GM: Garou Thunder Strikes a Kitsune Lightning Rod
Monday, 17 February 2014 21:19![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
littlesilvertipThe Kitsune has had a busy night, what with having taken Eddy out of his room around midnight. Loaded him in to his own rental car, then driven him from the outskirts of the city to an abandoned gas station in the south end. From there, after some questioning, and a text message sent out on the Kinsman's phone: 'I think I'm being Followed,' Eddy was again moved. This time, he was taken to an equally abandoned warehouse in the south end. Nicodemus was called close to six in the morning, around the same time that a responding text was sent to Eddy's phone: 'Good'. It is now an hour and a half later, with the sun filling the city with light, but doing nothing to dispel the chill yet.
And when Eddy's drugs wear off, he'll notice there's...a certain smell about the warehouse, a smell to add to the already deeply unpleasant stench of rotting structure and urine--both Eddy's and whatever poor soul last used the building for actual shelter. That smell is unmistakable; gasoline. Thomas has a full can near where he's been alternatively sitting and pacing, but right now he's behind Eddy, splashing the contents of a second can liberally around the chair.
Eddy lifts his head, looks around, snorts and wrinkles up his nose.
"Mornin', Sunshine," Thomas says, as he casually splatters some of the gasoline on Eddy himself. At least he avoids the man's face. "'Scuse me, gotta take this." He sets the gas can down next to its brother, then draws his cheap cellphone from one pocket and brings it to his ear. "Yeah?"
"I consulted some bones," Nick says over the cell phone. "They said I should do this sooner rather than later. Tape the phone to the guy's ear, plug his other, and.... You might want to gag him. There might be screaming."
Thomas's eyebrows arch, even if Nick obviously can't see them. "You sure about this?" he asks. "'Cause I meant it, you don't have to."
Eddy moves his tongue about inside his mouth, works up some spit, then sends it flying in the Kitsune's direction. Beyond that, he lets his chin drop to his chest and closes his eyes.
There's a long, long period of silence over the phone line, though seconds keep ticking by on the display--indicating the connection is still there. The mage is clearly at odds with himself over this situation. "There's too much at stake here," Nick finally says. "Let's do it. I'll hang up and call back when I'm done."
Thomas takes the spit partly along the jaw, and partly over the collar of his duster. He swipes off his face as he talks, and his expression turns a little more distasteful as he flicks it off of his coat. "Talking to my girl," he says to his captive. "Don't be rude now." To the phone, he says, "Alright, sweetheart. See you soon." He moves his thumb over the hang-up key, though while he mimes the motion of doing so, he leaves the connection active. "Right, so. Glad you're awake. Got something to show you." The Uktena kin moves for the duct tape again. "...Unless you feel like actually talking today?"
"Go fuck yourself," Eddy says, not even bothering to lift his head, or open his eyes.
Thomas promptly tears off a strip of tape and puts it over Eddy's mouth. "Didn't think so. Sorry 'bout this, by the way." He doesn't sound terribly upset as he moves around the man, and proceeds to tape the phone very firmly to Eddy's right ear. When he moves around to the man's left side, he tears off a small piece of Eddy's sleeve, stuffs it into his ear as best as it will fit, and then tapes over that as well. The look that he gives the man as he returns to his front is intense, as if he were concentrating.
Eddy struggles a little bit as the phone is taped to his head, more from confusion then anything else. Once the procedure is finished, he gives Thomas an annoyed look, then goes back to his previous resting position.
Many miles away, in Nick's cabin, the Orphan mage steps into the chalk circle he's made on the floor. Just outside the circle is a mathematical proof of the Pythagorean Theorem. He's wearing a bluetooth earpiece, which is connected to the phone taped to Eddy's head. He raises his ungloved hands into the air, then makes subtle manipulations of the invisible forces that run through the universe--attempting to co-locate his senses to the warehouse.
Thomas settles in place, standing at parade rest with his hands behind his back. He looks directly into where Eddy's eyes would be if they were open. The warehouse is quiet now, aside from the muffled sounds of city traffic and the two men's breathing.
In Nick's remote cabin, he reaches both hands forward, directly in front of him, as if placing them on an invisible person's head. He rests them there for a few seconds, then strains against invisible energies--as if attempting to gouge his fingers past and into the unseen skull. His eyes close in focus and determination.
