An Honorable Death [Serafine/Hatchet/Matthias/Lonna/Laidan]

Furthermore when we get to combat please post your actions within 2-3 minutes in the reverse initial order. Again I like messy quickness when we fight so anyone who misses will get to have their action recorded as last to act when the dice are rolled and at +1 diff. Sorry I also do only 1 initial at the beginning.

I also ask that if at any time you feel uncomfortable or dislike how I am St’ing you can be excused from the scene at any time before any serious rolls are made via combat. If you have any problems or notice something combat wise I mistook, please PM in the room ASAP so it may be addressed.

If everyone is okay with this, then away we go)

Just light clothing. And possibly some nice eye candy for the denizens of Chicago as they sat on their stoops.

Unfortunately that meant that sweat oozed off one’s skin as the sun started its decent downward, below the horizon. Cotton stuck to the skin because of it. And the stink of the scar wavered in the air, assaulted the noses of our heroes. The city was a cesspool, even in the beauty that Gaia had brought them. The heart of the city beat with the blood of the wyrm, seething beneath the surface. So much corruption and lust, anger and pain, hidden from the world. Except for those who knew better.

Dark, almost black eyes seemed to look out on the city as they searched. Eyes like coal lost in a cloud seemed to just be patient. His blond hair framing his rough features as he watched his beta, sniffing the air like he was searching for something, someone.

Hunting.

Stalking.

They would find their prey and soon.

There is not much that’s pure about him, or about this city. Especially in this warmth, so unexpected after weeks of chillier weather, and the natives restless because they don’t remember last summer clearly enough to dress appropriately for it. People sweat. The city sweats. People get itchy. The Wyrm rubs its hands together and giggles, bouncing in its seat like a kindergartner about to have a snack.

Been back for one day, and already he’s out again, strolling the streets, his eyes pale and the moon overhead turned dark. You could call it patrolling. If you wanted to.

Today she’s wandering around Chicago, strolling the city streets, breathing in its smells, taking in its sights, trying to find something about the city to fall in love with. It’s not Paris. No place on earth is like Paris. But if she were in Paris she wouldn’t be walking the streets dressed like a tourist, with legs and arms bared to the sun, hair plaited into loose, messy braids that fall to either side of her neck. She tucks a loose strand of red behind her ear. She’s been walking for just a little while, the sweat is still just perspiration clinging to her skin. She needs to find herself some sunglasses.

But it was hot. Hot enough that she felt like she had to adjust her shirt every few minutes to keep it from sticking to her. Hot enough that she had pulled her hair up in a makeshift pencil-and-paperclip bun. Hot enough that linencapris felt uncomfortable; she would blame this discomfort, later, on the weather. It was easier to blame the weather instead of chocolate cake.

Her jacket was abandoned in her car. Her purse- something large and more-than-likely purchased at a flea market or an art festival- slung over her shoulder. She wore a sleeveless shirt. She wore flats.

And she kept on walking. So much time, so little to do. [Wait- strike that, reverse it.]

Rage flows from every pore, carried by the sweat formed in the unseasonable, unnatural heat. A bad time to decide for a walk, nevermind the necessity… There was too much to consider to consider it standing still.

But not so much as to say she looks sloppy. Not at all. A simple white tanktop – which bares more than toned arms, but also a tribal band tattoo around her right bicep – a pair of dark jeans, and those boots that have heels that add another 3 inches to her natural height of 5’11”. Because just shy of 6 foot is not enough, apparently.

You could very much call what she does patrolling, as no matter where she is, she is a creature of habit, and many years of walking the streets of Chicago have beat such diligence into her – sometimes with fang and claw, sometimes with tentacles and slurping noises better left unmentioned, once with the back of her Alpha’s hand. Her hands are tucked into the front pockets of her jeans, and from the back pocket peeks the edge of her whiteboard and pen.

In other words – its just another day, another day in the neighborhood.

Prowling.

Looking for trouble without really looking.

There was still a werewolf beneath that young girl’s skin. Hiding, lurking… waiting for an excuse to snap.

She had on clothes to match the weather: a pair of hip-hugging denim shorts that showed off her slim, elegant legs to an advantage, and a simple black cotton tank top. On her feet were a pair of expensive running shoes, and her long, medium-brown hair was pleated back into a braid.

