NationStates Jolt Archive

Carnival is the capitol of Carnivaall - it makes perfect sense, and indeed it the pit around which the pendelum swings...

Carnival lives up to its name. It is Event Central of the World. "Any one can give a party, a True Carnivalian makes everything an Event!” And never a night goes by without something special happening. The wealthy are always welcome, and the less so as well - because service workers are always needed…and the poor are always with us… and nake such wonderful snacks, meals and who knows might even turn their owners a pretty profit...

A River runs through it. And acts as the divide between Have and have Not.

The north side, North Shore, with its rolling forested hills that tumble artistically down to the sea is the bastion of wealth and privilege. Those hills, with their spectacular ocean views, sparkle at night as if handfuls of gems were strewn across velvet of midnight green. The elegant casinos, restraunts and hotels are among the finest found anywhere, with every imaginable amenity. The residences are walled, security gated and true estates, many covering acreage in the double digits, even those that prefer to dwell in high rise condo’s are surrounded by landscaped parks. A handful of deep-water, private marinas provide luxurious accommodations for the super yachts that come a cruising and there is an airport, equipped to handle even wide bodied the newes of HST's but no commercial flights land there.

LEO’s <Law Enforcement Officers>, and private security that resemble miniature armies abound, but the Law knows better than to interfere with a resident going about their pleasures. Little save open, public murder will get a resident of the North into trouble. And Dueling, which is legal, is not considered murder.

Across the river lies the South End, flatter, lower lying lands with many green watered bayous winding through the urban and suburban landscape. One finds the docks, both cargo and cruise lines, the Carnival International Airport, and the just recently opened Carnival Star Port where Pan Am lifts off weekly taking the wealthy enough to vacation on the space station, the on the moon, or other worlds entirely. There are countless gambling establishments < many even family oriented>, amusement parks, night clubs, restraunts for every taste and pocketbook. And then there is the world’s largest shopping mall- the World Mall- where tourists and even the locals regularly get lost. Ten floors above ground, five below, a ice skating rink, a convention center, five hotels - not a one less than four stars, an amusement park with zoo, a water park, two wedding chapels, a funeral parlor, three bordellos, and it’s own police station, along with 60 restraunts, 76 bars, two funeral homes, four high rise condominiums, seven office towers, a post office, and it’s own zip code.

The middle class on down dwell here, on the south side, many in quite a bit of luxury and security, though slums to near slums are more prevalent. The schools, on the whole, are good, there’s even a popular, if not renown University. The young don’t seem to mind being crowded four to a tiny one bedroom apartment, they’re seldom home, as there is always something to do, something to see, some place ‘in’ to be seen.

The beaches on the south end of the South side have excellent surfing, and barely an hours drive inland, north and east you have mountains that provide excellent skiing in the winter and picturesque hiking and camping in the summer. Racetracks, for horses, dogs, cars and bikes. Sports stadiums for every sport imaginable, venues for every sort of entertainment, including the more …intimate sorts.

Carnival is also the home to a prolific movie industry. In the many studios magic is made, as are careers, the back lots home to everything from Any-where-ville to Twilight Zone, Artic waste to Tropical Hell. The techies can make you anything from a life like Alien to a Vampire.

And speaking of Vampires…

Even vampires need vacations now and then, and Carnival - with its heartily embraced decadence and twenty seven hour a day lifestyle - is the perfect place. The fact that it was created by, controlled by, and protected by vampires is just an added benefit. Carnival has always had a large population of vampires, as many as two for each fifty thousand non-transient population. And the Prince has a Very lenient policy on how many can vacation at any one time.

So, fly in, cruise in, arrive how you like, but be aware that you might not leave. The underbelly of Carnical is very much alive and ...hungry.

It IS the hunting season after all.


OOC: Please feel free to post a bit of a character bio here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=570637) and join in the horror, and the fun!

Interesting north south divide, but both had their problems, pleasures and interesing places.

Me? I find that some of the most interesting are the most dangerous. And where I was at the moment was defintely registering as dangerous...

It had started as what seemed to be your standard Satanism Light faux black mass...and I hadn't expected anything to show up, especially not a demon. Yep,I looked over the rusted railing of the catwalk once again to double check. One larger than life, very pissed off demon. Horm, tail, bat wings and bad attitude. With all the associated abilities to boot...

It was a good thing I had standard operating proceedures, casue without them I would've been screwed, blued and tatooed.

Sex is fun but only with those I trust, woad is for Celts and I have a tattoo thank you.

Now I just have to kill him before he kills me. He's already eaten those who had the temerity to interupt what ever he considered improtant. I don't recognise him so as to that? I have no idea...

But I am about to do my best to interupt his next move, which looks to be taking balefire and burning things - like say the abandoned factory we were currently in - to new heights...

Erm, okay that didn't go over to well, the holy water that the exploding bolt splattered all over his warty scarlet skin didn't do anything but make him errupt into blisters and boils - and definitely not fatally. Though his screams were being well hewawrd fully thiryt miles away, if the ringing in my ears was any indication...

I ducked the not near half hearted enought ball of balefire that he tossed my way, and sprinted down the catwalk to firmer ground. The metal was melting behind me with each step. Thank what ever absent deity you want, but I am fast when properly motivated...

and being a demons dinner was definite motivation...

I guess I had better bring out the heavy armaments. The noise and atomic bomb type clouds risiing skyward would be attracting attention - even in Carnival.

Nightfall was about as close as Special Agent Vorn Havas had gotten to sunrise in a very long time. His quarry didn't do much during the day, and the whole night-life club scene had really become his thing.

It was a little different around here, though. Carnivall had long been a testing ground for his kind. Quarry was abundant, as well as relaxed and off-guard most of the time. Like any good hunter, Vorn respected his prey, more so than any recreational member of his profession. A deer wasn't going to drain you dry or tear your limbs off for its shear amusement. Vampires, werewolves, and whatever demon dejour were far more likely to do so, however.

There were special considerations as well. Deer and such weren't sentient creatures, at least not in the conventional sense. Vampires etc. typically were, and as such citizens of one country or another. He couldn't, technically, murder citizens of another nation, which was why he stuck to the slums. The higher-class vamps and such that vacationed here were safe, so long as they stayed on their side of the river. They could out-run him if they wanted to, the older ones at least. It was hard, however, to outrun a huge bullet flying at the speed of something much smaller, sort of like a bodybuilder having the speed of an olympic sprinter. Vorn could usually kill them, or at least blow something off of them, before they reached his self-specified limit of advance. He also wasn't in the habit of blasting away at the 'good' badguys, the ones who tried to live normal lives and hurt as few people as possible in the process. Those, he ignored for the most part. If they could control the animal within, then so could he. It was the sick ones, the rabid menaces, that he enjoyed putting down most.

The other upside was that Argonians weren't exactly uncommon in Carnivall, and he didn't exactly stick out. The vamps usually came to him anyway, there weren't many Argonians fitting his description in the slums, even fewer with his brand of style, which could only be described as tactical-meets-wild-wild-west, the black cargo pants and assault boots combined with an older-style black leather fast-draw rig for his custom-built double-barrel hand cannon. The sword and the rifle were a lot harder to hide, and he left those in his ratty rental apartment locked in a biometric case when he wasn't actually hunting. The Judge and the Archangel (his custom TCC) were his constant companions on most nights. He'd gotten wind of something actually eating the inhabitants around here recently and it didn't match any of the established protocols or feeding patterns of anything his agency had encountered before. As a field-testing agent it was his job to study this new threat, and kill it if possible, then report back as to how he'd done it.

It was a job he took seriously, but not overly so. In fact, he liked to shoot people and this job allowed him to do it worry-free for the most part as well as get access to some sweet custom hardware, almost monthly, to test and evaluate on the seemingly never-ending supply of occoult oddities this city played host to. Night had fallen, however, and that meant it was time for him to do a little recon and attempt to locate this new threat...

It may not have been what the Argonian was looking for, though it did happen to land all but at his scaly feet...and it was seriously pissed... or so it seemed as it screamed in fury and leapt to it's stiletto high heels - five inches of heels if they were a millimeter...

The horns were even longer (http://www.logoi.com/pastimages/img/demon_4.jpg) and growing ball of balefire in its black patent leather gloved fist were other clues that what it was not some delicate inhabitant of the nearest Dom and Sub Club...

"Down or die" Came the authorative cry from behind it.

The first thing to do when entering a city you've never been to before is to find some suitable accomodation especially when you have an innocent fourteen year old orphan following you and thus Charon immediately began to look for a hotel where he could stay with Andromeda for a while as they wandered around Carnival until they grew bored with it. As wanderers, they would stay in a place for a while and then leave as they had done ever since they left some unknown land faraway from Carnival where there seemed to be stability under the oligarchy that reigned. While Charon was speaking to people about hotels, Andromeda was busying herself with examining every inch of Carnival with her sky blue eyes which pierced through the unknown to reveal the inherent strangeness in this place which she found amusing to say the least.

Charon tapped her on the shoulder before leading her into what looked like a modest hotel where they would share a suite for several nights during their stay in Carnival. She liked the place although she wasn't fully accustomed to it just yet. It was a lovely place, she thought, but she somehow came to detest that word as she remembered the once lovely life she had before it was all taken from her without her even noticing that it had been. Her parents were dead as the result of some horrible tragedy that no one cared to tell the dead couple's child about and so Andromeda ran away from her temporary guardians in search of the truth or, at least, in search of shelter since she knew how much girls like her were worth to certain individuals of the wicked persuasion. Charon, who was well versed in detesting such people, would often refer to the stories of how much virgin girls were more desirable than those who already went through Hell and back. It wasn't known if Andromeda had been forcefully initiated into those repugnant mysteries but she knew she hadn't been. Would Carnival be where she finally would? If Charon had it his way, all the men who dared tried would be killed. He loved shedding their blood. It was a service to civilization in his mind. In the end, what awaited these two nomadic travelers in Carnival? Did they dare to know?

Vorn quickly whipped the Archangel out of its holster, the low cut in the front making the now-instinctive motion that much faster, and bringing the beautiful two-shot engine of death to bear on this equally beautiful demonic menace. Indeed, he did find human women, which this clearly wasn't but did resemble to a degree, to be extremely attractive. Sort of a taboo in his homeland but then again this wasn't the Black Marsh and he wasn't going to be asking this creature for her number...