Eddy throws back his head and starts to scream, louder and louder as the seconds tick by, despite the gag that muffles his throat. He starts to thrash around violently, eyes rolling around in his head, showing white and nearly bulging out of his skull. His frenzied thrashing upsets his chair, causing it to tip over in to the gas that Thomas spilt on the floor. Eddy doesn't seem to notice and continues to scream and scream and scream.
Thomas remains directly in place, unmoving, staring first at the thrashing man and then at the thrashing-man-on-floor. Nothing in his expression changes, nothing in the intensity of his stare. If anything can be said to change about the man, it might be that his hand clenches a little more tightly to his wrist.
In a blink, the lights go out. The warehouse, illuminated by the night sky outside the broken and cracked windows, is plunged into a pure inky blackness through which no moon or streetlight can penetrate. One can feel the dust settle out of the air, like even the drifting of motes of dirt is too much noise for the warehouse. The floor underneath feels suddenly slick, even more so than just the petroleum had made it moments before. A rotting smell wafts through the air. An echoing cackle drifts through the darkness, high and shrill. A deeper voice: ~Lit-tle-be-te... Lit-tle-be-te... YoooUUUU're not my birdy bird?~ A whisper that somehow draws over Eddy's screams: "(Not our bird)" ~Ooooooh... we have a _real_ freak.~ "(A freak)" The deep voice draws up a feeling of pure terror in Thomas, an icy grip of despair that claws at the throat like that fleeting glimpse of an oncoming vehicle right before the crash. It hurts to even swallow. Death is here. Death is talking to Thomas. Death awaits Thomas.
Eddy continues to scream on the floor, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
With breathing being difficult, talking is entirely out of the question. Thomas desperately attempts to fight down that terror, to at least retain control of himself in the face of...this. It's a very familiar fear, but not one that gets any easier with experience. He says nothing, makes no noise and no movement, but he does manage to grasp at and activate a certain gift.
Nicodemus continues mind-raping Eddy, perhaps unaware of the problems Thomas is experiencing.
A purple light begins to grow, dispelling some of the darkness around them, but refusing the sun admission to this horrible place. Lightness is not allowed. The purple light intensifies, revealing the phantasmic forms of banes. A scrag, a furmling, a grey mass, all ephemeral and insubstantial. More banes flock to the light, one flying right through Thomas, leaving him with a defiled feeling. The shrill laughter dies down, as one, two, three werewolves move into the light. ~GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FUCKTOY,~ one screams: Slim of build, this timberwolf patterned garou would be utterly unremarkable, if it weren't for the skin mask it wears. A woman has been skinned, and her head worn like a wrestler's mask. It's changes form with the werewolf, apparently dedicated. A purple lantern with blasphemous symbols is on a belt, casting the light. The other, with the booming voice, is a massive metis, with a full pair of horns growing from his head, and dragging a weighted net. He's covered in a mass of scars, including a missing ear and missing half a hand, the hairless spots revealing massive, coiled muscles. The black and brown furred monster radiates pure horror. The last one is slick, oily black fur covers this metis, matted in places, and it absolutely reeks. She's of thick build, and few scars. In her hands is an AK74, extensively modified to comfortably and reliably be shot from crinos hands. Green ooze leaks out of the magazine's floor plate. They approach Thomas in a triangle, covering the exits. The AK is charged, spraying green mist out the ejection port.
<OOC> Red: In order: Skin Face, Hyygelphalexis, Reehululu. Not that Thomas knows, but for OOC book-keeping.
Thomas slowly raises his hands--there's something in his palm, a scrap of paper maybe--and backs away from the female with the gun, his boots splashing in the spilled gasoline. He's good at masking himself, but not nearly good enough to hide the tension, the slightly too-wide eyes, the sharp, barely controlled breathing. "That..." he says, with clear effort, "was an entrance."
Nicodemus finally seems to notice things happening outside of Eddy's headspace, placing the mindraping on hold for the time being. The phone attached to Eddy's face goes dead.
Reehululu shoulders her fucked up, oozing AK, and points it at Thomas. A crack, a spray of green piss, and a flash in the darkened warehouse precede an intense pain in his right leg. It collapses under him, bone shattered. The gunshot burns like hydroflouric acid, a toxic nightmare that seeps into his very bone. On the ground, Thomas can see the gas has been covered with some sort of sludge - one of the classic wyrm elements. ~Lit-tle-Be-te-Lit-tle-Be-te...~ Skin Face begins chanting, in a higher shriller tone. It doesn't convey the same terror as Hyygelphalexis, but it's still unnerving. Hyygelphalexis flings his net at Thomas. Intended for capturing a bird, it works just as well at tangling up prone Kitsune.