When she turned a corner, a familiar shape caught her eye, and with an almost impish smile, she trotted forward to fall in at AnneMarie’s side. “Hello Stranger.” A playful mood that likely wouldn’t last. It was one of those kinds of days… when trouble lurked in the hazy fog of warmth and stillness and sweat.

But few things are close to the ideal. In fact nothing is ever close to the ideal.

The Weaver has gone crazy, spinning and calcifying the world in an icy perfect grip of stasis. Choking off the city from the spirit that gave it life. Only few places are left for them to make their way easily across that great divide. The webbing of the gauntlet tightening, until one day they are far to deadly to push through.

And the wyrm, run amuck with power, glutinous on its own feeding. The hearts of those that made the city home were slowly being tainted, slowly being corrupted, slowly being turned. The scab that Chicago had become was a blight on the face of gaia, a blemish that needed to be tended to. And the true born of the city needed to be taught so.

—————————————————————————-

Dark, almost amber eyes look up. The shorter raven hair boy, maybe no more than 17 years old looked upward. His knees bent in a crouched position as one land laid upon the floor. Looking over a marking that he had seen, ears perked and eyes straight.

“It seems something has been found. We are on the right path. I can smell one. I can feel it.”

Dark coal like eyes seemed to turn, looking back to his friend to his other side.

“You know what must be done correct? Does she?”

A somber nod was at that was replied from the almost 7 foot mountain of a man. All muscle and nothing but danger in his cold eyes. His face beyond scarred, hideously so. AS if fire had claimed what may once have been a hand face.

“Good. Lets finish this tonight, quickly.”
————————————————————-

And the pair moved through the streets. Edging the territories of the garou here and there.

Finding the get and the Fury first. It seemed that they were the lucky ones.

(Okay people. Give me a Percept + occult roll)

Hail kahseeno))

She’s oblivious, too. But not to him, not with his Rage. Just to…whatever is going on under the surface of the city now, oozing all around them.

“How’ve ya been?” she asks. Her voice is casual. The perspiration is condensing on her skin. A droplet of sweat beads up, slides down from her temp and disappears into her hair.

She looked around for a moment, trying to make note of where, precisely, she had put her vehicle. This was the life of kinfolk. They went to work, they went home, and sometimes if they were really lucky, they were blissfully unaware of the fact that there was a war going on. This being said, some were not so lucky. SOme chose, instead, to force blissful ignorance and pray that the illusion isn’t shattered.

That being said, Lonna wasn’t sure what category she fell into. She didn’t really care, because right now, she cared about figuring out where her car was. She hit the panic alarm- no luck yet. Oh, wait, there it is. Parked somewhere nearby. Just passed the redhead and the rather intense man with the sunbleached hair.

Unsettling.

(Okay another percept+occult roll, diff 9, 2 sux needed)

…Even as a growing sense of concern causes his brow to wrinkle. His pace quickens as he begins to realize the implication, his lips drawing back from incredibly white teeth in a silent snarl… His momentum not stopping even a little.

Then, as he comes closer to the woman, he speaks… His voice a low bass rumble wholly befitting the large Fenrir’s bulk.

“Trouble approaches. Be wary.”

True, there was no overt threat…. But something was very, very wrong here.

She doesn’t succeed very well. Sera has legs that go FOREVER, for heavens sake – how could she not notice? Last time it was a skirt and strappy fuckin’ heels. This time, shorts. Just knowing the woman is likely to be the death of her – thank goodness she is one well used to hiding behind a mask of calm – though it’s not without it’s cracks as the corner of her lips tug into a bit of a smirk (Evan would call it almost a smile. He lies.) as she nods hello – up, Eagle style.

There is a tension in her, however, as she seeks more the disturbance that thrums under the surface, so close to them. Her hand pulls from the pocket of her jeans, to touch Sera’s arm lightly, her fingertips resting briefly just above her elbow, her touch warm, heated by more than just the day. It is a question more than a caress – does she feel it too?

AnneMarie looked at her. Appraised her in the way that she often caught men doing out of the corner of her eye. For Serafine’s part… the look was either not fully understood, or she simply had the tact to pretend that it wasn’t. No one was ever hurt by a look. (Well, not usually.) And besides that, the silent Modi’s presence was always a welcome addition to her day.

