exsiliumlogs | WEEK ONE: meet and greet the meat

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WEEK ONE: meet and greet the meat

Date & Time: 6/3 -> 6/9
Location: various.
Characters: various, the Nightcap.
Summary: it's very important to make lots of friends right away, to lay down roots.
Warnings: violence. lots. lots of violence.

The norm was to wind up in a big party, wasn't it? Some dull-eyed doorman with a few insultingly sparse words – as if welcome or you're here for a reason would've made a difference. As if someone would be a lot more keen to the idea of being abducted from whatever-they-were-doing in wherever-they-were-doing-it because someone had the courtesy to say hello.

What would a big party and a welcome have done to have altered the Nightcap's stay in Exsilium? What would have changed?

The body count, maybe.

[enclosed is WEEK ONE of the Nightcap; those interested in an encounter or a finding this or the upcoming weeks should poke this post!]

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Rain could be a lot of things to different people at different times and different places. Rain was a deceiver in that time and place, falling so heavy as to make one second-guess their ears; the sounds outside were just part of the heavy downpour and the people and things passing through it, right? The THWAPP, TWHOCKK, THDD from just outside the door could've been anything, but hardly something worth thinking on for long.

Then again, the latest sound certainly wasn't a proper knock...and who knocked before entering a bar?

Something strange was happening out there.

It's strange, to say the least, and strange has an unfortunate tendency to draw Jules' attention. Especially when she is keeping an eye on seedy bars and gradually making herself more familiar with the regulars, working out who is dangerous (who might need to be remembered) and who just makes terrible decisions in drinking venue.

Her attention is caught on the sound, and on the off chance it's someone afraid, someone lost, or someone too drunk to realise this is a bar and who needs to be slung over her shoulder and carried home, she pulls the door open.

The door seemed more than happy to oblige; the weight of the body slumped against it pushed it open even faster, practically dropping him in Jules' lap. He'd just gone out for a smoke break minutes ago, a little grumpy, rather wound up about something, but those things didn't matter anymore. Little holes littered his throat, with one last needle still poking through before becoming dust scattered across his neck and chin.

There were no seconds to think about it before other needles blew by, intended for where the man had been, now zipping by Jules' ears and hair and far into the bar.

THOK-THOK-THOK-THOK.

It's reflex, more than anything, that makes her try to catch the body. "Oh, God." There's another word halfway out before she realises that he's dead and her gaze locks on the needle, watches it crumble away. She hauls the body inside, and there's the moment where she tries to decide if she wants to be inside or outside, but the fear is overridden by the fact that there are humans inside.

"Don't open this door!" Yelled at them, as she pulls it shut and lets another needle embed deep in the wood. They were human, here: right now it meant she should protect them, even if she's trying to push down her own fear, the panic welling in her throat at the sight of the needles in the man's throat, that had whipped past her.

It's reflexive, done fast, and it's not until she's committed herself to being outside that what she's done catches up with her. A beat, and she's grabbing the lid off a rubbish bin, holding it up so she can pretend it's some kind of shield. This was not a well thought-out plan. "Show yourself."

That'll work. That'll work, absolutely.

"Show yourself!" called a voice in reply, mocking. A shrill spell of laughter followed shortly after as the Nightcap caught sight of Jules' makeshift shield.

Mocking, patronizing, a needle flew out of the darkness and banged loudly on the shield.

That gives her a bit more to work with, at least, and she starts to take a step towards the sound when there's that clatter against the "shield," the sight of a needle on the ground. Her voice is a strangled thing, she can't muster the sound to speak or think of any words worth saying. What she can do is make herself take one step, then another, and advance in the direction the voice came from, as much as she wants to just sort of curl up in a ball, as anxiety presses in on her lungs, as memories start bleeding in.

Stop, some part of herself hisses, stop being a child. She is one of the things that parents tell their children to look out for at night. Don't be such a coward. Jules takes another step, but she's shaking.

"Showwwww yourself!"

The voice came as a song, drifting from one direction to another, marking its trail by flinging needle after needle at the lid. It was a game. Each time it rang loudly off the metal, the Nightcap peeled off in giggling at the recoil.

"Hahaha! Come on!"

The voice suddenly twisted into a harsh bark of a command: "COME ON!"

The next needle to hit the lid pierced through it before disintegrating to dust. THWONGG.

Come on. As if she wasn't saying that to herself, and she grits her teeth. Come on, because you're meant to protect humans, and now you're just frozen up. Fear isn't rational, can't be, and there are probably people who would argue Jules isn't rational at the best of times.

Jules grits her teeth, tries to estimate where the sound is coming from when it keeps drifting, and the needle getting through the shield is the last straw. With something like a growl, a sound she'd rather ignore ever happened because it's another part of that, she hurls the metal lid. Monster strength, it can come in useful, but only if she manages to actually hit something.

The lid impacted with a heavy CRUNCH, no doubt crumpling with the force of the impact. There was a giddy shriek at the sound, far from the crash, and swift footsteps followed barely a breath after.

