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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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.

Max doesn't miss a step, already turning to grab at the creature again when it goes flying into the wall and she takes that as her cue to move into the role of the spectator. She knows enough about animals to know that whatever's moving through the girl is predatory, fierce, and it's not worth risking whether she can identity between friend and foe.

Her claws and teeth and poison stay shifted as she watches, just in case there's a need for her to step in again, and she's watching the fight with the sharp eyes of a cat, but for the moment, watching is all she'll do.

There's a gurgling sound and a crack, and Nightcap saw the stars Regina's eyes were clouded by. Blind, if the girl is blind; it only had the senses it could steal, after all.

And while pain was a threat to the girl, it was still just information to the monster, and it alone would decide how much was too much. It was a very poor judge of such things, and was once again surprised to find the delay in Regina Darkov's movements to its commands. Slow, slow, slow...

Sight was bleary and barely better than the black of a second before, while pressure against the windpipe grew and grew, alarming all the rest of it to react. Tucked into that slight concave of wall freshly made, the Nightcap was able to better bend, using its assailant's body as footholds to bring feet up and up – hip, chest, shoulder – and lock ankles around her neck. As it did so, the Nightcap brought hands to Jules' wrists, changing mind about grabbing them at all and instead dragging knuckles along her forearms until a fresh needle blasted out, eight in all, into flesh to make a case for letting go of its throat.

A mutual strangle hold. This is bound to go well, some part of Jules that is taking the back seat to her own ferocity, muses. Faster. What would her father do? What would he say? He'd tell her to destroy it before it could hurt someone else. She should destroy it, she should try.

Needles, again. The sound that tears past her throat is beyond her humanity, rage and pain and that whole family of things mixed together. She wants to crush the thing's bones, to tear ribbons away from her. Jules can feel fear pooling her under skin again, spreading and threatening to freeze her up, but the monster keeps pushing. Her skin itches as the slick of her own blood peels over, muscles burn with the needles (she's heard sharp things should hurt less, but nothing is ever so horrifying as needles) and her breath is a pained rasp.

Run is the only concrete thing running through her head, but violence is snapping through her limbs, and in the end it's some mix of the two that has her release the thing's neck and grab at its ankles, wrench it away, if she can, trying to fling it away from herself, away from the person who tried to save her.

The Nightcap was thrown, and it curled up to roll when it met the slick concrete, tumbling and twisting to its knees in a hurry, hands scrambling to– oh. Well.

Well, it would simply just have to snatch up those cigarettes Jules had lost mere minutes ago, wouldn't it? It did, laughter in its panting breath as it scrambled to its feet. It's certainly in no hurry to be choked again – pain was easy to work through, but it made Regina stagger and sputter. Inconvenient.

It flung volley after volley of those bone-made needles as it trotted backward, heading out toward the street where it was open enough to run. Run and...find some height. If it weren't for an escape, the high ground would give it a nice place from which to play at some target practice.

This is a mess; if it was just herself and the laughing thing, Max could have this cleaned up quickly enough, but the woman, whatever she is, makes things more complicated. Especially with how she's reacting, terrified one minute and violent the next; it's too hard to predict.

When Nightcap is thrown, Max moves to intercept, putting herself between the two so she can just finish this with poison sunk into skin. But she sees Nightcap move to throw those needles and has to adjust course, grabbing Jules and hauling her behind cover, ignoring the pain as a few needles catch and slice at her skin. She's never leaving her guns at home again.

"Are you alright?" To Jules, spoken quickly, because Max would very much like to go finish off this fight, but she also doesn't want to leave this woman on her own, especially if the thing manages to shake her and double back.

She's ready to pursue, bracing against the ground, a tightly pressed spring. The energy is released and she surges forward, just in time for Max to grab her and throw her off course. It's a shock, jarring, because she moves differently from the Thing, the contact feels different. She's trying to focus, trying to remember think how to answer the question as the rows of teeth retract.

"I'm, um." She's hurting, she remembers. Blood is still running down her face from the stab to her cheek, mouth bloody, and her arms are stinging. Jules blinks, can't look at Max. Just sees the needles in her arms, before her breath falters, muttering no under her breath with other desperate things that repeat themselves over as she starts to claw them out of her arms, never mind the blood.

Nightcap isn't there, Max isn't there, it's just Jules and needles in the dark again.

Shit.

"Look at me," Her tone is completely different than how she spoke to the Nightcap, a lot gentler now, softer, and she catches Jules' hands to stop her clawing at the needles, "You're safe, it's alright."

Carefully, if Jules will let her, she starts to pull out the needles, even as she looks around in the dark around them. Her ears are shifting to mimic that of an owl, to pick up even the slightest sound, in case that thing is lingering.

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WEEK ONE: meet and greet the meat

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I am so sorry, exams and thangs :C

np darling

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