A touch, and her steps halted. A flicker. Like when heat rose to an extreme higher even than today and you could see the liquid haze of it in the air. Yes, she felt it too.

And her muscles, all relaxed a moment before, were instantly tense.

Then again, half the reason they were here was because of this. And as the pair approached the two, teeming with their own rage. Two of the three seem to stop as the third moves forward. Approaching the pair of women, like they are their to do his bidding. And in his stance one can see something, the mystic properties of his breeding, the touch of his ancestry. Silver fang breeding. A touch of kings and yet not at the same time. But then again it would explain his demeanor. His head held high, almost looking down on the three of them.

“You… two…”

He took a deep wiff, smelling them almost even though he was a couple of feet away still.

“Pitiful. Truly and fully pitiful, you call this place home and.. look at it. What have you two to say for yourselves. ”

Coal eyes admonish them.

“I am Fissures of Death, Fostern…” as if the tribe should be apparent. “These two are my packmates.. and you two…”

Almost demanding now

— well. He hasn’t seen her in awhile, and he doesn’t want to think about it, so he wrenches that twisting, biting feeling in his chest away from his heart and throws it aside, casts it into outer darkness, what have you.

“All right,” he drawls, glancing up to make sure he’s not about to run into a bench. That’s when he sees Serafine and AnneMarie. He sees that touch but places no particular meaning to it; he himself touches people often, and without agenda. It’s more the tension he sees, as he gives a slight nod of greeting to the two met-but-not-familiar Garou. Without thought, without conscious intention, he moves slightly closer to Liadan.

“What about you?” he says, casual, but his attention is distracted…most notably by three new figures who have approached Serafine and AnneMarie. He can’t hear them, but he can see them, and Liadan is close enough to sense his wariness.

Odd, she thought. Then, for her part, tried to shrug off this thought that something was different today. That this was not a normal spring day. The thought, for its part, would not be shaken. The blonde looked at the Fenrir, and he confirms her suspicions without having to say too much at all. No threats, just warnings. She’s run into this male three times now, and she still wasn’t sure what to do about him.

It didn’t matter though, because her pace now slowed. She stopped, and she looked back around her.

Lotta people on the street. The air was too warm, and she finally replied to the Viking of a man near her.

Trouble approaches. Be wary.
“Thanks for the tip,” she said.

She doesn’t notice Taggart move closer.

Matthias finds his eyes drawn by the trio near the two women; those self-same eyes narrowing as a low growl escapes his throat. Meaty arms fold across a broad chest, as the Fenrir stands to watch what will happen next…

A low pop escapes his shoulder as muscles tense expectantly, the viking form of Odin’s Eye moving to plant itself between the samaritan and the apparent source of the trouble, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet without concious thought.

From the corner of his eye, he notices the other man place himself closer to the redhead nearby… notices the nod that passes between he and the two women…

None of whom has he ever met.

She arches a brow at the Fang as he demands their answers, demands explanation, demands name. She gives it to him – but not so that he can understand it. A quirk of a brow upwards, and a she lifts her hands before her, and speaks.

Not in words, but in a language so few known to her in Chicago know, one that sets her so far apart from the others – even her pack. American Sign Language is a graceful, beautiful expression, especially when the one speaking it has slender, long fingers, strong hands – and she knows it well, having ‘spoken’ it since she was a child.

Question is – do that understand it? Chances are the answer is no.

Simple. to the point. If they have been in Chicago long enough, they will know the rest from the simple act of given them her name.

When the first of the figures approached, her ocean-blue eyes appraised him warily. There was something unpleasant about him, though she wasn’t certain yet whether or not it was simply her distaste for his arrogant condescension. Either way, she looked him in the eye, and not down at the road. They were intruders. They did not deserve respect.

“L’Ange Noire, Cliath Galliard to the Black Furies.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw AnneMarie’s hand gestures. The likelihood was not good that the strangers understood her introduction. Serafine herself could have given it for the Modi… but she chose not to.

“Cet endroit n’est pas à moi.” This place is not mine. She was still a stranger. A drifter. A Parisian princess in the slums of Chicago. “Mais je le défendrai.” But I will defend it.