"Hello there..."

There was a small smile behind the sights of his hand-howitzer before Vorn triggered a single round into the upper thoratic cavity, just below the throat. The massively-powerful weapon recoiled in his firm, one-handed grip, then Vorn began to turn away to avoid the obviously incoming blast of demonic flame. He wasn't sure if the command was directed at him, the demon, or if it was even the demon itself talking, but it had never ended well when he'd stuck around to find out.

Vorn finished his rotation two feet to the right, weapon again trained on the demon but this time level with its head. The sheer force of his weapon at this range would likely splatter the cranium all over the street. A messy kill but effective. Even demons couldn't function without heads, and his first shot had been to see if it would function with a two-inch crater in its chest...

"I'd say you're the one who's doing the dying, friend! Tell the Devil I sent you!"

His speech was the customary deep bass tone of rage, but carried an air of cockyness and an almost playful undertone...

Oh the mess the massive round made in the demons chest seemed to not slow it fatally, though it did cause it to tumble backwards, ass over spike heels, and wrench it's aim off. The bale fire exploded in a searing wash against the brick and mortar of the next building over. It singed the Argoninan alightly but didn't manage to set him alight.

"Down or die"

I watched as Tamu, a weird little hunter who looked much like an origami Yoda (http://www.iainclaridge.co.uk/blog/wp-content/uploads/yoda.jpg), skittered backwards to miss getting squished by the tumbling demon. I wondered what was up, him giving a warning like he had - that wasn't his usual 'moe'. And he didn't fire his oversized hand canon either - I always wondered how he managed it. He stood barely a yard tall but the weirdling gun was apparently recoilless...

But that was speculation for another day as I tracked the now female appearing demon with the sights on my big gun...and a sharp three round burst - seemingly liquid light impacting and cascading all over her -
just as...

"I'd say you're the one who's doing the dying, friend! Tell the Devil I sent you!"

"Shoot first, talk later with her type" I couldn't help but laugh, though honestly I wasn't sure exactly which variety of demon spawn she was. Not that it mattered, she was flailing about in apparent agonizing death throws...

Vorn didn't respond quite yet. He seemed to radiate battle-calm now that the threat was down and dying. For the sake of science he simply walked up to the writhing creature and fired the last round directly into its head at close range before turning away again and hitting the release button on his rather unique weapon. It split open like a breach loader and ejected two massive nickel-plated brass casing into the night air automatically.

Vorn replaced them with an identical set of his standard solid-slug ammunition, more of a baseline tester than anything. He figured a hollowpoint configuration would be better if there was a next time, and he logged that away in the depths of his mind for when he arrived home that morning. There was also a note to start loading the second barrel with an explosive round for added effect in case the first shot didn't kill it like he expected and he had to reload. With a flick of his wrist he closed the breech-loading powerhouse and spun it rather deftly into its holster...

"Ah but where is the fun in that? I had that well in hand, by the way..."

He was facing the new aquaintance of his at this point. He strode forward and presented a fingerlessly-gloved hand...

"Vorn Havas, and no I can't tell you why I'm here or what I'm doing..."

The comment and introduction was delivered with a smile of sorts, his dark eyes alive with a kind of criminal mischief...

"Or you'd have to try and kill me afterwards? Thats damned unfriendly. Besides she wasn't as harmless as she looked " I replied in much the same tone. "Me, I'm here in a old fashioned bus mans holliday, nothing secret about it."

"Amasaratu Omega out of Perigrine by Abaddon, Karasu Pride." I took the prooffered hand in my own gloved one and gave it brief brisk shake that had no interest in macho games but nothing limp wristed about it either. If a male couldn't accept a strong woman bad cess to him and may he never find a bed partner again.

I looked over to observe the remains. The body was melting, as demonic corpses had a tendency to do when the entity that formed them had been forced out of this Reality. It might be able to return in a century or two, but for the nonce it was seriously out of action. My rounds had been Resonant Light, developed specifically for extra dimentional types, as it was now obvious this one had been.

Tamu was long vanished I noticed with a lifted eyebrow. He wsz getting weirder year by year - but then again he lived here year around and so maybe that was to be expected.


Turning back to Vorn Havas "And if you aren't here hunting, you are formidibly armed for a chance passer by...What else is there fun to do in Carnival this time of year?"

Vorn returned his hand to his weapon, resting it on the grip in a casual fashion...

"I'm kidding. And yes, I'm hunting..."

He threw a glance back at the melting corpse before returning his gaze to his newest ally...

"Seems as though you are, too. Not quite as discreet as I but much more effective..."

The statement ended with a laugh, a short one. It was odd that he'd just get assaulted like that, but then again maybe the thing had figured out who or what he was. Not many people had a handcannon strapped to their thigh, even in a place as odd as this...

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Come here often?"

I threw back my head laughing heartily "No not very discrete, but then again at this time of year, one doesn't have to be. That’s why I like it here - more dangerous yes, but as long as one isn't committing human sacrifice in the town square" ah my tone could have dried a desert of it's available water "One must think of the children after all... One can pretty much take any tactic needed to take down the take outable...and of course they have license to do the same to us, no?"

“So are you coming or going from the Dark Hunters Other Ball?” I asked with a grin. No we hunter types – a very loose confederation of teams, agencies, and many more of us semi loners – didn’t host a ball, but for years now there had been a very discrete but findable if you ran in the right circles semi organized convention held here in Carnival. Meet to exchange notes, snatch up the newest hunting goodies coming out of place like Arkam, and others of infamous note, scarf up some of the better food to be found about and a place for us to get rip roaring drunk in some semblance of safety, as well as indulge in other things that it isn’t necessarily safe to do during the normal run of things.

Vorn reguarded her(?) with a puzzled look. He been here for a few months now, the first of several to man this one-man outpost, and he'd never heard of whatever it was she was talking about...

"Neither I suppose. I'm going to assume it's some sort of gathering of like-minded individuals like ourselves would gather for all sorts of cool shit. As long as there aren't any Simitarian VIB's in attendance. I do this for sport, mostly at least. Those sons of bitches commit genocide. I'm not allowed to really disclose much else but let's say there's a lot of me and we operate in teams and use a lot of the same gear. Take what you will from that but back to the point: What is this Other Dark Hunter Ball Thing and whereabouts is it? You have me interested..."

Vorn would have to check this out, if only to gather more information on future targets and procure more nifty gear to test out. The Director was supposed to be stopping by soon and if Vorn made any friends in this little community these were the ones to make. While a government agency they were beyond unconventional, and with that came unusual relationships with other such groups. Vorn seemed to have stumbled across one...

Now that I came to think on it I hadn't ever seen any Argonians at the Ball, and that made me blink and pause for a moment. No they weren't on any proscribed list, and nothing 'official' - and that was a hoot just thinking about- had ever circulated... There was a sustainable local population of them.

He mentioned the VIB and I shuddered - any of them showing up here would be dead faster than they killed the luckless wights they were so poncingly afraid of. The Strange Folk has been around as long as humans had, if not longer and just because they didn't fall within the so called mythical 'norm' didn't deserve to die. The way I felt about the VIB wasn't for polite company, but I refrained.

I cocked an eyebrow at Vorn and tested the windss for a moment...no he smelled, moved and talked like a hunter...and he wasn't a plant.

"Don't ask me why, but I think some one has been deliberately leaving you all out in the cold so to speak, and while I'm not one of the organisers, I have enough haul to find out why...wanna come ask some questions with me, knock back a few and meet some of the others?"

http://www.atddm.com/ama11.jpg

Definitely female

Again with the elusive smile...

"I'd enjoy that. Lead the way..."

Vorn resolved to leave the rest of his gear stashed as it was in his apartment, he didn't need it. His group was a relatively new organization in the usually-ancient hunter groups, cults, what have you and the fact that he'd been neglected didn't surprise him. Perhaps he'd only been overlooked. A single agent like himself in a city filled with a supposedly diverse hunter underculture would warrant that sort of mistake...

It wasn't far, or at least this years venue wasn't. I'd been headed there when I had stopped to check out the rumor of a human sacrifice. But in Carnival one never knew from block to block what one might stumble upon.

My big gun disappeared into the place where such weren't much noticed but were always at hand. The extra dimensional pocket was mean for swords - I liked mine easily accessible over my shoulder.. Moving quickly but quietly through the network of allies. The one good thing about Carnival’s alleys was they didn’t suddenly, randomly appear and disappear , unlike some places I could mention. But they were narrow, filthy, noisome places were the rats were bigger than minipins and a hell of a lot fiercer. And generally rabid. I kept a wary eye as I maneuvered past bodies dead, possibly undead, and mostly going to be dead before morning, past overflowing dumpsters, and piles of refuse I refused to try and identify.

Nothing leapt out on us as we moved briskly along. Unobtrusively I observed him as we covered the distance. He moved well, and was as observant and cautious as I. He was comfortable in himself and felt no need to break companionable silence with small talk. I like that in a man. Too many of us had egos bigger than our reputations and a vast need to fill them – or sweet silence – with too much chatter..

Then we were at a door three steps down and bound about with discrete wards and sigils that the discerning would be able to translate. I rapped hard on it once then pulled it open to reveal a small foyer. Stairs led up through one opening, and there was a door in the opposite wall. The room was mostly occupied by a large antique – all wood that is and heavy as sin- wheelchair. On it’s multitude of thick pillows perched a young woman, most of her face hidden behind heavy opaque glasses. She looked up from the book she was using her second sight to read – Mim had been blind since birth and her damaged spine would never let her walk again, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous…

“Ama! What brought a boytoy with you…No…” She studied Vorn for a long moment…”No that’s never been your style anyway…and he’s too dangerous and competent to be any ones toy….” She finished her look over – unnerving maybe but her sight was True Sight and unfoolable -and nodded briskly “Welcome to the Ball Hunter. I’m the door keeper for the time being, so let me get your name and get you an amulet. We’ve got all most all the usual crowd here Ama, so take him on in and introduce him around. That ass from Arklay has three tables full of goodies and HMS – E, from down your way has some new stuff too.”

