. YOU'VE PROVEN YOUR FUCKING POINT.]
Storm's Teeth[soak!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 10, 10) ( success x 1 )
Storm's Teeth[*throws shit*]
Dances With the Hurricane[soak!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 5) ( botch x 1 )
Dances With the Hurricane[lever! str thing, need 2 suxx to pry free, don't botch!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
Dances With the HurricaneAnky
[slice! -1 for ow, +1 diff for tail stuff]
Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
Dances With the Hurricane[eeeee: dam: str+2+2][L]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 8, 8) ( fail )
Storm's TeethR1!
Dice: 9 d10 TN3 (2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 8 )
Storm's Teethdam +7!
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 8 )
Dances With the Hurricane[soak?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Storm's TeethR2! I DON'T CARE THAT IT'S DEAD.
Dice: 9 d10 TN3 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 8 ) Re-rolls: 1
Storm's TeethIT HURT MY FEELINGS.
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 12 )
Storm's TeethR3 - AND I'M VERY ANGRY.
Dice: 9 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 3, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 5 )
Storm's TeethBECAUSE OF ALL THE FEELINGS.
Dice: 13 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 6 )
Storm's TeethR4 - WHICH WERE HURTED.
Dice: 9 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 6 ) Re-rolls: 2
Storm's TeethBY ARMORSCALE FUGLYFACE HERE.
Dice: 14 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 1 )
Storm's Teeth...okay now i'm tired. back ic.
Dances With the Hurricane[Anky: x_x
Stop
I'm dead
plz stop
ow.]
Up on the creature's back, Erich goes berzerk. He bites at that last bit of armor, tears it away in one last furious bite, a tooth flying away with it. The creature roars, lashing wildly at Ingrid, that huge bladed tail shaving a few hairs from her back, nothing more. With a mighty wrench of powerful Crinos muscles, she uses that sword of hers as a lever, a tool for a different purpose than its original intent. There is a sickly sounding scruntch as it comes free, but before she has a chance to take advantage
Erich finds a sweet spot. Fueled by his fury, his head snaps forward, into the space he's created, takes as much soft flesh between his teeth as will fit, and yanks. Head twisting sharply, he rips away skin.
And muscle.
And bone.
The creature's roar dies in its throat. Its eyes, deepset within its armored face, flicker. Go blank. Slowly at first, it almost drifts down toward the ground. Then its life slips away, and all at once it's crashing headfirst toward the earth. Erich, still stradling the back, bites again and again and again. Dances With the Hurricane moves smoothly back, avoiding a final thrash of that deadly tail, wiping her sword on her thigh as she goes. Calm, cool, collected, ears twisted back, golden eyes impassive.
By the time the body settles, Erich has torn a hole clear through. Where neck and one shoulder should be within that armored shell, there is nothing but blood and gore, the remnants of those sections of the body. Erich's grey muzzle and face and chest and forelegs are slick with oily black blood.
Ingrid waits, cleaning her sword in lazy sweeps over her fur, watching the Ahroun. The last time she'd seen him like this he tried to run. What will he do this time, she wonders.
Storm's TeethIn the eye of the storm, all is still.
That's what they say, anyway. Erich would say differently. He'd say: in the eye of the storm, it's all war. It's all blood. It's all rage. It's all wrath.
That's what charges him. Fills him to bursting. Suffuses every cell, every breath, until it leaks out his pores, stains every strand of fur. He is fury incarnate: mindless, ravening, tearing at the beast
(and later, at the corpse)
with unthinking, unseeing violence. Armor splinters, flesh tears, and then he's down to bones, shattering them to marrow, to dust, ripping at the putrid organs beneath. His snarls fill the air, drift horrible and wavering over the carnage. In the end he's literally dug himself halfway into the corpse; only the tips of his ears and his tail are visible. The latter lashes with agitation. The former quivers as he seizes mouthfuls of long-since-dead flesh, shakes as ferociously as a dog with a bone, tears long strings of intestine and spongy masses of tissue out of the carcass, flings them aside with furious snaps of his head, goes back for more.