And then back to the pair.

“Rugiher… calm. hmmmm.

He then looks over at the Fury, almost a bit shocked to see one of their kind here. Almost…

“L’Ange Noire… How fitting.”

Dark eyes look back once again he she speaks more, back to the silent but demonique man that stood back, rage burning brightly deep within.

“I can smell it on you Fury, the stink of this place has already infected you, like this mongrel. How dare you both call yourselves true. Letting this place degrade as so.

Knuckles crack at his side. Eyes darken, almost flicker with rage held deep. And all he can do is spit at there feet. A taunt, a challenge. A demand they stand up for themselves.

He and Liadan are walking towards Serafine and AnneMarie and their new bestest friends from the side, the intersecting lines of the three groups creating a T-shape of which the two Fianna are the stem. He sees that spit quite clearly and he already knows that AnneMarie is not just a Full Moon but a Fenrir. Serafine…he has no idea. Without a particular scent-based Gift he doesn’t know whether those three are Garou or not but he is starting to pick up on their breeding, bit by bit.

Hatchet’s eyes flick to his Kinswoman, over and down. “So…if I get into a fight will it impress you?”

The flirtation is well-executed, at least in terms of the sparkle in his tone and the light in his eyes. But he sounds, at least, like he’s kidding.

So…if I get into a fight will it impress you?

She turns her head to Taggart now, brows scrunched in a frown. Her dark eyes flick to the group ahead of them. She thinks she gets the drift. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. A grin spreads, lopsided, across her face. “I’ll be only impressed if you win it.” She starts to slow her steps, letting him get ahead of her. She doesn’t want to be a meat shield.

So, isntead, she just watched, and tried to come up with a plan.

Or as natural as one such as he can make it.

The stern expression darkens visibly, his eyes narrowed… Any who might look upon him would get an almost distinct sense of raised hackles.

“Decide. Now.”

Then he spits. at her. feet.

This is where the darkened moon is a good thing. This is where years of training that gave her her deed name comes in handy. She bristles – that much is evident through the creep of tension along her spine, the set of her shoulders, the fire that burns deep in her pale eyes – but she remains silent, calm. She does not look up to place Hatchet’s position again – she does not give the three before them any indication that this is not three on two, but at least three on three, and quite possibly more as she has not met Laidan so does not know her, and she has yet to see Matthias or Lonna.

She meets the leaders gaze evenly, that brow inching upwards as she takes a single step forward, to where his spit marks the cement, and squarely places the toe of her boot on it, and twists her foot as if to grind it to dust beneath the heat of her rage.

Challenge accepted.

She is, after all, Modi.

Oh sure, the Get and the Fianna were fearless. But to stand straight and tall, when you were barely more than a girl, and had no physical mass and limited fighting experience… that took real courage. Or stupidity. Or maybe it was just a flash of Fury chutzpah.

“It is not our blood that holds the taint of corruption, stranger.” This was nearly a hiss as it escaped through her teeth…angrily.

She glanced for the briefest of moments at the shimmering surface of a nearby window, and felt the familiar pull that so often came when her nerves were tense… but her resolve was stronger than the pull today, so her form did not flicker and diminish. She stayed right where she was.

Challenge likewise accepted.

His eyes shoot back to his alpha and then nothing. Silence. But it seemed that their alpha noticed too, or was informed. His eyes looked over at the pair and then back to the mongrel and the fury before him. This was getting interesting. This was getting close to being….

“Good. You will defend yourself then. We fight. Umbrally. And I will show you why this scab has festered for so long.”

A smirk now. He cracked his knuckles as he looked at the pair. He was itching for a fight, to prove this city was going to be his own.

(Okay, anyone going Umbral, please roll gnosis at diff 6)

“All right, Champ,” he says, affecting a cadence and manner of speech as though he is out of breath, “I gotta go now. But don’t you give up.” He gives her a tiny shake, barely enough to jostle her: “Don’t you give up, Champ! You stick around and you –”

He pauses, pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, and sniffs loudly. “You stay safe. You hear me?” Another sniff. “You stay safe, Champ!”

With that, Hatchet grabs Liadan, pulls her into a brief bear hug, then steps back and ducks into an alleyway.