While Vorn was rather unnerved by the fact that this seemingly blind and crippled woman could so easily ascertain his profession, and that this group of hunters trusted her to watch the door. In that case she had to be much more dangerous than her appearance would lead him to believe...

"Name's Vorn Havas..."

He cast a glance in the direction of his new companion, Ama. The weapon from earlier had vanished and he had no idea where it had gone. He was, however, intrigued at the mention of cool stuff being sequestered within and ignored the comments about him being the plaything of his female companion. While the thought had crossed his mind he doubted there as any future in it. Not many human women found a scaly embrace appealing after all...

Charon & Andromeda ...

The modest hotel, Parabia Hiltone Inn, wasn't bad, Graveyard Shadow Heights was a decent enough neighborhood, and the hotel had good extended stay rates. It even sprang for a patrol contract with the cops. And tht got it the benefit of a Budget renta claptrap location in the lobby. None of the cars were new, none were luxury but they all were decently maintained.

Ecploring could be done by foot, aboard the metro - a combination of electric busses following fixed routes, electric jitnees and ricksaws, a few smike beltching yellow cab and for those willing to pay for it a hired driver and limo.

But there was lots to see, of every nature close by, and more for those willing to live dangerously.

The dull eyeed man manning the registration countere had thrust a handfull of slick, professionally done but rather garish leaflests in to Charon's hand as he finished checking in. "All of these have discounts. See the sights, get a good meal, all at reduced rates" he'd chanted before turning away to answer the ring of the telephone.

He'd never even looked in Andromeda's direction.

The Zainzibar Land copter flies up to the border, drops a crate, and flies off. Realising that they weren't zapping him anymore, the Psycho Cannibal breaks free. He begins to whoop and yell, and run around. He quickly begins to celebrate being in a new place, by grabbing a citizen, dragging him away, and biting his neck open.

The dull eyeed man manning the registration countere had thrust a handfull of slick, professionally done but rather garish leaflests in to Charon's hand as he finished checking in. "All of these have discounts. See the sights, get a good meal, all at reduced rates" he'd chanted before turning away to answer the ring of the telephone.

He'd never even looked in Andromeda's direction.

Charon was the only one who did any talking in the hotel's lobby while Andromeda remained totally silent with her stoic eyes examining her surroundings with curious interest. All she happened to do was simply follow the man who had saved her from a shitty life of wandering all alone as he read over the pamphlets on the way to the hotel suite which they would share since Andromeda didn't seem to mind not having her own room and because Charon felt it merely economical not to have to rent two rooms when one could easily be enjoyed. The room, when they entered, seemed to be quite modest and comfortable with Andromeda sitting on the bed while watching Charon look outside at the streets.

".....Do you think we will have fun here, Charon?"

Charon turned around to smile at his ward and to tell her how they would have plenty of fun as long as it was economical since he didn't feel like losing all his money needlessly in this new place he hadn't known much about and it was also out of his concern for Andromeda's well being that he did not want to lose all his money during the visit. It did not take them too long to unpack before setting off into the streets in the hopes of getting to use some of those discounts for a quick and satisfactory lunch.

OOC: I am willing to have something happen to either Charon or Andromeda but I do not want them dead unless I consent to that. Zanzibar Land, perhaps that cannibal could try to take Andromeda? Perhaps, if he does, Charon could fight him but it's also possible she'd be alone at the time. Also, I'm not taking part in the hunt. My characters are just wanderers trying to make a living in a bleak world. :D

OCC: sure, the cannibal will try to eat her for dessert, or something even worse
The cannibal had found a nice place to store the bodies (number now up to 3), an abandoned building. He began to stalk around for more victims, when he spotted a man and woman wandering around, he spotted his next targets and began to stalk them

OCC: sure, the cannibal will try to eat her for dessert, or something even worse
The cannibal had found a nice place to store the bodies (number now up to 3), an abandoned building. He began to stalk around for more victims, when he spotted a man and woman wandering around, he spotted his next targets and began to stalk them

OOC: I never said you could eat them; I'd prefer either a scuffle or an attempted kidnapping gone wrong since I have plans for these two. Go ahead with the stalking though. :tongue:

Charon looked around to see if there were any restaurants nearby and it so happened that he had been able to find one right next to what looked like an antique store which Andromeda wanted to visit and, since the two were pretty much close together, he did not mind letting her go look around while he placed two orders.

Neither of them knew that there was an alley nearby where a crazed psychopath was lurking around for his next victim.....

OOC: Remember.....I don't want Andromeda dead but beating, etc her is permissible as it will give Charon a pretty good excuse to go all bloodthirsty. ;)

OCC: I meant he would attempt, but whatever.
The Psycho Cannibal, was just about on them. He chose to go after the girl, being that there were less people in the antique store. sneaking around in there, he found an old stone staff. He stalked the woman around, never dececting his prescence. Finally he made his move, striking her in the back of the head. The old man who ran the store came to look, and was about to yell when the Psycho Cannibal smacked him in the face with the staff, severely (perhaps fataly) wounding the old man. He then took the woman and the staff and began to scamper out to his new hideout.

OCC: I meant he would attempt, but whatever.
The Psycho Cannibal, was just about on them. He chose to go after the girl, being that there were less people in the antique store. sneaking around in there, he found an old stone staff. He stalked the woman around, never dececting his prescence. Finally he made his move, striking her in the back of the head. The old man who ran the store came to look, and was about to yell when the Psycho Cannibal smacked him in the face with the staff, severely (perhaps fataly) wounding the old man. He then took the woman and the staff and began to scamper out to his new hideout.

OOC: My mistake.

Andromeda never really understood why she had taken an interest in the antique store but she never seemed to question her unexpected interest much as she went around to examine all of the store's trinkets as if she were an elderly woman in the body of a thirteen or so year old girl. As she looked around with a little music box in her hand, Andromeda felt a blunt force hit her at the back of the head and she fell down to the ground after blacking out. Charon, on the other hand, was busying himself with trying to get some idiotic customer at the restaurant to get out so he could place an order with the waiters. He had no idea that a psycho cannibal had taken Andromeda captive and he never knew what the man's intentions were. Andromeda was still passed out as she was taken away to the man's hideout.

When Charon got into the antique store to look for his ward, he noticed the old man bleeding on the ground and rushed to his aid before hearing him mentioned that a man had taken Andromeda away with him. Charon helped the man out before noticing one of Andromeda's ribbons on the ground. He put it into his pocket and walked outside calm and collectively with rage burning in his heart. He would scour Carnival until he found the girl he pledged his life to protect.....but, before he went out, he took the two orders and ate them himself as "body fuel" for his upcoming project.

While Charon began to look about for his abducted ward, Andromeda...

No one paid any real attention to the hulking fugure as it scurried along the streets. No one was screaming, the limp body it carried wasn't bleeding copiously...but most of all they weren't being paid to pay attention.

The cops around here hadn't been paid to be interested, yet either. Law enforcement in the south side was much like that in the Harry Canyon segment of the old cult classic Heavy Metal. And most can't afford their fees.

So while their game of hide and seek began, so did other games as newcomers found Carnival to their liking ...or not.

The Psycho Cannibal carried her to his lair. He took all her stuff and threw it in a pile with the other things. He then chained her up naked with the others. He unchained the first one, already dead, and began to lick and consume its flesh.

The Psycho Cannibal carried her to his lair. He took all her stuff and threw it in a pile with the other things. He then chained her up naked with the others. He unchained the first one, already dead, and began to lick and consume its flesh.

One would normally be frightened out of their wits but Andromeda did not seem to be frightened with the prospect of death which she knew had loomed over her ever since her parents had died. It had seemed to her that she could have died at any time and perhaps this was her time; she could do nothing but stare at the strange man eating the flesh of a human being which made her wonder if she was destined to be his next meal. She hoped that Charon would find and save her and she hoped that she wouldn't become someone's meal. "....Charon...." She said that word over and over again in her mind.

OOC: I'm trying to think on how Charon could possibly find the hideout. ;)

OCC: Chased in the house by muggers? Hear her scream perhaps?

OCC: Chased in the house by muggers? Hear her scream perhaps?

OOC: I'll think of something; until then, you may have your cannibal enjoy having her as a prisoner in his hideout. ;)

The streets were always crowded, the bars and restaurants always open. Carnival was supposed to be the best place to have a good time, no matter what. The fact that people were more or less left to their own devices in Carnival made the place seem even more attractive to the many lowlifes that populated the world, whether they were on either the north or south side. Just because they might have money didn’t make them any less scum.

Heathstepper grinned to himself as he sniffed the night air as he looked down on the city before him. The smell of the place, or rather the coalesced smells of millions partying, drinking, dancing or providing services to the rest, was like a bludgeon to the nose. The sheer vibrancy of the place was refreshing, compared to his usual hunting choices. They were small places, far from the rest of civilisation, taking the odd lone hiker or farmer out late at night. But Carnival… it looked like it would be the perfect place to set up for a while, call home for a bit. The werewolf doubted that the odd reveller would be missed, especially since it was the sort of place that would attract more of the sort to it like moths to a candle.

The werewolf made his way towards the slummier areas of the city, the sort of area he was more at home in. He was dressed in blue jeans, beige t-shirt, a black jacket and a black woollen hat as well as carrying a large hiking backpack, taken from a victim a few months back. In it were a couple of changes of clothes, as well as his two firearms. Whilst he regarded the mass of humanity as little more than prey to be take as and when he wished, Heathstepper knew that there were those amongst them that wouldn’t take too kindly to being on the menu. The werewolf had had a couple of run-ins with those who hunted his kind and he didn’t much wish to be unprepared if it happened again.

Heathstepper shoved his way through the crowds, ignoring angry looks or shouts from drunken revellers, making his way towards a cheap hotel that he’d chosen by looking through a guidebook that had been bought from a tourist information booth. It was on the periphery of the main parts of the city, far enough away to be cheapish, but close enough for most things to remain in walking distance. All the sights and smells of this city were new to the werewolf, and he wanted to have an explore in human form before any forays under the full moon.