Thomas cries out as he goes down, followed by a grunt when he hits the sludge on the floor. He really doesn't stand much of a chance at avoiding the net either, but he brings his arms in before it comes down. ~You've got a slight problem though!~ His voice might sound...a little higher than before.
Nicodemus seemed to have anticipated that weighted, immobilizing net being thrown. When it is, he reaches out with his hands, as if redirecting and accelerating it with the intent of overshooting Thomas and plowing into--hard and fast--into the AK-wielding BSD.
Abruptly, the dark room seems to spin around them, like they're watching the scene from a movie camera that just panned around abruptly. The disorienting effect causes everyone, Thomas and Eddy included, to stagger slightly. The net's path bends at the last moment, sweeping up from Thomas and swinging into Reehululu. The AK wielding Dancer collapses in a spray of fire that goes wild into the roof. Hyygelphalexis roars, the massive, terrifying werewolf bowing his head and charging Thomas. He runs right over the Bete, horns gorging bleeding tracks in his chest. Skin Face keeps chanting, as the number of banes visible in the room grows. The phantoms swirl, like fishy spectators to this gladiatorial spectacle.
Blood springs up from awful rips in both Thomas's shirt, and his skin, and possibly his ribs--but inexplicably, his ever-present coat, the duster, remains entirely untouched, even though a careful watcher might have seen the horns go straight through the seemingly tough fabric. The Kitsune does not attempt further speech. Instead he pushes out a hand toward the two gas cans (one full, one mostly empty), and a bolt of fire appears seemingly from nowhere, sprouting from his palm, across the downed Eddy, and toward the source of the gasoline.
Nicodemus keeps wielding Forces magic within the confines of the warehouse. He attempts to give huge, charging, horned crinos a quick lesson in Newtonian physics. Namely that an object in motion tends to stay in motion--especially when it trips and is guided towards a nice wall.
The gasoline explodes into a brilliant fire, sending bits of jerry can scattering. But with the sludge created by the Dancer Pack, the fire doesn't spread much beyond that. Eddy is none so lucky. The man lights on fire, and writhes as he burns. He tries to roll on the floor as the synthetics in his clothing melt to his skin, but tied up as he is, it's to no avail. It smells like charred meat, and burnt nylon. Reehululu disentangles herself from the net, having been completely knotted up by the net intended for Thomas. Hyygelphalexis continues running, smashing into an I beam. One of his horns chip off, causing blood to spurt on out. He yanks his head out of the rusted steel support, shaking off the concussion he no-doubt just suffered. Skin Face continues to chant, staying in place as the fallen wendigo does.
Thomas takes the opportunity. He stuffs the paper in his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and then shoves roughly up with both hands and the leg that's still intact. Against all apparent sense, the man actually lunges /toward/ the flames, one hand outstretched as though he were reaching for life-giving water, and not fiery death.
Nicodemus, back at his cabin, turns within the chalk circle, reaches a hand out, and pulls at invisible forces to do his bidding. Within the warehouse, the action is mimiced in an attempt to reroute the warehouse's power grid through the skin-faced garou working up something with the spirits.
Thomas tries for the fire, but in a battle of speed and wits, the partially crippled Kitsune is slower than Reehululu. She's untangled, and she has her gun. Thomas collapses as his other leg is blown out from under him, face down in the sludge. Skin Face continues to chant, louder and louder - right up to the point where the building's dormant power system cackles to life. The pillars spark with electricity, before arching out and frying the fallen wendigo, who convulses from the charge being conveyed through his body. Hyygelphalexis continues to work off his concussion, not electrocuted by the charge in the pillar in the process.
Thomas snarls, a not entirely human sound, as he finds himself having to drag his way across the sludge by arms only. He turns his head sharply toward Reehululu, and he makes...another noise. Something not human, and not fox, and entirely otherworldly.
In his cabin, every hair on Nick's body is standing on end, as if he were touching a Van de Graaf generator. Blisters start to form on his forearms. He grits his teeth and continues bending reality through the minor amounts of pain he's now feeling. He raises a hand, pointing towards where one of the doors would be if he were standing in the warehouse, and bends light into the illusion of a wolf he's only recently seen and physically laid hands on. Silvertip's image appears, snarling and menacing, in the doorway. Except TWICE the size a lupus ought to be. A new target. And one that's uninjured and a looming threat.