[Gnosis]

That sick, strange feeling they felt before made sense now. The Gauntlet was there, but it was not the same. It was tampered with. Weaver spiders… no.. corrupted ones had touched the gauntlet around them. Conned into it really. And as they moved they could feel it, their very being being cut and injuried as they passed. They soul barred open as the razor cut beyond the flesh and into their spiritual nature. They were tricked and now they were stuck. In a pit of blackness, stepped into a trap, a shroud of blackness.

Matthias was the only one unscatched. Moving umbrally away from the shroud and the darkness. He was still a few yards or so off. But he would make it to them soon, if he wanted to. They were tricked, they were conned. The wrym had them now. Two of the three moved passed as well, into the darkness it seemed.

(Intials please)

inits: +7 )

Leaving her while there are still all these other variables on the street, after saying something about fighting. What. The. Fuck? She stands there, one hand over the forearm of her other arm, irresolute. She should run. But if those others are Garou, or something that would make a Garou run and leave her gawking on the street, would she really be able to get away?

But that was not all that had feel away. His eyes had turned on them, the clouds above hidding what should have been the hidden face of luna as he moves now. The shadows now starting to form as he moves towards them, his face no longer holding the youth that it once did. It was disformed, disfigured and disgusting. His eyes rage and glowing with hatred and lust.

Maybe they knew how bad they had it now. How bad it was going to go. Maybe it dawned on them that they were screwed.

Maybe they knew what a Black Spirial Ragabash looked like when they saw one.

(Initals for Liadan please. Mindy’s character will freeze for the time being and faint. As she is unnoticed without breeeding)

Sera/ Matt-16
hatchet- 14
Am- 11
Galliard/ Alpha- 7
Theurge-6. Post in reverse order.

(Everyone except Theurge and Alphat at +2 diff due to Shroud gift. Okay)

Ragie
Liadan.

Action in reverse. Liadan post action)

They will not have ANY street in Chicago without a fight.

(Ok – 0 – wp for resist pain, and reflexoshift to birthform – yay for metis! and taking Eagles Might too, fyi.)

2 rage, split first action – all directed at the Alpha who comes for her.

1a claw -2
1b claw -3
2 claw
3 claw)

Base action = split bite/bite on stunned theurge
Rage action = Bite stunned theurge))

[Dex + Brawl] / 2 rounded down, Diff = 5

Hail dat Kahseeno!))

Str + 1 (Crinos) – 1

Whatever’s good, that’s what I wanna roll… Hail KAHSEENO))

Diff = 6

HAIL))

[Dex + Brawl] / 2 rounded down, Diff = 7

Hail, Hail Kahseeno!))

Strength + 1(Crinos)

HAIL))

HAAAAAIL KAHSEENO! )

HAIL KAHSEENO I LOVE YOU LIKE NO OTHER!!!! )

HAIL!)

Dex + Brawl, Diff = 7

HAIL HAIL))

Strength + 1 (Crinos) + 1 Extra Success, Diff = 6

HAIL Kahseeno!))

HAIL KAHSEENO!!!))

Or black out their lives as it was. They had learned that a full on assault was not the way to go about this. And they were right.

A full on assault would have only give them less time to be massacared. The trio that were linked under the guise of the wyrm fought and were going to die. The Fury starting off the attack and….

In the darkness she didn’t seem to have a clue. Spinning around and falling to the floor without even doing anything to aid them. Rage only burning in her to get back up and try again.

Matthais started the ball rolling, going after the Theurge of the group, causing the shroud to shimmy and shake as she was coming out of her trance, but that was not enough yet. Biting and biting again. His first attack came down on his own tongue, or would have it he didn’t think quick. His bite did however hit the theurge in her stunned state. And she was starting to get pissed.

Hatchet, fueled with the rage of his own packmate’s loss started in on the Galliard who had said little and hated more. He came in with teeth bared and anger coming to the fore. The bites finding flesh, putred wyrm-ridden flesh that had been soaked in the pits of Malfeas and the Black spirial. Clearing away the little bits of chunks that were left.

The Spirals did not shy away however. The Alpha calling upon his own gifts to strengthen his skin and call upon the pack’s totem, only to find that this was there fight alone. The Galliard, finishing the job that his alpha had started, going after the strongest of the bunch, the one that had caused the wyrm probably the most damage. The one that was known as Calm, the one that was known as Rughier.