But for now, he wanted a drink.

The Psycho cannibal begins to feast on some of the other corpses
He then goes to his living victim, and begins to lick her, but not eat her. Prolonging her suffering would give him more enjoyment. She was trying to break free, but he had tied her down very well. He began to breath into her face, his breath smelled like decay, and he said,"I hope you enjoy your time left on Earth, may your soul fly quickly when I'm done." She screamed.

Vorn touched Ama lightly on the shoulder, trying to get her attention...

"I'm going to mill about for a bit. But don't worry, I won't stray far..."

He flashed his wry, reptillian smile again before stepping away, his hand lingering on her shoulder a second longer than needed. She wasn't human, not in the usual sense at least. She was also quite competent when it came to dishing out some royal pain on whatever go in her way. The eyes were particularly attractive, though, the same and different at the same time if that made any sense.

Vorn, his occupation what it was and his race being what they were, felt at home down here, mingling with others who shared his occupation. Argonians were much like the Predators of cinematic lore. All shared a love to range far from home and a lust for the hunt, and the satisfaction of a clean kill. The tables were stocked with all manner of interesting swag, firearms and magical trinkets to clothing and even tactical gear for those among them who were less of a hobbyist and more of a full-time operator.

He'd recieved most of his training from a combination of old-world Argonian blademasters and foreign-hired mercenaries from a now-defunct private military corporation nearby in the home region. Argonians before that point knew little of firearms, but the concept was similar to that of the bow and arrow and most had adapted quickly. The previous Order, known as the Silver Claw, was a cult of warrior monks who performed much the same duties that the new agency that took its place carried out, albiet with much less religion and a lot more firepower. Vorn jokingly referred to it as the 'religion of piece', their god the almighty Director and they themselve the instraments of his will sent to strike down evil where ever it decided to hide with the appropriate permission and that usually warranted a laugh from those around him.

An item in particular caught his slit-pupiled eye: an old Wildey Magnum chambered for the hard-hitting .475 Wildey caliber. If anyone had seen 'Death Wish' with Charles Bronson they'd get the idea. It was a big hulking monster of a semi-automatic, a chunk of steel that gave new meaning to the term 'boom-stick'. While his custom Thompson Center Encore packed a lot more stopping power, it only held two shots and took a moment to reload. Come to think of it, his Weatherby was exactly the same way. The Judge in his lower-back holster held five rounds and his silk-sword never needed a reload.

The Wildey, on the other hand, held seven shots of bear-killing bedlam and mayhem in a single-stack magazine. While he didn't buy it outright he did pick it up and paw over it for a bit, his mind throwing a host of modifications and tweaks into a veritable rolladex headed with a new title for the piece, which he'd record after he thought it up. It would obviously need something shorter in the barrel department, since this example was a hefty twelve inches. The grips, too, would need to be replaced since the standard wood wouldn't last long and didn't achieve that 'cool' factor the slightly deranged armorers the agency maintained strove for at all costs. It would also have to be chromed and engraved, too. That was a given for a 'use-it-or-lose-it' budget...

"Cool gat, man. You got any more? I'm going to need around fifty..."

The shopkeeper eyed him oddly, then took note of the expensive-looking artillery-esque thunderhorse on Vorn's right thigh...

"And I can pay in cash. I'll have an associate of mine swing by tomorrow night and pick them up..."

The silent shopkeeper nodded, then accepted a rather large wad of currency from Vorn's scaly grasp before the tattooed Argonian moved onwards down the line. A large-caliber automatic that wasn't a god-damned Desert Eagle was a welcome change of pace. He'd also noted that the Wildey wasn't quite as heavy as the hefty DE...

"I'm going to mill about for a bit. But don't worry, I won't stray far..."

Ama didn't move out from under his touch, as she met his eyes, her smile reaching her own - something uncommon for her save around those she liked - and his smile, and the merriment mostly hidden but still discernable in his eyes, was making her more and more interested in getting to know him enough to find out if she liked him. She strongly suspected that she would.

But she never got intimate lightly, not being one for one night stands, but her lips curled in a little cats grin as she watched him move off. He moved with a lithe, powerful grace that had other hunters watching and appraising, and not just because he looked good moving – which he did, but the air of dangerous competence brought heads discretely turning.

Then old acquaintances were calling her name and she turned from watching Vorn.

“Jazz, good to see you! Davos about? I need him to verify this swords lineage.” Ama unhomed the near hand and a half sized blade slung over her shoulder. Her usual favorite blade, a katana, had been melted in to complete unuseability by an annoying creature that had been a hybrid of demon and dragon, a nasty mix at best and hellish at worst.

The reigning vampire ( http://www.atddm.com/jazz1a.htm) of the whole of Carnivaal, looked the blade over with interested eyes. “He’ll be here later, though I can tell you that’s indeed a Sombra blade. The Shadows twist and twine strongly in it. She wasn’t Sombra clan herself but her long time bonding with Davos Santari had given the powerful vampiress much knowledge.

“So, who’s the newcomer?” Jazz turned her eyes toward the Argonian as he looked over an excellently maintained Wildy “He’s got good taste, first you, now that kill’em hard.”

“Just met him tonight. He did a good job handing an entirely unexpected visit from a major level demon. She tried a reverb shove on me, I blocked it and the back blast blew her out through a wall and landed her at his feet.” Ama grinned at the memory… “Though Tamu showed up outta nowhere as usual, and vanished just as quickly as he came. Jazz, I don’t like talking about friends, but he’s getting weirder. I hope he’s not going into a Fade.”

Some times Hunters did that, their selves just fading away as if the strain of hunting and being hunted in turn just wore them into transparency then non existence.

Jazz nodded slowly filing the information away, then turned the subject to the newest rounds out there, an up grade to the Resonant Light I had been using earlier. They were highly lethal to vampires, and she adored any thing that added to her already considerable edge. We wanted over to see McKirmish, the gnomish man who had developed them, Jazz slinging a specially made pair of shades over her eyes. For a vampire – even one of her age, powers and mastery - found them painful, and to a fledgling even damaging, to look at.

I looked over and saw that Vorn was finished at the booth were he’d been haggling on the Wildey. “Hey Vorn! Come meet some one and take a look at the newest version of what I used on long, lean, and falling out of her top earlier.”

The Psycho cannibal begins to feast on some of the other corpses
He then goes to his living victim, and begins to lick her, but not eat her. Prolonging her suffering would give him more enjoyment. She was trying to break free, but he had tied her down very well. He began to breath into her face, his breath smelled like decay, and he said,"I hope you enjoy your time left on Earth, may your soul fly quickly when I'm done." She screamed.

Andromeda could only think about the stench of death that she had inhaled when she saw the corpses of her parents in the old house where she used to live in that old city she hadn't been in for a long time and all she could do would be to look into the cannibal's eyes with nothing more than solemn stoicism. ".....You want me to enjoy being eaten?"

After a while, Andromeda said: ".....You are just going to hang me here for a while, then? If I'm going to die then it looks like I'll die being bored.....it's boring, no, to just be hanging here. Horrifying, yes, but also boring."

Long before Charon adopted the mannerisms of the wanderer with an orphan girl whose parents mysteriously ended up dead, Charon had been known simply as Der Metzgermeister or the Master Butcher for his incredible ability to cut down hundreds of men for whoever would have paid him to do the work regardless of whether they were good, evil, or somewhere in between. All that mattered to him was that he get the money for his own living and, eventually, to help maintain his wardship over Andromeda. As he explored the vast network that happened to be Carnival, Charon took on the image of the Master Butcher and began scouring the streets for suspicious people he felt could have had information. As he walked, though, he noticed that there were some ribbons and jewelry on the ground and he could instantly tell that they belonged to Andromeda; he decided to simply follow the trail to see where it would lead him. He did, however, happen to see that there was a man attacking an unfortunate girl in an alley which he almost called a mere distraction but which provoked him to unleash his might upon the man. With rapid fury did Charon pull out his gun and race nearly like lightning to the man's back with the gun pointed at his head. "....Sind Sie bereit zu sterben?" Charon uttered those words in a mockingly sadistic tone of voice with a grin coming upon his face. ".....Wunschen sie dieses Madchen in Ihren Gehirnen und in Eingewieden bedeckt werden?'

When the man threatened to move away from Charon, he simply made a little move of his own with his elbow bashing the man on the back of his head before three shots were delivered to the same place with his custom made pistol which has a rose cross upon it. Charon kicked the man's corpse and then helped the girl up, handed her her items, and then simply walked away without a word. He had to find Andromeda, he noted....he just had to find that girl he began to treat as if she was his own child. Perhaps, he quipped, he'd find a woman here in Carnival. (OOC: I'm willing to have this happen. As long as the woman, though, is loyal. ;))

Heathstepper lit a cigarette as he stepped out of his hotel and into the night. The exhaled smoke swirled into the air before it was whipped away by a breeze, obliterating it. The night was yet young, and there were still bars to visit and interesting places to poke around, before he made any concrete plans. Glancing cautiously around, he slid his revolver out of a pocket and checked its ammunition, before returning it. He was fairly at home with guns, but would prefer not to use it, rely on brute strength to get him out of any sticky situation. Gunshots tended to attract attention, and attention was one of the things Heathstepper didn’t want. For one, any heightened police presence would make going hunting significantly more difficult.

Another thing nagged in his mind, and that was the possibility of any other supernaturals or their hunters. The two usually came hand in hand, in the werewolf’s admittedly small experience in these matters, and such a large city with such a reputation would have undoubtedly grabbed the attention of vampires, other lycanthropes and the like. Running into a pack which was feeling rather territorial would certainly spoil Heathstepper’s night, and possibly even the rest of his life.

He took another drag of his cigarette before moving out into the bustling crowds. A craving was beginning to kick in, telling him that the beast within was starting to get hungry and was wondering when its next meal was going to arrive. For the moment, he tried to ignore the feeling by opening a beer and taking a long pull. The night was yet young, and he didn’t really want to spoil it by taking someone down, not whilst there was such a city to see.

The cannibal began his mind games with her. He got close to her face and stared into her eyes. This went on for what seemed like ages, his eyes never blinked. Finally she could take it no more, and began to yell and whimper at him. He responded by taking his metal clam and stratching her cheek so she bled, and began to lick up the blood. She screamed again.