Reehululu's ears slick back, the talen-bullet wielding dancer suddenly overcome with the same Terror that Thomas feels towards Hyygelphalexis. She turns, and starts to run to find a place to cower. Hyygelphalexis, by now, has overcome his concussion enough to reevaluate the scene. The massive, intimidating adren attracts his attetion. ~You! I'll fucking kill you!~ He snarls out, charing the phantom. Sir Isaac Newton makes him his bitch; the Dancer smashes into another wall, bloodying his face from the another cracked horn. Skin Face, smelling of burnt flesh, staggers forward to grab Thomas with his claws. Hooking into the Kitsune, he snarls loud as he brings the man down over his knee. Claws and brute force, the Kitsune is left crippled. The Kitsune is bodily thrown at the wall, where he smashes against it, crumbling to a ball.
Skin Face turns to Eddy with a dark look, one of his packmates concussed again, and the other climbing out doors and falling through windows as she tries to flee. "Pppp... please. Heal. Heal me." Eddy begs the Wendigo wearing human flesh. "You know what you have to do for that." Skin Face growls, partially shifting to allow the English. The burnt man wriggles forward, and begins doing something to the Dancer that is best not committed to text. All three Black Spiral Dancers are distracted.
Thomas appears immobile, apart from spasmodic twitching. And then, slowly, starting at his fingertips, he starts to vanish. No, not vanish, though he's certainly disappearing from view. He looks like he's disintegrating, simply dissolving into the air around him. Which, as it turns out, is /exactly/ what he's doing. He drifts upward, moving through the air like he's become his own ghost, seeking shelter near the warehouse's high ceiling and rafters.
At his cabin, Nick's hairs are all standing on end, his forearms are blistered, and now there's blood dripping from his nose. Also? He's glowing. And looking a little unsteady on his feet. One final act, as he sees the Kitsune escaping. He attempts to weave just enough Forces, Matter, and Entropy magic to ensure that the cell phone's battery, recently exposed to tremendous heat and knocking about, ruptures and spills acid over the internal electrical components--including the SIM card--rendering it utterly useless.
In the time that Thomas is beginning to recover enough to use his gift, Hyygelphalexis recovers enough to stagger over to the electrocuted Dancer-Wendigo and the Dancer Kin. Reehululu takes longer to recover her wits, after the Kitsune's gift. Skin Face moans as Eddy finishes, clawed hands wrapping around the back of the kin's head. Finished, the charred kin begs again, "He... heal me. Ppp... ppplease. Please. Heal." Skin Face clenches his paw, digging his claws into the kin. Eddy is lifted up to eye level with a scream, and begins flailing. Skin face begins peeling the kin's face off with his other paw, leaving the eyes, ears and tongue intact. Flinging the flesh to the side with a flick of the wrist, he holds the kinfolk up like a gutted fish wriggling left on a hook. A screaming, wriggling fish. He snarls softly, to the kin: "While you are suffering... know it is /I/ who betrayed you."
Thomas drifts to the ceiling, and into the light. The getting's good for him to get out. The cell phone burns up in the sludge, unnoticed by the two Black Spiral Dancers who are reveling in the spectacle.
Nicodemus allows his extended senses to linger a little longer, perhaps hoping to catch a name or plans or some other tidbit of useful informa.... His concentration starts to waver as the BSDs begin peeling burnt flesh off Eddy.
The writhing goes on, turning into death spasms. This seems to bring considerable pleasure to the Dancers. Far, far too much pleasure. Skin Face throws the body to the side, but the pack alpha retrieves the body to tear off the head for... purposes. The Dancers smack around their panicking packmate, before they head outside, taking homid. Climbing into a van, they throw the dead body of the former owner out the back. They leave the mess for the local garou to deal with.
In the News:
Usually, a murder in the industrial sector does not make it into the news. A double homicide might be buried in the crime section. But the media has a real buzz when two bodies are discovered in an abandoned warehouse near Jermantown. Two nobodies were found murdered: One was found, shot to death by a rifle, but is of little note. The second, however, was found badly burned, decapitated, and with their face removed, in pile of toxic sludge and gasoline. The skull was never found, even though the face was; sexual fluids were found as well. The police refuse to speculate on the motive, but police internal leaks indicate that papers were found nearby that suggest that this is the work of satanic cultists.
Several priests are interviewed by the media, and make grandiose statements about how this is the logical consequence of allowing marijuana, gay marriage, or any other random recent political event. Others call out the general degeneracy of a society that allows such blasphemous ideas to spread. The police, over the next several days, refuse to confirm or deny the satanic cult story, only fanning the flames.