Burns himself out like that. Burns himself to ashes.
Eventually the fury leaves him. The rage is spent; the frenzy dissipates. His vision clears and he finds himself staring at an unrecognizable mess. He thinks he might see grass on the other side of the ragged hole he's made.
The price comes then: the exhaustion of a body pushed far beyond what it can usually bear. He takes a step back. Then another. His normally flawless balance is suspect now. He stumbles, a paw slips on some shred of meat or ichor, he comes sliding off the creature's back to land in an awkward, uncoordinated heap.
And there he remains for some time. He doesn't seem to have the strength to get back up. Not just yet. He shifts slowly, slowly back to his breed form. That seems to take great effort. It seems to take more effort still to roll on his back: bloodstained beyond belief, eyes closed, face oddly guileless beneath the horror.
He seems peaceful. For once. And very tired.
Dances With the HurricaneWhile Storm's Teeth is obliterating the insides of the dead creature, Dances With the Hurricane checks her sword, using thumb and fingers to wipe away the last traces of black blood before they dry. She works calmly, meticulously, waiting/not waiting.
When she's satisfied with her work and the sword is returned to her body, Erich is still working his way toward the belly of the beast. Maybe even almost done. Ingrid has no way of knowing other than listening to the sounds of his labors and trying to decide if he's slowing down or not. Just as she's turning to walk away, she can hear the sound of slow movement. She watches as he slides off the armored scales, and as he lands in a boneless heap on the ground.
Someone kind might go to him as he wobbles back out again, give him a shoulder to brace himself up. Someone with compassion might even help him roll onto his back and just exist. Someone else might sit with him when he's finally there, face turned up toward the cloud streaked sky.
Ingrid Kim is not that person.
Oh, she does walk over to him, when he's lying on the ground, sapped of strength. Peaceful. She shifts down with each step, turning from dark-furred monster to hulking woman, to slender, bloody beauty. Her arms are black clear up to her elbows. Her steps are steady, graceful, the movements of a dancer just on the verge of beautiful movement. She stops beside his hip and drops fluidly into a crouch. While he lays there, she slips a hand into his pockets.
Storm's TeethInstantly --
well. No. Not quite instantly. There's just a bit of lag this time. She manages to get her hand into his pocket; can even begin to feel the dampness of blood seeping outward, out from the surface of his skin to the paradoxically dry clothing that didn't exist as he did his violence. But then he moves, a hard hand snapping up to seize her wrist.
He opens his eyes. They are shocking in his bloody face: the whites so white, the irises so blue.
"I'm exhausted," he whispers, "not stupefied."
Then he throws her back. It might be the last of his strength, but there's strength there still, ferocious and brutal. In the wake of it he fishes his keys out of his pocket, clenches them in his fist. Rolls onto his side, as though planning to go to sleep right here. Which he is.
"Go fuck with someone else," he yawns.
Dances With the HurricaneHis hand snaps, but by then it's too late. She is not unaware of who and what she's dealing with. She may not have his speed, but she has an animal's instincts and a fluidity of motion that makes her difficult to capture. And his lag, though slight, is just enough that when his hand snaps for her wrist, it's no longer where he thought it was. His fingertips graze over her skin, but she's already rising and moving back, all in one motion. There is a weight in his pocket that wasn't there before. She'll be gone before he's discovered what she's left him.
His eyes open, so blue even in the faded light of evening. Ingrid stands over him, dark hair loose and wild over her shoulders, shadowing her face. Not so much that he can't see the smile that curves her full lips or the golden glow that remains in her too dark eyes, rage readied but left unspent.
He fishes out his keys, maybe feels that something in his pocket when he does. But she's moving away even as he starts speaking, uninterested in his words. He may be planning to sleep right there in the mud, covered in blood, beside the remains of the corpse they killed together-but-separately, but she is not.
Her bare feet make no noise on the soft earth, not even when her weight increases up and up, nor when she drops down to four feet instead of two. Finally, a small dark furred shape streaks away into the night.
No word of thanks. No explanations. Just gone.
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