The cannibal began his mind games with her. He got close to her face and stared into her eyes. This went on for what seemed like ages, his eyes never blinked. Finally she could take it no more, and began to yell and whimper at him. He responded by taking his metal clam and stratching her cheek so she bled, and began to lick up the blood. She screamed again.

OOC: Please don't make my character do things; I'll handle that for you. :p

Andromeda felt the sharp blade of the clam stratching her skin with the trickle of blood coming down only to be licked up by the psycho cannibal's seemingly smooth tongue that made Andromeda feel all skeevy and icky inside. Yet, she didn't seem to be that scared although the anguish was blossoming gradually inside of her. ".....I suppose you think children like me are tasty like all these adults?"

She looked around until she found a decaying and half-eaten corpse. ".....Did you ever find someone you actually hated to eat?"

OCC: sorry about that
"Flesh is always tastey. It always has distinct flavors depending on the person. Some taste like chicken, others like dogs, or rats, or cockroaches. And some are tangy, other savory and fat. Blood tastes very good too. Like wine or fruit. Like your blood tastes like cherries."

The seedier sides of any city were dangerous places to go, and Carnival was no different from the rest. Indeed, as it was illegal to be without money in the city, the criminal elements were more desperate to prey on those party-goers too drunk, stoned or otherwise preoccupied to notice that they’d walked off the beaten track into the slums of the capital. Heathstepper, after visiting a fair few bars, was now attempting to traverse back to his hotel in order to make the change and go hunting, but the wide variety of beverages he’d consumed had impaired his sense of direction and meant that he was in an area that a lot of the other residents of the city avoided.

“Hey, mister, you got a light?”

Heathstepper turned around at the question. His head was beginning to throb from too much drink and the beast within was starting to get more impatient. It wanted blood, and it wanted it now.

“Yeah, sure.” He fumbled in his pocket for his Zippo, not noticing that the man was not holding a cigarette and was grinning. Or the second person creeping up behind him armed with a crowbar. The blow from the tool left him sprawling on the floor. Both muggers bent over the body and began to frisk him, in search of wallet, phone and whatever else their victim carried.

One of them pulled out the revolver and thumped the other on the shoulder.

“Looks like he had a gun. Good job I got him around the back of the head, eh?”

The first shrugged, and peered closer at the fallen body. “I think you might have hit him too hard. Don’t look like he’ll be getting up. Better move on before we get seen.”

“Nah, he ain’t down for good,” replied the crowbar-wielder. “Didn’t give him that much of a knock. See, he’s coming around. I’ll give him another one so that we can nab his jacket.” He picked his makeshift club up and was about to deal his prone victim another blow, before he noticed something. “Hey, that ain’t right…”

Their victim was beginning to twitch, in ways that unnerved both men. The crowbar-armed mugger dealt Heathstepper another two blows to keep him down, before both of them ran for it, attempting to put as much distance between them and their erstwhile victim.

A howl echoed through the night, chilling them both to the bone.

Vorn turned on a heel at the call for him to return, at least until he caught a wiff of vampire through the still air that put a hand on his weapon, lightly holding the worn grip in an elevated state of readiness. The hand remained in place as he walked towards Ama and her companion, albiet a little more carefully than usual...

"You called? And who might this be?"

Another characteristic wry grin, before he spoke again...

"And I happen to enjoy 'falling out of her top', thank you very much..."

He was curious, and at the same time wary, of this new arrival. The stink of undead was thicker now, and it had to be coming from Ama's newly-arrived friend. His eyes took on a new backlight, shifting between Ama and the possible vampire with a cautious quickness, as if to check with her to see if she understood what it was she was standing next to. He didn't however, want to seem impolite, and held his tongue from further comment...

Heathstepper...
However fast they ran, as they weren't more than human, it'd never be fast enough, and their perhaps fatal mistake wsa to try and cut aross one of the countless pocket parks, it ws little more than five acres - created with the thought to expand Carnival's green areas, but now like most those located on the south side, little more than makeshift homes for the homeless, junkies, dealers, the mentally unstable and others that the city didn't care what happened to in the shadowy darkness under the trees... Though their populations were always transient, as those that hunted such kept their numbers thinned.

Psycho cannibal...
He had barely started licking on his newest prize when a hopefully masssive blow landed on his heawd. Though it was quite likely to have little effrect. The one delivering the blow - the improvised club wsa no more than a nail studded plank that had fallen from a rotting packing crate - was weak, the were- rat had been well chewed on by the cannibal, and was definitely not at full strngth. Indeed he had even appeared dead to most senses.

But every one in Carnival knew not to mess with were-rats - while they were some of the toughest were's out there no one wanted to become one. Being a were wolf as cool, a were- lion or best yet a were- tiger - far higher up on the cool factor...but were- rats and -hyneas...definitely no cool factor...

Charon...

He may not have noticed it but the young woman he'd casually saved was following him at a discrete distance, watching him intently.

Vorn...

"And I happen to enjoy 'falling out of her top', thank you very much..."

"Definitely male" Jazz laughed delightedly in a friendly fashion, she was unoffended by his wariness, it rolled off him in a subtle wave - it's very discretion making her nod in approval. She held out a hand "I'm best known as Jazz"

"And yes I am very much Vampire. Carnival, indeed all of Carnivaal, is mine to do with what I desire." She spoke softly, her voice carrying not past the three of them, but firmly. She needed to make no challenge of it, for she was if not as old, was even more powerful than any Kindred clan sire. Her own sire had been one of Cain's primes.

"And what am I dong here at the Dark Hunters Other Ball? Keeping up with the latest ways of killing those of us unintelligent enough to fall afoul of the the Hunters. While some of us are smart enough to be discrete, and self disciplined, a great many are not. I have no quibble with such as those being the targets of Hunters. It makes less work for me."

Hunting humans had never been her interest, they could be fun but it was more to stalk that which could truly hunt back.

"So please don't expect me to be snacking on any one here. Too many of ya'll" a faint trace of American southern, New Orleans specifically - she had spent many years there -cropped up in her speech" are good friends, and while most of us train with one another, I'm too attached to randomly nibble."

Vorn wasn't sure how to take that, but take it he did. The hand was accepted with a firm yet friendly squeeze...

"It's a pleasure, and a comfort to know that my senses hadn't failed me this time. It's also nice to know what you look like and that you tolerate my kind stalking in your back yard. My director will be by tomorrow, and I'm sure he'd like an introduction..."

The Argonian wasn't quite sure how well the grizzled old human would react to such a meeting but it seemed customary. Vorn was doing science projects in Jazz's back yard and it would have been nice to ask permission now that she knew he was there. Vorn couldn't, however, represent his agecny. That just wasn't authorized...

"And how do you two know each other?"

It puzzled him that a hunter and a vampire could befriend eachother, but then again the great Whiptail, a hunter for a number of years, had befriended a member of the Shentavo clan, a kindred known as Cain. If it was actually Cain or just a pretender with a similar name was up for debate but that was neither here nor there. The point was that both predators could co-habitate if they so chose...

Charon did not need to look behind him to tell that the young woman he had saved was actually following him and so he had been able to ascertain that she was actually following him. With a small grin upon his face, he stopped in his tracks but did not turn to look at the woman. It was as if she was actually in front of him.

"......Do you require something? Unless you have money.....or a good reason, I don't work for free. It was only out of the kindness of my gentlemanly heart that I worked for free back there but, then again, I'm not really a fan of being a beast towards the fairer sex."

Charon stood there silently to listen if the young woman would respond to those words because it seemed interesting to look into what she had wanted with him. Perhaps she only meant to thank him.....but people, especially women, have all sorts of ways to thank a man.

OCC: sorry about that
"Flesh is always tastey. It always has distinct flavors depending on the person. Some taste like chicken, others like dogs, or rats, or cockroaches. And some are tangy, other savory and fat. Blood tastes very good too. Like wine or fruit. Like your blood tastes like cherries."

Andromeda was amused by this cannibal who obviously seemed to be quite civil while being horribly insane. ".....I'm quite amused to hear that my blood tastes like cherries but how would you tell that any flesh or blood tastes like that stuff? If you say a piece of flesh tastes like dog....then have you actually eaten a dog?"

The werewolf halted in its tracks, somewhat confused by the sudden change in its environment. It hadn’t been expecting the sudden greenery, along with the shanty town in the park. It hung back, sniffing the air, trying to locate the scents of the two humans that it had fuzzy memories of attempting to harm it. Its muzzle swung from left to right, trying to filter out the other smells that assailed its nose. The werewolf then drew itself up to its full height and let out a long, loud howl.

Deeper in the Park

“What the hell was that thing?” asked Crowbar of his fellow mugger, who just shook his head. Both men stood in the pool of light surrounding a lamppost, breathing heavily after their chase. They were jumpy, and both kept a wary eye on the shadows. There were always stories amongst the down-and-outs that there were predators in the night, things less than human, which would often attack and even kill those who lived in the areas that Carnival had virtually forgotten. The pair had often dismissed such stories as rubbish, the sort of thing made up by the crazies and junkies who lived in these urban islands. Now they were less sure.

“Probably just a big dog, man,” replied the other, hefting the stolen revolver. “If anything does come, I’ll let ‘em have it. Anyways, it won’t be able to find us here. Not with all the crack heads and loonies around us.”

Crowbar nodded, less confident that his friend. He’d swore their victim was changing into something before he’d given him two more cracks about the head. He reached into his pocket and fished out a half-bottle of cheap whiskey, and took a long swig. He wordlessly offered to the other mugger, who ignored him.

“Hey, man, you want any?” asked Crowbar, an edge of irritation in his voice.

“Shut up, I thought I heard something.”

“So what? There’s stuff going on all the time. ‘Course you’re going to heard something.” The bottle glugged as another swig was taken from it.

There was a long, low growl. Both men paused and slowly made eye contact.

“Shit.”

The cannibal was about to respond by saying that he had eaten a dog before, when a piece of wood hit him in the head. It didn't hurt much, but enraged him. He turned in blind fury and began thrashing at his attacker with his iron claws, cutting into the rat over and over again. Finally he came back to realization, to see he had torn a large rat to near shreds. He was confused.