Regina's limbs were trained for this: A great leap cleared the remaining distance between them, and the Nightcap, landed deftly behind Jules, quickly using the closed door as a means to get that extra force in a shove, fingers grasping at hair and yanking, pulling, dragging her away from the safe street lights and neon glows of the bar.

There's a brief moment where she thinks she might have hit it, takes a shaky step in that direction, before the shock of laughter crashes into her. Damn it.

Normally she'd be faster, could collect herself, but her senses and everything are numbed by the fear that overrides everything, have her half sinking to the ground when fingers curl through her hair and drag. She stumbles with the momentum, and she should twist away, could bite and tear. Fight or flight, that was the appropriate response to fear, she thought, but instead her legs are buckling and her arms feel like jelly. Protests stumble out, but they're incoherent, whimpered things, things that make her feel worse for how useless they are.

Finally, she manages something clear, audible: "No, please, stop." Give her a minute to breathe and to eradicate drawn out days of Richard and needles from her head, so she can remember what it's like to control her limbs and be able to breathe.

The Nightcap was a kid at Christmas. It giggled and grunted as it dragged Jules along, at times trying to bounce, to skip, and feel the woman reel and recoil against the motion. It was all a game, really, seeing how people reacted. All games ought to have rewards, too: whatever was on Jules' person was going to be Nightcap's.

With a groan, it heaved her forward in the dark, not caring where they were or where she landed, sighing brightly as it dusted its hands.

"Shhh." It relished the loud click of its heels as it slowly paced around her, leaning forward, letting Regina's hair graze Jules' face. "Shhh, sh. Poor thing." It tsked.

From a knuckle on its right hand, a new needle slid out slowly, snagging only briefly at the tatters of torn glove and dripping with something that smelled too acidic to simply be blood.

She doesn't have much on her: a half-empty packet of cigarettes, a cheap lighter, a notebook that has nothing written in it yet. She doesn't have her wallet, because buying her drinks is what other people are for. The cigarettes fall from her pocket when she stumbles to the ground.

And then she's looking up, and her gaze catches on the needle. They'd been further away, before, and then she'd had her shield, but her jaw clenches and slacks, and whatever colour her face had drains away. "What do you want?" She hates how weak her voice sounds, but she'll-- "if you give me a chance, I'll--" What?

Empty begging. "I won't hurt you, I swear, I won't tell anyone."

"Ohhh," it moaned, a sympathetic note heavy in its voice. It knelt down, one hand dragging across Jules' cheek to the back of her head, cradling and lifting it closer to the single bone needle still hovering in place. Gently, faintly, the tip grazed the contour of her cheek as the Nightcap spoke.

"Dear girl, don't worry," it assured. "This will not hurt me at all."

The first sign that Jules and Nightcap aren't alone is the steady click of heels, stilettos, probably, which should be impractical in this city, but rain and poorly paved roads aren't an excuse not to look good.

And looking good is important, in her line of work, even if it also, unfortunately, means she isn't carrying her gun. Sometimes sacrifices have to made, Max just hopes this one doesn't get her killed.

(The bar has more than one exit, as all good bars do, and one of the girls Max works with had slipped out the back, come running for Max, for the woman who'd made sure any men who hurt them would disappear and never come back.

There's something out there, the girl had said, Some sorta monster, and Max had just smiled.)

"Put her down," It's an order, delivered with cold finality, Max's teeth already sharp points in her mouth, the claws on her fingers tipped with viper's poison, just in case, as she comes to a halt at the end of the alley.

The dark doesn't seem to bother her, not when the Sphinx has the eyes of a cat.

Whimpering, at the needle's scrape. She didn't want to know what kind of monster is was what whimpered, but she had to suspect it was a weak one. Too weak to be a monster and too terrible to be human, and in the meantime the voice is whispering terrible things. Desperation seizes up her limbs, her gaze too fixed on that needle, whimper escaping before she can do a thing against it. Her eyes turn black, and some absent part of her knows this should have happened in the beginning. Remembering what she is, what she can do, but even now she just tries to jerk back from the thing's grasp.

Jules isn't quite sure if relief or horror win out when she sees someone else. "Run," she tries to say, but it comes out as a rasp, like fear has stolen her voice away.

Dot. Dot. Dot. The needle poked three times, not breaking flesh, matching the light humming sound the Nightcap made as it considered this new arrival.

"I. Am. Busy." Dot. Dot. Dot. Once again. With a sigh, the Nightcap pushed the needle through cheek.

She hates when people have hostages; it makes just grabbing someone and tearing into their throat so much more difficult, which means instead of lunging forward like she wants to, Max approaches calmly.

"You're not quite human, are you?" It's a rhetorical question, don't answer, "I'm just wondering, is all, because I know what mojave toxin does to a human - first it gets hard to see, then to breathe, meanwhile their organs are slowly shutting down... I'm sure you get the picture - but I'm curious as to how that might affect something like you."

There's only few feet between them, if Nightcap hasn't moved since Max started talking.

The trick, here, is to get that thing's attention on her, instead of on the poor woman on the ground.