And what of AM. What can one say? A Modi Get could not die a more honorable death, except in that of the end times, fighting off the wyrm and defending those that had threatened the land. Claws came down on her, slicing and tainting her skin with toxins oozing out of those once bloody scars. She fought with fervor, with rage unmatched in this battle.

She was Modi.

She was Get.

She was the war.

And as those last claws came down she could see it. The image above sprawled out through the darkness, through the hell that the spiral had caused. Through the very space and time of it all. A face looking down upon her, a face she had fought so hard to find comfort in, appreciation in.

Silence’s face.

His gruff voice, southern drawl coming down to her. Calling out to her.
“You have fought well… We shall met in the halls of Valhalla, save me a seat right up from.”

And in that she faded. Gone. But that was not what was truly there. No.

There among the spirits, among the denizens of the umbral seemed to come a sight that they knew. A massive spirit flying above them. The massice form of Eagle itself. He could feel the pain of his own and had come. Come only too late to aid, but not too late to comfort. And seek vengeance. And that he did.

He let go a shriek that would not be confined by space and time. Not confined by the gauntlet. As it echoed outward. The rage hidden within it screeched and grabbed at the people before them. And it froze those of the spirals that still had their sense. Leaving them frozen, leaving Matthais frozen as well.

Eagles eyes dark and searching. The darkness faded as the theurge was stuck in fear. The darkness fading on both sides as the ragabash was frozen as well.

Phsyically, The shroud is gone and attack the raggie is at -2 diff to attack. The shroud is gone and his hold on Liadan is gone as well. However she is pretty much naked now as her clothes as tore up and left on the ground, shredded.)

Matthais, Galliard and Theurge all stunned.

Alpha, drop 3 rage. Claw at hatchet, rage 1 claw sera, rage 2, claw hatchet, rage 3 claw sera)

His pack was going to take care of the others and now he was going to have his little fun, clawing away at clothes, peeling them away like that of a banana. And the struggling was only making him desire her more. But no, he was going to have fun. He needed his fun. Rip, tug, pull claw….

Headbutt?!??!

Her head came back and hit him, almost made him lose grasp of her. Almost.

“You goddamned bitch. I am gonna fuckin make you beg to die after I am done with you. And yes…”

He licked her ear once more as what was the last of her clothes had fallen away. And Lonna, she had been frozen in fear at the moment, only now getting up in the pitch black. Seraching for the gun in her purse as this woman was being molested in the darkness behind the…

Wait what was that? The veil lifted now as a sheirk went out, freezing him in terror as he dropped the kin away. He could not see it but he knew it. He was gonna die. He was gonna die.

God he was gonna die

And Matthias could not believe what he had seen. The might of Eagle above, the strength of the spirit. The creature watched as the spirals were crushed beneath him.

Sera started off the attack, coming at the alpha and crushing him beneath her attacks. And Hatchet came to finish the job. Then there was the galliard, still frozen in fear as the beast above had watched in anger. Then there was the theurge, the cause of the shroud and the trapped gauntlet as well. And she went down just as quickly.

The last of these spirals were gone. And with that Eagle cawked one more time, before disappearing back into the umbral mist.

As for the kin, it seemed that they had there hands full as it were. Lonna had now taken on the beast before her, point and aim. Firing on the once young, possibly innocent boy. Taking him down a bit. And then there was the woman who was the object of the creatures desire for the moment. She kicked him in the balls and man did it hurt, knocking him down. And he went down. And they went to town on him again. Until it seemed that he was done.

Well until he was beyond dead. And then not. His body moving and twitching, switching to the hispo form. And now he was after the one that had fired on him. The beast starting in on her, and the gun… the bullets missing over the shoulder as he snarled and looked at her. Looking to claim his victim.

Forgetting his first victim now. Who was looking for revenge. Kicking the dire wolf in the ass…. Which must have been his weak spot because he went down into a heap. His body shifting and changing back into that homid form in front of them, naked and disgusting, mutated and pus-ridden.

It seems the kin and take care of themselves.