Heathstepper...

Those who claimed, at least for the nonce, the park as their home, knew something was afoot, and like the fog that was creeping in, they crept out, on as little a cats feet - and as fast - as possible. They had no desire to be in the area when the drama went down. They knew well that the drama could aways expand to include them...

However less than twenty feet away a pair of teenage runaways slept the sleep of the exhausted, curled in their too thin clothing underneath a rough tent made of carboard....The howl never penetrated their near comatose state, save that one of the young lovers stirred faintly then nestled into his loves embrace and his brething deepened again...


Psycho C...

As the madman watched, the shredded rat began to knit itself back togather again...

Bennie had been hurt worse before, it had been so when he'd been torn apart during the attack that made him a were rat. So he toughed it out as his body healed with incredible speed.

Sooner than might be realised he'd be back to fighting trim, and then he'd show this idiot exactly why no one messed with a were rat. That was a pleasing thought.

Charon...

"......Do you require something? Unless you have money.....or a good reason, I don't work for free. It was only out of the kindness of my gentlemanly heart that I worked for free back there but, then again, I'm not really a fan of being a beast towards the fairer sex."

No I just wanted to say 'thank you' I'm glad you killed him" Wanda replied. "He was wanting to be my pimp, the ass! Well I don't need a pimp, I'm registered and work in a respectable House." She siad hotly, still angry from the assault on her, and relieved that some one had cared enough, little though he may have, to step in.

"But here's my card. I'm off duty now, but I'll be on shift come morning, and I'll treat ya if you show up" Wanda smiled at him. She was cute in a blonde cheerleader perky sort of way and sounded like she had some education and brains under her touseled mop of silky locks and behind her bright blue eyes.

Vorn...

"And how do you two know each other?"

"What, a Vampire can't Hunt? There are things out there that No one wants on their turf, heck any turf. And we predators generally manage to co exist peacefully. I'll be glad to meet with your director." A flick of her fingers and a business card - titanium, deeply etched with a phone number, materialized as if by majick and she haded it to him.

"And as to how we know one another, we've partnered in a few Hunts. Ama doesn't trust easily and neither do I but we've covered each others backs, butts and ...let say existances, since lives just doesn't really fit. She's a good friend and a respected Hunter."

"The Ball has been around in one place or another for about four centuries, lasts a fortnight and and some Hunters have never missed a year, others only show up once a decade or less. It's very free form, and while it's mostly civil, there have been some noteable ...disagreements aired there, along with some noteable deaths from the said disagreements. You can pick up a partner, a team, a lover, a temp toy, or mourn the loss of one or all of those. Find a mentor, take a short class in a new technique, ask questions of acknowledge experts, just get drunk, stoned, or divorced, laid or whatever is your pleasure - it's a safe zone for beings who often have no other such place to bust loose. "


"And it gives me a chance to look over who may becoming after me. Some people can't get it out of their heads that not all of my kind are monsters."

The Psycho Cannibal, seeing his foe healing, became even more frustrated. he grabed the stone staff he took from the antique store, and started to beat the rat with it. The rage was twice as bad this time, most of what he said was uninteligable animal growls. But one thing he said was clear,"Mother see your darling little boy, I know your trying to kill me, i know your here, I can smell you!"
finally he stopped his beating. The rat was still alive, extremely wounded but still alive. And healing fast. He grabed the wererat and started to shake it around, as he was doing this, he said,"Tell mother she can not escape me, her beautiful little boy is coming to find her." He then opened the door and tossed the wererat out.

Vorn was a little stunned. This was his kind of place...

"Sounds like my kind of place... Old Jerico probably won't like it though..."

She seemed friendly enough to speak with, and against his better judgement he handed her his primary armament of the night, his custom-built double-barreled Thompson Center Encore Magnum, in the ultra-potent .626 JDJ, chrome plated and heavily engraved. The armorers must have thought pretty guns were more effective. The chrome was simple, it didn't rust. The Argonian runes of power and tribal patterns only served to cement it in its place as a hunter's tool...

"Here. What do you think? I'm not saying that I'm going to use it on you but not all of your kind are anywhere near as welcoming or attractive as yourself. Would it put one of your age and power down quickly enough? I do field research for my agency, and I'd rather not have to test out a theory when I can have someone like yourself explain the effects to me. Saves on hospital bills and specialty ammo is so god-damn expensive..."

Vorn rotated his head back towards Ama...

"So what are you here for? Jazz listed quite a bit of fun stuff to do around here..."

His tone carried an air of mischief. He wouldn't mind getting hammered out of his mind before the big bossman himself came to town..

Charon...

"......Do you require something? Unless you have money.....or a good reason, I don't work for free. It was only out of the kindness of my gentlemanly heart that I worked for free back there but, then again, I'm not really a fan of being a beast towards the fairer sex."

No I just wanted to say 'thank you' I'm glad you killed him" Wanda replied. "He was wanting to be my pimp, the ass! Well I don't need a pimp, I'm registered and work in a respectable House." She siad hotly, still angry from the assault on her, and relieved that some one had cared enough, little though he may have, to step in.

"But here's my card. I'm off duty now, but I'll be on shift come morning, and I'll treat ya if you show up" Wanda smiled at him. She was cute in a blonde cheerleader perky sort of way and sounded like she had some education and brains under her touseled mop of silky locks and behind her bright blue eyes.

Although he did not want to jump to conclusions about the girl that he had saved through the mere use of German words coupled with a bullet or two, Charon was beginning to suspect that he had saved a common harlot and the thought of being thanked or, rather, rewarded by a free fling did come into his mind. While he listened to Wanda speak, he contemplated whether or not he would take the reward and had decided he would just as he recieved the card. Charon smiled. He looked at the card and then looked back at Wanda.

"....So I'll be treated by a lovely blonde haired blue eyed girl then? That sounds pleasurable to me. I'll make sure to come by and call for you. I should get going now, though, as I've got work to do. See you around. By the way, I'm assuming the treat is free so remember that!" (At this point did he grin just a little)

The Psycho Cannibal, seeing his foe healing, became even more frustrated. he grabed the stone staff he took from the antique store, and started to beat the rat with it. The rage was twice as bad this time, most of what he said was uninteligable animal growls. But one thing he said was clear,"Mother see your darling little boy, I know your trying to kill me, i know your here, I can smell you!"
finally he stopped his beating. The rat was still alive, extremely wounded but still alive. And healing fast. He grabed the wererat and started to shake it around, as he was doing this, he said,"Tell mother she can not escape me, her beautiful little boy is coming to find her." He then opened the door and tossed the wererat out.

Andromeda giggled. ".....A man who could kill all of these people is having problems with a mere rat? That's quite absurd! If I may ask, though, who is mother and who is this boy you speak of?"

She hung there stoically and while she seemed scared about her predicament, she did not seem too scared to speak calmly to the cannibal. ".....I wonder how you will eat me. Will you cut off my legs and let me bleed to death?"

Without thinking he said,"Mother made me this way. Turn teeth and fingers to steel. made me fight for money. Liked brother better than me, he never had to fight. They ate good food, while I ate rats and bugs and dogs and people. I fought much and long, and then she left me. To rot in the sewers of Zainzibar Land. But I lived, and I know she is here, I am going to kill her."

The fog closing was muffling the werewolf’s senses. The lampposts were reduced to faint orange halos, whilst all sounds became softened and it was harder to locate their source. The water vapour in the air weakened smells and scents, frustrating Heathstepper’s powerful nose. The werewolf swung its head from side to side, attempting to locate its original prey, the two men who had hurt it in its human form. The human part of it, as weak as it currently was, wanted revenge on those two, but the beast just wanted blood, it didn’t care from where. It would sate its bloodlust on anything near, no matter if they weren’t anything to do with the muggers.

Suddenly, it heard a noise. A slight rustle in a rough shack became audible through the murk. The werewolf’s head snapped round, its ears swivelling to find the location of the sound and its nostrils flared, trying to get the scent. Finally, Heathstepper worked out were it was coming from, and pounded away through the fog towards its prey. The werewolf’s jaws were open and it was slavering in anticipation of its prey.

The two teenage runaways didn’t wake up as the werewolf’s claws tore through the thin cardboard of their makeshift lean-to. The werewolf would have grinned in anticipation had it been able to. Although inured to its actions, the werewolf’s human side baulked slightly. It usually took pleasure more in the hunt than in the kill, but this time the beast’s hunger for carnage was too strong to deny. It wanted to track down those who had hurt it previously, but for now, the two runaways would satisfy at least its immediate hunger.

[OOC: Excuse the sudden appearance, Tag. IduC thinks this would be okay. If ya don't like it, TG me.]

Two scents wafted through park on the roiling eddies of the fog. Both scents were exotic and strange. One rustic, evergreen, and pungently male and the other was tropical, vibrant, and warmly female. Both were therianthropes. Sensitive ears would hear the crunch and clap of two pairs of boots stopping on the path. "Son, it might do ya a heap o'good to be rethinkin' that." A deep, whiskey rough baritone voice drawled and softly yet firmly demanded attention.

In the lurking edge of the fog, the man (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/TEn.gif), the male therianthrope with the rustic scent, spread back the long grey duster he wore. His apparel was better suited to the streets of old Tombstone or Deadwood or Dodge City than a park in Carnival. He hooked his thumbs to either side of a belt buckle that looked like it was made from a jumble of tin stars and copper shields. The ivory grips and steel backstrap of a revolver leaned forward from a holster on his left hip.

His hand did not stray towards the grip though, nor towards the excessively long rifle slung on his back. He regarded the young wolf as he stood over the two humans. He blew into his thick and majestic mustache which fluttered up slightly with his breath.

Another figure, more lithe and agile slid bonelessly from behind the man. She, the woman was the warm, tropical scent. While the man, who the woman leaned closely, possessively against as a signal of who they were to each other, was clothed to a fare-the-well from the best of the Western clothiers alive, the woman was clothed barely enough and in a style more equatorial. She wore a bikini and short skirt of coppery metal scales. Though the outfit was thuroughly for the benefit of males, she was superbly confidant in it and had body well suited for it.