On Tuesday, news leaks out that one of the deceased is ex-special forces, and the story explodes into a genuine, full-fledged crap-storm, with solemn promises to hunt down the responsible parties from the police. Word leaks out that an FBI anti-cult task-force has taken an interest.
And when Eddy's drugs wear off, he'll notice there's...a certain smell about the warehouse, a smell to add to the already deeply unpleasant stench of rotting structure and urine--both Eddy's and whatever poor soul last used the building for actual shelter. That smell is unmistakable; gasoline. Thomas has a full can near where he's been alternatively sitting and pacing, but right now he's behind Eddy, splashing the contents of a second can liberally around the chair.
Eddy lifts his head, looks around, snorts and wrinkles up his nose.
"Mornin', Sunshine," Thomas says, as he casually splatters some of the gasoline on Eddy himself. At least he avoids the man's face. "'Scuse me, gotta take this." He sets the gas can down next to its brother, then draws his cheap cellphone from one pocket and brings it to his ear. "Yeah?"
"I consulted some bones," Nick says over the cell phone. "They said I should do this sooner rather than later. Tape the phone to the guy's ear, plug his other, and.... You might want to gag him. There might be screaming."
Thomas's eyebrows arch, even if Nick obviously can't see them. "You sure about this?" he asks. "'Cause I meant it, you don't have to."
Eddy moves his tongue about inside his mouth, works up some spit, then sends it flying in the Kitsune's direction. Beyond that, he lets his chin drop to his chest and closes his eyes.
There's a long, long period of silence over the phone line, though seconds keep ticking by on the display--indicating the connection is still there. The mage is clearly at odds with himself over this situation. "There's too much at stake here," Nick finally says. "Let's do it. I'll hang up and call back when I'm done."
Thomas takes the spit partly along the jaw, and partly over the collar of his duster. He swipes off his face as he talks, and his expression turns a little more distasteful as he flicks it off of his coat. "Talking to my girl," he says to his captive. "Don't be rude now." To the phone, he says, "Alright, sweetheart. See you soon." He moves his thumb over the hang-up key, though while he mimes the motion of doing so, he leaves the connection active. "Right, so. Glad you're awake. Got something to show you." The Uktena kin moves for the duct tape again. "...Unless you feel like actually talking today?"
"Go fuck yourself," Eddy says, not even bothering to lift his head, or open his eyes.
Thomas promptly tears off a strip of tape and puts it over Eddy's mouth. "Didn't think so. Sorry 'bout this, by the way." He doesn't sound terribly upset as he moves around the man, and proceeds to tape the phone very firmly to Eddy's right ear. When he moves around to the man's left side, he tears off a small piece of Eddy's sleeve, stuffs it into his ear as best as it will fit, and then tapes over that as well. The look that he gives the man as he returns to his front is intense, as if he were concentrating.
Eddy struggles a little bit as the phone is taped to his head, more from confusion then anything else. Once the procedure is finished, he gives Thomas an annoyed look, then goes back to his previous resting position.
Many miles away, in Nick's cabin, the Orphan mage steps into the chalk circle he's made on the floor. Just outside the circle is a mathematical proof of the Pythagorean Theorem. He's wearing a bluetooth earpiece, which is connected to the phone taped to Eddy's head. He raises his ungloved hands into the air, then makes subtle manipulations of the invisible forces that run through the universe--attempting to co-locate his senses to the warehouse.
Thomas settles in place, standing at parade rest with his hands behind his back. He looks directly into where Eddy's eyes would be if they were open. The warehouse is quiet now, aside from the muffled sounds of city traffic and the two men's breathing.
In Nick's remote cabin, he reaches both hands forward, directly in front of him, as if placing them on an invisible person's head. He rests them there for a few seconds, then strains against invisible energies--as if attempting to gouge his fingers past and into the unseen skull. His eyes close in focus and determination.
Eddy throws back his head and starts to scream, louder and louder as the seconds tick by, despite the gag that muffles his throat. He starts to thrash around violently, eyes rolling around in his head, showing white and nearly bulging out of his skull. His frenzied thrashing upsets his chair, causing it to tip over in to the gas that Thomas spilt on the floor. Eddy doesn't seem to notice and continues to scream and scream and scream.
Thomas remains directly in place, unmoving, staring first at the thrashing man and then at the thrashing-man-on-floor. Nothing in his expression changes, nothing in the intensity of his stare. If anything can be said to change about the man, it might be that his hand clenches a little more tightly to his wrist.