(Okay. Hatchet. add 2 temp rage to rage pool on sight of Laidan and give me a rage roll when back across gauntlet. And no the gauntlet is not trapped anymore)

So he crosses, leaving behind someone he promised he’d protect and take care of…and he hurts things. He breaks things. He feels lashing agony as he crosses the Gauntlet, and he doesn’t care. By god, he doesn’t care. He sniffs in the darkness, finds something he doesn’t recognize, and goes to tear it apart. In the end he has tasted the blood of three different Spirals, he has heard the silent death of a silent Fenrir, and he has seen Eagle and known him to be…angry.

When the mighty bird shrieks through the Umbral Sky, Hatchet thinks he knows a thing or two about the meaning behind that sound.

In the end — and it is a swiftly coming, brutal, bitter end — his entire front is saturated in blood. When he shifts down to his birth form the t-shirt he was wearing is…gone. His jeans and boots are still in place, all of his scars slick and gleaming with red. It’s in his beard, staining it truly copper. He spits again and looks at AnneMarie, reverting to crinos in death. There’s something inscrutable in his eyes, brief and flickering, when he turns to Serafine. “Will you carry her to the Caern? We have to tell her pack, but my Kin –”

And that is all the explanation he gives, all that is perhaps needed, before he starts to slide back out of the Umbra, back into the alleyway he entered in the first place. He looks like a monster, a cannibal, a freak, and he is not even shifted. And the he steps forward, and he sees —

His eyes turn golden when he sees Liadan, her clothes in shreds…what’s left of them. He can see her breasts, her thighs, he can see reddened skin where someone gripped her, he can see her red hair askew and he starts shaking, teeth on edge, jaw clenching —

And he reins it in. He cannot go to her looking like this, this soon after battle, and frenzy. He breathes, and he wipes his face as best he can — it smears, nothing better than that — and risks walking out to the mouth of the alleyway, calling her name. “Lee! Lee, come here!”

“You SON of a BITCH! MotherFUCKER! I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU!”

Lee! Lee, come here!

It’s a moment before the madness passes, before she realizes her name’s been called, recalls that she’s naked, and it’s night time. Her right shoe is covered in blood and gore and puss. Her favorite shoes. She can buy new shoes.

Belatedly, she wraps her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself. It’s no use, she doesn’t have enough limbs to cover what’s bare. She sees Taggart, and she remembers.

Her steps are slow at first, hesitant, but they quicken. When at last she stands before him she glares up into his face, into his eyes, not seeing the blood smeared in his beard. She stares at him and she says, her voice a ragged whisper, her throat ragged from the screams and epithets, “I want to go home.”

Lonna knew that, if she took a hit, anything at all, she would more-than-likely be down for the count. And she didn’t have a pack to hide behind anymore. She didn’t know anyone here- funny thing about not laying down roots was that she had a difficult time having anything of a support system.

The ladies worked in tandem, and possibly whipped out every lesson they had learned in self-defense crash courses and Lifetime movie specials. I. Am not. A victim. And, for a moment, the ragabash was down. And, for a moment, the Spiral was down.

It couldn’t only last for a moment.

He wasn’t dead. He was beyond that, and that was what set her off. That made her nervous, that made her hands shake at this point. She tried to keep the gun level and fire, but there was a dire wolf staring her down, and she was well aware of her own capabilities and limitations. She was aware that, if she didn’t land this shot, she was fucked. Lonna was more than fucked, she was dead. She was dinner.

She fired.

It sailed over his shoulder.

she breathed. “Oh, fuck.”

And then? Liadan kicked him. She kicked him pretty damned hard, and at that moment Lonna was mentally bracing for the inevitable. She closed her eyes, she turned her head quickly and tried to shy away from the impact that never came.

But it never came. And the tension abated, and she looked at Liadan.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

With that, she looked at the rather naked Fianna, and started to make her way to the car. “I.. umm… I’m gonna get her something to wear.”

When he finally realizes it is over, the hulking Crinos form returns to its all too human appearance. Unscathed, but changed… It was not a vision like seeing Goblin, no, there was something majestic in the sight. And indeed, it made the viking form wonder, not for the first time, if indeed he was in the right company.