She leaned away from her man and forward heavily on the wicked-headed (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/spearfishhead.jpg)spear that she spun around from behind her. Two short swords (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/Bolo_ni_Maximino.jpg)were crossed across her rear. Her nostrils flared and she could smell the blood in his fur as well as spy the rapidly closing wound on his skull. "Sweetie, they aren't going to make it better."

Without thinking he said,"Mother made me this way. Turn teeth and fingers to steel. made me fight for money. Liked brother better than me, he never had to fight. They ate good food, while I ate rats and bugs and dogs and people. I fought much and long, and then she left me. To rot in the sewers of Zainzibar Land. But I lived, and I know she is here, I am going to kill her."

".....You think your mother is here in Carnival? I don't have a mother or even a father since they both died long before I came here....but you probably wouldn't want to hear about it."

The cannibal was surprised, usually victims begged for their lives, this child was unafraid. He was curious, so he asked,"Yes she's here, I know it, I can smell her. But please do tell."

Charon...

"By the way, I'm assuming the treat is free so remember that!"

Wanda smiled at him, feeling much better once he had responded in a friendlier fashion. "Oh course it's free! It wouldn't be much of a treat if it wasn't, now would it. And I'll remember not to take the short cut, and you be careful with whatever work it is, wouldn't want to not see you tomorrow" Her smile brought out her dimples as she turned to go. His grin had been nice.

Heasthstepper / Ten & Wife...

No the runaways had not woken as the wolf neared, but when his strong paws tore down their flimsy shelter exposing them to his attack, they did and paralyzed with fright they were. No screams rent the air as the newcomers moved in to confront the slavering werewolf, and by the time the man started speaking they were too busy trying to imitate baby bunnies...if I am utterly motionless then no one will see me...

Though one has to admit that the strategy doesn't always work, or else the world would be over run with bunnies.

Vorn...

Saves on hospital bills and specialty ammo is so god-damn expensive..."

Jazz took the offered piece with professional aplomb and respect, checking it to make sure it was safed, then looking it over with a appreciative eye. Her fingers tracing lightly over - but not quite touching - the runes, her eyes half lidded "Very nice engraving work. Custom work like this would fetch tidy sums from our more discriminating Hunters. Works work well as an initial 'drop with one shot then move on to the truly effective' piece... yes? " Her voice went soft as she calculated potentials in her head "On any but one like me it will put them down for the taking to the final death. And very, very few are my equals."

She turned to motion to the booth she had Amasaratu had been standing in front of. "Now if you were using his ammo, no I would not like to face you at all. I hope we never shall." She looked up as a bit of independently moving shadow seemed to wrap about her for a moment. She offered Vorn the fine weapon back and excused herself "Forgive me but politics calls. Good Hunting Vorn, and once again welcome to Carnival, and enjoy the Ball."

Jazz turned to go then paused and turned back. "You won't know most of us by sight." She pulled a tiny scale (http://www.nvscopes.com/images/reticle.jpg), made of what looked to be black glass which seemed to have a crimson image embedded in it and tossed it to him. "This will let you know if you intend to shoot one of us. And they'll know the same about you.' It was obvious she mean the Hunters, as her small gesture took in the crowd mingling about.

"I await the meeting with your Director" Then she was gone, vanishing the vampires swiftness that the human eye - and most other's - could simply not follow, the neurons just not letting the eyes muscles move fast enough.

"So what are you here for? Jazz listed quite a bit of fun stuff to do around here..."

"I am free 'n easy for tonight. I teach two classes and a moderate a debate tomorrow evening" Amasaratu had caught his tone and her's matched. "Lets hit the Dead Zone" She headed them for the dark and more private bar area, which was well away from the merchants zone. No one wanted to make it too easy for an alcohol fueled problem to become an armed...or rather more armed alcohol fueled problem.

The clientele was light tonight, the first night generally was but still a soft buzz of conversation filled the low ceilinged, dimly lit stretch. Ama led the way to a rear booth, separated by high privacy making walls from the ones next to it. The bench seats were thickly cushioned and a sheet of paper in a protective sleeve listed some five dozen brands of beer. There were a few wines listed, maybe seven all told…

The demoness needed to place no order, her preference was long known, though a waifishly thin young woman with skin the hue of dark chocolate, lambent amber eyes and an accent from the island of Jamaica stopped by to get Vorn’s and to say hi to Ama

Lagavulin 16 year old - the smooth, refined, peaty, smoky, iodine-flavoured pure malt Scotch whisky from the southern coast of the island of Islay off the west coast of Scotland. This almost the perfect whisky had to be smuggled out in diplomatic pouches. On the rocks of three irregularly shaped cubes of pristine moonstone hued ice from one of the worlds purest and oldest glaciers, the Hardanger Joekulen Glacier in Norway Then a chilled stein of Tanaaran Bright Amber, considered a national treasure that was almost never exported. The Saison style brew had a luminous orangey-blond color, and was made with a secret mix of herbs that give it an addictive, earthy taste and an agreeable bitterness.

Finally a shot glass of Heavenly Dragon – a liquor extracted from the finest cannabis and Dreamstone mushrooms.

And a trio of reefers, the pot a local strain, a special cross of Alhambra, Northern Lights, Southern Stash and Shiva, which produced a strong but mellow high.

The werewolf looked down at the two petrified runaways. It wanted to kill them, it needed to. A noise behind made Heathstepper’s ears swivel around on its head, then finally the creature swung its lupine head around. A low growl issued from its throat, warning that if the new comers came between it and its dinner, then they might be next on the menu. The pair, however, looked unfazed.

"Son, it might do ya a heap o'good to be rethinkin' that."

The words meant little to the werewolf, but the message didn’t. The fact that they were both standing there when most normal people would be running for their lives set alarm bells ringing which momentarily drowned out the bloodlust that was driving Heathstepper. They didn’t smell like ordinary humans, either. The werewolf hadn’t come across many of its own type before, but these two were certainly different. The weaponry they both possessed also made the human part of Heathstepper give the beast side a bit of a kicking. However much it wanted blood, it didn’t want to have its blood split here. They looked like the sort to possess silver weaponry and were not afraid to use it, especially on monsters that killed teenage lovers just to sate their own hunger.

Heathstepper began to back off, away from the pair of young lovers, who were now severely regretting their decision to run away from their parents’ homes. The low growl continued, however, as did hungry glances towards the werewolf’s prey, which had suddenly been dropped from the menu.

"Sweetie, they aren't going to make it better."

The low growl became a snarl at the sound of the second voice, but the werewolf had backed far enough away for that to be clearly nothing more than an empty gesture. The woman’s eyes rested on the damage the crowbar had inflicted on Heathstepper early on in the night, and once again a need for revenge coursed through the werewolf. A need for revenge, and a need to kill.

Vorn spun the oversized hunting arm back into its holster with enough grace to suggest that he got fairly bored and that was how he killed time...

"Fuck that shit Pabst Blue Ribbon! I'm just kidding, get me whatever Hist beer you've got..."

It was also clear he watched one too many movies in his formative years. The Director didn't think too much of his mischevious ways, but then again an old human like that wasn't expected to. Humans weren't gifted with the traits of the hunter like his own kind were. Argonians had evolved to hunt more effectively over a number of centuries, where humans had decided to settle and farm, gradually breeding out their desire to partake in the thrill of the hunt.

The Director, an old hunter by the name of Jerico St. Croix, had been hunting vampires for decades and run afoul of the law in the process a few times. When Vorn's rather secret agency had been formed it had been in need of some expertise from one of the oldest living human hunters. Jerico wasn't more than fifty-three, but that was old for a human in his profession.

He'd been sprung from a Florida prison by a combined force of Argonian commandos and Tanaaran operatives and brought back to the Marsh to serve as the head man for the Agency for Paranormal Research and Defense. While usually in a surly mood, he did seem to enjoy the work...

"You've got quite the spread there. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you're not human, although you look a lot like one..."

The eyes were a dead giveaway, but contacts came in all sorts of weird shapes and colors and designs. Vorn's beer had barely hit the table when a hand gently pushed it down the smooth wood effectively out of his reach...

"Drinking on duty agent?"

The Argonian looked up with a mix of rage and confusion in his eyes only to find an older human standing over him...

"Yes sir, you'd be correct. Chasing women, too..."

The man threw a glance between Ama and Vorn and then back to Ama again before settling on Vorn...

"Never did understand what human women see in you scaly bastards..."

"You're early..."

"You're right. You know how I run things. If you're on time you're already five minutes late..."

The human speaking was an older man, late forties to early fifties in excellent shape for a man of his years. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark scowl on his face belied many years of hard work, scar tissue, and suffering. A white long-sleeved shirt and a black photographer's style vest over what looked like semi-tactical black cargo pants and a heavy leather belt which Vorn knew held a full-size M1911A1 and a hefty knife at the small of his back in a custom holster/sheath combo...

"Ama, I'd like you to meet my agency's Director. Jerico St. Croix, formerly of St. Croix Bail Bonds, Miami Florida..."

"It's a pleasure. Now move over. The plane ride out here is damn near sixteen hours and my back isn't happy..."

Vorn scooted down to where his beer had chosen to stop sliding, knocking back a deep swing as Jerico settled into the booth next to him...

The cannibal was surprised, usually victims begged for their lives, this child was unafraid. He was curious, so he asked,"Yes she's here, I know it, I can smell her. But please do tell."

Andromeda sighed. "......When I was a tad younger then I am now, about two or so years ago, I had lived a really average life with my parents in that I was simply the only child in a modest family with loving parents and some talents. One day, when I came home from school, I noticed that they were both dead. The stench of death was everywhere and their corpses were all bloody and torn with my mother almost without clothes; I'm sure that vision will make you drool. I became an orphan but I didn't go to an orphanage. I wandered around on the street until a man saved me from a bandit. I started to follow him and, after a while, he took me in as his own child. We came here together and I know that he's looking for me now and, I'm sure, he'll consider killing you."

Charon...

"By the way, I'm assuming the treat is free so remember that!"