In a blink, the lights go out. The warehouse, illuminated by the night sky outside the broken and cracked windows, is plunged into a pure inky blackness through which no moon or streetlight can penetrate. One can feel the dust settle out of the air, like even the drifting of motes of dirt is too much noise for the warehouse. The floor underneath feels suddenly slick, even more so than just the petroleum had made it moments before. A rotting smell wafts through the air. An echoing cackle drifts through the darkness, high and shrill. A deeper voice: ~Lit-tle-be-te... Lit-tle-be-te... YoooUUUU're not my birdy bird?~ A whisper that somehow draws over Eddy's screams: "(Not our bird)" ~Ooooooh... we have a _real_ freak.~ "(A freak)" The deep voice draws up a feeling of pure terror in Thomas, an icy grip of despair that claws at the throat like that fleeting glimpse of an oncoming vehicle right before the crash. It hurts to even swallow. Death is here. Death is talking to Thomas. Death awaits Thomas.
Eddy continues to scream on the floor, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
With breathing being difficult, talking is entirely out of the question. Thomas desperately attempts to fight down that terror, to at least retain control of himself in the face of...this. It's a very familiar fear, but not one that gets any easier with experience. He says nothing, makes no noise and no movement, but he does manage to grasp at and activate a certain gift.
Nicodemus continues mind-raping Eddy, perhaps unaware of the problems Thomas is experiencing.
A purple light begins to grow, dispelling some of the darkness around them, but refusing the sun admission to this horrible place. Lightness is not allowed. The purple light intensifies, revealing the phantasmic forms of banes. A scrag, a furmling, a grey mass, all ephemeral and insubstantial. More banes flock to the light, one flying right through Thomas, leaving him with a defiled feeling. The shrill laughter dies down, as one, two, three werewolves move into the light. ~GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FUCKTOY,~ one screams: Slim of build, this timberwolf patterned garou would be utterly unremarkable, if it weren't for the skin mask it wears. A woman has been skinned, and her head worn like a wrestler's mask. It's changes form with the werewolf, apparently dedicated. A purple lantern with blasphemous symbols is on a belt, casting the light. The other, with the booming voice, is a massive metis, with a full pair of horns growing from his head, and dragging a weighted net. He's covered in a mass of scars, including a missing ear and missing half a hand, the hairless spots revealing massive, coiled muscles. The black and brown furred monster radiates pure horror. The last one is slick, oily black fur covers this metis, matted in places, and it absolutely reeks. She's of thick build, and few scars. In her hands is an AK74, extensively modified to comfortably and reliably be shot from crinos hands. Green ooze leaks out of the magazine's floor plate. They approach Thomas in a triangle, covering the exits. The AK is charged, spraying green mist out the ejection port.
<OOC> Red: In order: Skin Face, Hyygelphalexis, Reehululu. Not that Thomas knows, but for OOC book-keeping.
Thomas slowly raises his hands--there's something in his palm, a scrap of paper maybe--and backs away from the female with the gun, his boots splashing in the spilled gasoline. He's good at masking himself, but not nearly good enough to hide the tension, the slightly too-wide eyes, the sharp, barely controlled breathing. "That..." he says, with clear effort, "was an entrance."
Nicodemus finally seems to notice things happening outside of Eddy's headspace, placing the mindraping on hold for the time being. The phone attached to Eddy's face goes dead.
Reehululu shoulders her fucked up, oozing AK, and points it at Thomas. A crack, a spray of green piss, and a flash in the darkened warehouse precede an intense pain in his right leg. It collapses under him, bone shattered. The gunshot burns like hydroflouric acid, a toxic nightmare that seeps into his very bone. On the ground, Thomas can see the gas has been covered with some sort of sludge - one of the classic wyrm elements. ~Lit-tle-Be-te-Lit-tle-Be-te...~ Skin Face begins chanting, in a higher shriller tone. It doesn't convey the same terror as Hyygelphalexis, but it's still unnerving. Hyygelphalexis flings his net at Thomas. Intended for capturing a bird, it works just as well at tangling up prone Kitsune.
Thomas cries out as he goes down, followed by a grunt when he hits the sludge on the floor. He really doesn't stand much of a chance at avoiding the net either, but he brings his arms in before it comes down. ~You've got a slight problem though!~ His voice might sound...a little higher than before.