"Mojaaave," drawled the Nightcap, lifting its hand away. The offending needle was suddenly dust scattered across Jules' face, all of which Nightcap itself paid little heed as it sat up straighter, tilting its head toward Max, still wearing a crooked grin.

"Funny, funny word. Funny name. Are...you threatening me?" It made a sound, something amused – hee – and then drew in a long breath.

"Oh...You reek."

She almost-- sneezes, from the dust, and it seems like such a stupid thing to do when she's in this situation. Instead, she can feel the blood running down her cheek, taste it on the on the inside of her mouth as it pools on her tongue.

The taste of blood reminds her of what this is. It reminds her of what she is, and even if that's not enough to make her feel like she can stand, it does remind her that other people can't risk themselves for her. Not for a hybrid.

She twists as best she can, faster than a human should be able to move even if her strength feels like some far away, forgotten thing, and wrenches to try and take herself out of the things grasp, even as it hurts, tries to stand between this new woman, this would be protector and the Thing.

And then she tries to speak, but there are no words.

"Yes," Oh so simply.

Yes, she's threatening this creature, this woman, if that's what it is, and she doesn't care what she might smell like. Sex and cigarettes; magic, if this creature can smell things like that on her, but there's no time to wonder about that.

Because the young woman is moving, and Max is proud of her, for finding that strength, even if she'd simultaneously like to berate her for thinking it's necessary to act like a shield.

"You should leave," Colder than she needs to be, but she can't let her steadiness slip in front of an enemy.

The Nightcap twists, easily brushed aside by the burst of energy that took Jules well away from its grasp. Hardly an offense. Rather, it gave the monster a better look at the both of them. Regina's right eye was a hazy blur, but the dingy spectacle affixed to her left was enough to make out features quite clearly. Nighttime Darkov eyes. Pretty eyes.

Pretty girls.

Lazy, nonchalant, the Nightcap swayed heel to heel, arms spread wide and slack.

"Why? Why. Why, that's not good, no. I'm not offended, filthy girls. I'm not!" It laughed, shaking its head.

"Why, we could be family!"

Family. Her growl seems to make the air shudder, the roll of thunder that preempts the horror of her voice, a thing evolved to make human's dread twist. It's breaking glass and the shatter of bones and it scrapes through the air like the rasp of metal. "We are not family."

It's all or nothing, it feels like, she has to be the monster or she'll be a mess on the floor again, so that when she speaks it exposes row after row of sharp teeth.

"I'll tear you apart." Not for killing that man: for reminding her what it was to be sixteen years old and terrified, what it felt like to learn how terrible betrayal could be.

Max barely seems to react to the growl. It surprises her, not only the sound of it but the anger, and she wonders how the girl managed to find her strength again now, what this is girl is, because no human can make that sound. But her gaze doesn't leave the Nightcap; she won't take her eyes off the primary threat.

"Why don't you leave that to me?" She takes a step forward until she's standing beside Jules, delicately laying a hand on her arm, as if that might hold her back, "I've already killed my family once."

So if this thing wants to be family, Max can kill it, too.

And with that she lunges, closing the final distance between herself and the creature, aiming to drag sharp claws across its face, ready to twist out of the way if any of those bone needles reappear. She just has to hope the girl doesn't interfere.

The talk was probably something worth listening to, but the Nightcap had little sense for such things. Rather, it had more sense for its sense of smell: those girls...pretty girls. Filthy girls. Funny noises and ferocious faces. Do we know anything like this, darling?

Of course, no answer came when it asked. No matter. Things were happening.

Its attention is quickly wrestled back to the here and now by Max's move, and the Nightcap dug in, ripping through the years of training the Darkov body had to offer in such a case. Mid-size, high-speed targets...Regina Darkov was bred for such things.

It ducked, head tucked and hat-shaped beast itself bristling to stand sturdy against any possible touch. As Max's body was propelled forward one way, the Nightcap launched itself low the other, barreling past her legs and leaping upright just in time to greet Jules.

The hello consisted of a twirl, leg lifting high and heel dropping down fast.

In the monster's mind, humans are bred to be eaten: monsters are bred to enjoy, to feed and tear apart and bring down whatever misery they enjoy that given moment. The monster always loves a might, even as the human part of Jules recoils from it. Automatically, it blocks, fast, and it's the monster that's moving, now, going to work the momentum from Nightcap's kick back into throwing the thing back against a wall. She didn't see if it hurt her rescuer, and now she's locked onto the thing itself. If it hurt the rescuer, it would suffer more.

It's like waking up.

You won't hurt me again. Her lips curl back in a snarl, and she hurls herself forward, meaning to grab the thing by the throat, to go for its eyes, to break the wall with the force of the impact. When the monster wakes up and it can latch onto her anger, she gets more violent than she ever wants to be with her kills. This isn't because she needs to eat, this is because she wants to live, and because she'll enjoy it if she can get her hands on the thing with the needles.

WEEK ONE: meet and greet the meat

6/3: bar flies, darts, target practice [JULES]

quietly pushes assignment aside

slowly crawls from work

let me know if this doesn't work and I can changeinate it :')

UR GOOD

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I am so sorry, exams and thangs :C

np darling

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