Once returned to his birth form, the giant makes his way across the umbra, taking little heed of the coppery tang of blood upon his lips, the crimson beard where his fangs had rended the foul theurge’s skin. Steel gray eyes take in the scene without comment, save perhaps to consider the corpse of the one that had stayed behind to trouble the kinfolk.

As he drifts closer to Lonna, he speaks again.

“You did well.”

Still, his tone and expression left it plain he did not consider his own efforts in kind.

By and large, she had AnneMarie to thank for that. AnneMarie, who had jumped headlong into battle and taken the brunt of the attack. AnneMarie who had done her tribe and her auspice proud. AnneMarie… who was lying on the ground, still in her battle form… dead.

Bitter Grace. Her first friend in this strange country. Whom she liked, because she was quiet and honest. When Eagle soared overhead, she heard the totem’s death knell as if it were an aching crack within her own heart.

Now she stood over the Modi’s limp and bleeding body, and Hatchet was asking her to carry it back to the caern.

That’s not where she belongs…

She knew this much. The Eagles had their own territory, and AnneMarie Ruhiger deserved to be with the only family she had. Her pack. Yes, Serafine would carry her. Carry her home… for the last time. She would do this much for her friend, at least. But first, she lifted her head and howled. Howled a long and rough and keening note of pain and loss that echoed through the umbra. It wasn’t the most beautiful sound she’d ever made… but it was one of the most heartfelt. A last goodbye. A tribute.

Lo there do I see my father. Lo there do I see my mother, my sisters, and my brothers. Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo they do call me. They bid me take my place among them in the Halls of Valhalla. Where the brave may live… forever.

Then she stooped to wrap her arms around the Modi’s body, and began the long walk back to Eagle’s home.

Goddamn Fianna and their Kin. Priorities, priorities, priorities.

She wants to go home. He does not touch her, seeing her shredded clothes and seeming to intuit what happened. He doesn’t know if the Spiral was killed by Lonna’s firearm or sheer luck, and he will be both shocked and overwhelmingly proud later on when he hears Liadan’s part in the Ragabash’s death…but at the moment his concern is on the woman in front of him, pus and gore on her shoes and arms wrapped around her.

He nods his head, indicating that she follow him around the corner into the alleyway, at least so she is a little better hidden, and he puts his body between her and the street, his eyes on her. He knows he looks horrific. He can’t do anything about that. “I have to cross back over; the bodies have to be…”

He doesn’t finish telling her about what they have to do to the bodies. She doesn’t care about cleansing rituals. He takes a breath; this is new territory for him, dealing with Kinfolk in general, much less after something of this nature. “I will take you home, if you will let me. And then I will come back.”

Instead she remembers something he said before he disappeared, before he left her behind to go somewhere where bodies need to be dealt with. Her initial rage and anguish spent, she’s tired, just so damn tired. When he turns to leave her there in the alley she forces a grin, the muscles of her face pulling strangely. She wonders if she’ll ever have a genuine smile again.

“I take it you won? I guess I’m impressed.”

She’ll wait in the alley for him to return. For, though she doesn’t know it, Lonna to bring her something to cover her bare skin. Because for now she’s naked, and she’s trapped. All Liadan Whelan wants to do is go home and never come out again. Not if horrors like that monster exist, could be lurking around any corner.

She looked back at him, actually looked, and then replied. “Thanks, she… she really… she did a lot.”

Praise for the Fianna, who seems to have been the brunt of that Ragabash’s dubious intentions. She was still on her way to the car, unlocking the black sedan-trying-to-be-a-sports-car with a click. Something with four doors, that was trashed on the inside. It was littered with wrinkled laundry and receipts from the nearest farmer’s market.

Lonna came back with the cleanest thing that she had. Which, of course, consisted of red basket ball shorts and a yellow tee shirt that looked like it should have belonged to a camp counselor. Rose Rock Team Building Exercise- 2006.

And, with that, it was off to shut the door, to lock it, and to go find that Fianna. But first, she looked back at the Fenrir.

“Umm, do you guys need me to do anything?”

Woman’s work is never done.

“I will see to this. Help them.”

That said, he takes the body of the fallen black spiral ragabash in hand, grabbing it by the scalp like nothing so much as a pile of refuse. Dragging it to an inconspicuous place nearby from which to step sideways, the Fenrir takes the grisly remains back across…

There to begin the butcher’s work.