Nicodemus seemed to have anticipated that weighted, immobilizing net being thrown. When it is, he reaches out with his hands, as if redirecting and accelerating it with the intent of overshooting Thomas and plowing into--hard and fast--into the AK-wielding BSD.
Abruptly, the dark room seems to spin around them, like they're watching the scene from a movie camera that just panned around abruptly. The disorienting effect causes everyone, Thomas and Eddy included, to stagger slightly. The net's path bends at the last moment, sweeping up from Thomas and swinging into Reehululu. The AK wielding Dancer collapses in a spray of fire that goes wild into the roof. Hyygelphalexis roars, the massive, terrifying werewolf bowing his head and charging Thomas. He runs right over the Bete, horns gorging bleeding tracks in his chest. Skin Face keeps chanting, as the number of banes visible in the room grows. The phantoms swirl, like fishy spectators to this gladiatorial spectacle.
Blood springs up from awful rips in both Thomas's shirt, and his skin, and possibly his ribs--but inexplicably, his ever-present coat, the duster, remains entirely untouched, even though a careful watcher might have seen the horns go straight through the seemingly tough fabric. The Kitsune does not attempt further speech. Instead he pushes out a hand toward the two gas cans (one full, one mostly empty), and a bolt of fire appears seemingly from nowhere, sprouting from his palm, across the downed Eddy, and toward the source of the gasoline.
Nicodemus keeps wielding Forces magic within the confines of the warehouse. He attempts to give huge, charging, horned crinos a quick lesson in Newtonian physics. Namely that an object in motion tends to stay in motion--especially when it trips and is guided towards a nice wall.
The gasoline explodes into a brilliant fire, sending bits of jerry can scattering. But with the sludge created by the Dancer Pack, the fire doesn't spread much beyond that. Eddy is none so lucky. The man lights on fire, and writhes as he burns. He tries to roll on the floor as the synthetics in his clothing melt to his skin, but tied up as he is, it's to no avail. It smells like charred meat, and burnt nylon. Reehululu disentangles herself from the net, having been completely knotted up by the net intended for Thomas. Hyygelphalexis continues running, smashing into an I beam. One of his horns chip off, causing blood to spurt on out. He yanks his head out of the rusted steel support, shaking off the concussion he no-doubt just suffered. Skin Face continues to chant, staying in place as the fallen wendigo does.
Thomas takes the opportunity. He stuffs the paper in his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and then shoves roughly up with both hands and the leg that's still intact. Against all apparent sense, the man actually lunges /toward/ the flames, one hand outstretched as though he were reaching for life-giving water, and not fiery death.
Nicodemus, back at his cabin, turns within the chalk circle, reaches a hand out, and pulls at invisible forces to do his bidding. Within the warehouse, the action is mimiced in an attempt to reroute the warehouse's power grid through the skin-faced garou working up something with the spirits.
Thomas tries for the fire, but in a battle of speed and wits, the partially crippled Kitsune is slower than Reehululu. She's untangled, and she has her gun. Thomas collapses as his other leg is blown out from under him, face down in the sludge. Skin Face continues to chant, louder and louder - right up to the point where the building's dormant power system cackles to life. The pillars spark with electricity, before arching out and frying the fallen wendigo, who convulses from the charge being conveyed through his body. Hyygelphalexis continues to work off his concussion, not electrocuted by the charge in the pillar in the process.
Thomas snarls, a not entirely human sound, as he finds himself having to drag his way across the sludge by arms only. He turns his head sharply toward Reehululu, and he makes...another noise. Something not human, and not fox, and entirely otherworldly.
In his cabin, every hair on Nick's body is standing on end, as if he were touching a Van de Graaf generator. Blisters start to form on his forearms. He grits his teeth and continues bending reality through the minor amounts of pain he's now feeling. He raises a hand, pointing towards where one of the doors would be if he were standing in the warehouse, and bends light into the illusion of a wolf he's only recently seen and physically laid hands on. Silvertip's image appears, snarling and menacing, in the doorway. Except TWICE the size a lupus ought to be. A new target. And one that's uninjured and a looming threat.
Reehululu's ears slick back, the talen-bullet wielding dancer suddenly overcome with the same Terror that Thomas feels towards Hyygelphalexis. She turns, and starts to run to find a place to cower. Hyygelphalexis, by now, has overcome his concussion enough to reevaluate the scene. The massive, intimidating adren attracts his attetion. ~You! I'll fucking kill you!~ He snarls out, charing the phantom. Sir Isaac Newton makes him his bitch; the Dancer smashes into another wall, bloodying his face from the another cracked horn. Skin Face, smelling of burnt flesh, staggers forward to grab Thomas with his claws. Hooking into the Kitsune, he snarls loud as he brings the man down over his knee. Claws and brute force, the Kitsune is left crippled. The Kitsune is bodily thrown at the wall, where he smashes against it, crumbling to a ball.
Skin Face turns to Eddy with a dark look, one of his packmates concussed again, and the other climbing out doors and falling through windows as she tries to flee. "Pppp... please. Heal. Heal me." Eddy begs the Wendigo wearing human flesh. "You know what you have to do for that." Skin Face growls, partially shifting to allow the English. The burnt man wriggles forward, and begins doing something to the Dancer that is best not committed to text. All three Black Spiral Dancers are distracted.
Thomas appears immobile, apart from spasmodic twitching. And then, slowly, starting at his fingertips, he starts to vanish. No, not vanish, though he's certainly disappearing from view. He looks like he's disintegrating, simply dissolving into the air around him. Which, as it turns out, is /exactly/ what he's doing. He drifts upward, moving through the air like he's become his own ghost, seeking shelter near the warehouse's high ceiling and rafters.
At his cabin, Nick's hairs are all standing on end, his forearms are blistered, and now there's blood dripping from his nose. Also? He's glowing. And looking a little unsteady on his feet. One final act, as he sees the Kitsune escaping. He attempts to weave just enough Forces, Matter, and Entropy magic to ensure that the cell phone's battery, recently exposed to tremendous heat and knocking about, ruptures and spills acid over the internal electrical components--including the SIM card--rendering it utterly useless.
In the time that Thomas is beginning to recover enough to use his gift, Hyygelphalexis recovers enough to stagger over to the electrocuted Dancer-Wendigo and the Dancer Kin. Reehululu takes longer to recover her wits, after the Kitsune's gift. Skin Face moans as Eddy finishes, clawed hands wrapping around the back of the kin's head. Finished, the charred kin begs again, "He... heal me. Ppp... ppplease. Please. Heal." Skin Face clenches his paw, digging his claws into the kin. Eddy is lifted up to eye level with a scream, and begins flailing. Skin face begins peeling the kin's face off with his other paw, leaving the eyes, ears and tongue intact. Flinging the flesh to the side with a flick of the wrist, he holds the kinfolk up like a gutted fish wriggling left on a hook. A screaming, wriggling fish. He snarls softly, to the kin: "While you are suffering... know it is /I/ who betrayed you."
Thomas drifts to the ceiling, and into the light. The getting's good for him to get out. The cell phone burns up in the sludge, unnoticed by the two Black Spiral Dancers who are reveling in the spectacle.
Nicodemus allows his extended senses to linger a little longer, perhaps hoping to catch a name or plans or some other tidbit of useful informa.... His concentration starts to waver as the BSDs begin peeling burnt flesh off Eddy.
The writhing goes on, turning into death spasms. This seems to bring considerable pleasure to the Dancers. Far, far too much pleasure. Skin Face throws the body to the side, but the pack alpha retrieves the body to tear off the head for... purposes. The Dancers smack around their panicking packmate, before they head outside, taking homid. Climbing into a van, they throw the dead body of the former owner out the back. They leave the mess for the local garou to deal with.
In the News:
Usually, a murder in the industrial sector does not make it into the news. A double homicide might be buried in the crime section. But the media has a real buzz when two bodies are discovered in an abandoned warehouse near Jermantown. Two nobodies were found murdered: One was found, shot to death by a rifle, but is of little note. The second, however, was found badly burned, decapitated, and with their face removed, in pile of toxic sludge and gasoline. The skull was never found, even though the face was; sexual fluids were found as well. The police refuse to speculate on the motive, but police internal leaks indicate that papers were found nearby that suggest that this is the work of satanic cultists.
Several priests are interviewed by the media, and make grandiose statements about how this is the logical consequence of allowing marijuana, gay marriage, or any other random recent political event. Others call out the general degeneracy of a society that allows such blasphemous ideas to spread. The police, over the next several days, refuse to confirm or deny the satanic cult story, only fanning the flames.
On Tuesday, news leaks out that one of the deceased is ex-special forces, and the story explodes into a genuine, full-fledged crap-storm, with solemn promises to hunt down the responsible parties from the police. Word leaks out that an FBI anti-cult task-force has taken an interest.