Wanda smiled at him, feeling much better once he had responded in a friendlier fashion. "Oh course it's free! It wouldn't be much of a treat if it wasn't, now would it. And I'll remember not to take the short cut, and you be careful with whatever work it is, wouldn't want to not see you tomorrow" Her smile brought out her dimples as she turned to go. His grin had been nice.

Charon nodded his head and contemplated the treat in his mind as he continued on his search for Andromeda with his eyes glaring around him while his hands were dug deep in his pockets and with the hat over his face so that it could not really be seen. As he walked, he noticed some more of Andromeda's ribbons and jewelry on the ground and continued to follow the trail until he noticed that, in the distance, laid a dark mist covering a door.....

"Do NOT growl at her." The man roared, almost literally. He took a step towards the wolf and to the side in front of his mate. While his voice had been subtle before, now it ripped back a curtain and a powerful will rolled with it.

"Ten! You hush." She put a hand on his arm. "Someone tried to smash his skull in."

Ten glanced over at his wife. She was his same, average height. It was ironic. He used to be considered tall. She held his gaze unflinchingly. He snorted and looked at the wolf. "Use your nose, boy. They ain't the ones that went and stove in your head. You want comeupance, go on and find the right ones. You poach where ya go no business, and there'll be a lot that'll want yer hide, son."

The cannibal sat down and said,"We fear and do not understand death. But it is not bad, it is a very good thing, to end the suffering of life. I remembered a poem about death:
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams


I await the day of my end, but not until I end mother."

Vorn...

"You've got quite the spread there. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you're not human, although you look a lot like one..."

She threw back the scotch, then the deep green liquor and took a long pull of the ale, licking her lips delicately afterwards. Though all of that would affect her only a little, her metabolism was rather different than any humans. However it brought a warmth to her and a glow to her eyes which flashed emerald green…she was having a good time and starting to relax.

"Nope the eyes aren't contact," She caught the flick of his eyes to hers "and if you could get a whiff of my pheromones, you'd know I'm not - but the blockers I use subvert better sniffers than yours" Ama laughed gently, unoffended. "Mother tailored me and my siblings from the best demonic genetics she could steal and her own Nietzschean DNA. Nietzscheans are real big on making sure their children have the best genetics possible, we're social Darwinists and Dawkinists... No I don't have cloven hooves, or a tail - Abaddon had neither - but I do have wings I just don't choose to manifest them constantly.

"You're right. You know how I run things. If you're on time you're already five minutes late..."

"Oh shit" Those were the first words out of Ama's mouth once the older human had settled in and she'd mentally compared his features to those in her near perfect memory "I recognize you...from your dossier at least. Folks I know helped break you out.... Pleased to meet you, Jericho." She offered a friendly hand.

And so they had, one Tanaaran operative had a respectable command of fire...

"And what I see is a Hunter" Ama's reply to St. Croix's comment was cold then she smiled wickedly as she arched an interested, questioning eyebrow at Vorn... "Are we going to eventually go upstairs and chase one another around?"

Then a crashing set of whoops and hollers rolled over then and she looked over to where it was coming from...

"Ohhhh 'scuse me I have to go put a trio of wanna bes in their place..." With a twinkle in her eyes, and an arrogant toss of her thick mane of hair Ama slid out of the booth. Leaving her weapons behind as she headed to the dance floor where some scantily clad women were beginning to lay out a dance number. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9X-iCXRJto)Though they were no more or less clad than Amasaratu was they didn't wear their leathers with the innate ease and comfort she did, and it showed.

Her hips moving with a swing that was purely feminine, and utterly, seductively dangerous she stalked through the room, turning heads as she went.

OOC: Alternate and you'll never think of Disney (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkUOYOc8ygA) the same way...

Vorn risked a look sideways at Jerico before looking back down again rather intently at his beer...

"Don't even say it, dammit. Get out there. And have the waitress give me a beer..."

The scowl never left the man's features, but his tone seemed to have lightened up a bit...

"Uh... Yes sir?"

Vorn allowed Jerico to move and release him from the booth before he joined Ama on the dance floor to shake his scaly ass for all he was worth...

"And to answer your question: Yes, I'd like to chase you. The thrill of the hunt and all that..."

Jerico sat in the booth, taking note of what Ama had left behind. It wasn't anything he'd seen before, but then again few had seen the Guncrafter Industries .50GI M1911 he had replaced his custom Caspain piece with. Jerico, customary to his long-established traits and habits, sat in the booth and sipped his beer, fingering over the small card Vorn had passed him. The scaly bastard could apparently mix business and pleasure. He'd gotten him a meeting with the head of Carnivall herself. Jerico had ended Elders before, but none this old by the sound of her and the descriptions he'd read...

OOC: I was already amazed with the innuendo that Disney decided to contain in their movies, but that took it to a whole new level...

"Do NOT growl at her."

The werewolf stopped growling. Even though the killer instinct was nearly in complete control, Heathstepper knew when not to push his luck. The man obviously didn’t like the implied threat to his wife. The werewolf had finally moved far enough away from the teenagers for them to be out of its reach. Its eyes moved from the teenagers, to the man and the woman and back to the teenagers. It still wanted to kill them, to kill anything that was within reach in order to satisfy itself, but the interaction by the two therianthropes had certainly given them a stay of execution.

"Use your nose, boy. They ain't the ones that went and stove in your head. You want comeupance, go on and find the right ones. You poach where ya go no business, and there'll be a lot that'll want yer hide, son."

Heathstepper slunk away through the bushes near the teenagers’ rough shack, the man’s words ringing in its pointed ears. If it couldn’t have the runaways, the then there were still others in the park who could be prey to the werewolf. No… the inhabitants of the park obviously had powerful guardians this night. They were out of bounds, at least for the time being. The quickly-healing wounds Heathstepper had suffered earlier on in the night nagged at the werewolf, even though they were almost entirely closed up by this point. Its memory dredged up the two muggers, and their scent of cheap booze, tobacco, grime and fear. The apprehension the two therianthropes had put into the werewolf was quickly replaced by anger and a need for revenge. The fog that had frustrated its tracking of the muggers earlier had lifted, allowing the smells of the city to come back to the fore. The nose was presented with a host of scents, and Heathstepper tried to discern the smell of the pair from the background of smells of Carnival, its lupine head swinging from side to side. Suddenly, it found them. The werewolf lifted its muzzle to the air and howled, the joy of the hunt coursing through it and the bloodlust kicking in again.

The hunt was back on.

Both stood their ground as the wolf howled into the night and made after its assailents. However, they both felt that predatory tug at the deep core of their being. The primal halves of them growled at the urge to follow the wolf, run, hunt, wind in fear, scents flowing through nostrils driven by the bellows of powerful lungs. Ten was old enough and contrary enough to ignore it to exert self-control and ignore it, staying centered in his humanity. His wife's took a step forward before restraining herself. Her black eyes shined crimson.

Ten glanced over at her. "Laar'a." She snapped her head around on him, her eye bright and blood red. Ten placed a hand on her scale-clad shoulder and gave her a squeeze. "Keep it in, darlin'." He stroked a thumb on to the warm, dark skin of her shoulder. He held her still and lent her his strength for her to bring her human half back to the fore.

She took a deep breath and gave herself a long shake from head to feet like she was shaking off water. She looked up at the full moon and then back down at her husband. She was shivering slightly, not from the cool night air, even though the insulatory function of her 'costume' was nihl. No, she was shivering like an addict in withdrawls. "I don't know if I'll be able to dodge it much longer, baby." Laar'a whined.

Calm and thuroughly human, it'd been a matter of minor will to ignore the call of the Moon like resisting the temptation of a last of a favorite cookie sitting on a plate all by itself, unclaimed and unguarded. But partially changed and agitated, the Moon keened in her mind. She could pray for strength. She was an alor, a native speaker to the spirits and, most importantly, the Mother Goddess Mira. However, Mira was not in the habit of granting small requests. She'd rather her children decide things on their own. She was their mother not their nursemaid.

Ten looked out after the wolf, then down at the teenagers at his feet, and then at his wife. "Just a little bit longer, darlin'." He felt the Moon no less than she did, but he'd seen and heard her a thousand times. He knew how to push back her call, quiet it until he could enjoy it. That was survival.

He squated down on his haunches and regarded the teenagers. He could smell their fear as well as hear the shivering in their muscles. He reached up and pushed his hat back on his head a bit to take his face out of shadow a tiny bit. He then let his arms rest on his elbows and just looked at the teenagers for another few silent moments. "Y'all've had a hell of a night. Ain't thinkin' it so durn smert to be runnin' away from ma and pa, are ya?"

Not really wanting an answer, nor waiting, Ten surged on. "This here's Carnival, if you ain't had yer eyes open thus fer. Y'all put yerselves out in the cold, dark, and yer liable to get et, sucked, or worse." He left worse up to their imaginations. He was sure they could be quite inventive right now in their fear. "Now, me and the missus, just put ourselves in the path of a blood-blind pup all but ready to have somethin' bleedin' in its gizzard. T'was the right thing ta do but a hell of an inconvience."

He glanced up at Laar'a to see if she thought he was going too rough. She was the one that wanted him to soften his approach towards some people some of the time. Right now, she was distracted, moon-addled. He looked down at the couple. "We ain't done it because we 'specially like y'all. Ya did a fool thing and almost go yerselves kilt." He looked at the man in particular. "And ya didn't have the gumption to at least raise a fuss about dyin'. Boy, you want that gal, you protect'er."

He snorted and went off that tangent. Damned kids these days. "We did it because y'all three, the pup included, all were actin' the fool and headin' for the patch o'earth covered with rocks on some lonely hill somehwere. Now though, because we stepped in, we're in a mite of a bind."

"No help I give is ever free, and that goes the same for the missus. You do something for us, helpin' us out and yerselves at the same time. Ya up for it?" He looked between them with a doubtful gaze.

Vorn

"And to answer your question: Yes, I'd like to chase you. The thrill of the hunt and all that..."

“Just the thrill of the hunt, or do you like the capture as well?” She asked as the music fired to life leaving him no chance to answer…

Once she was under the weirdling lighting of the dance floor the Tantric Mandala tattoo that encircled her naval blossomed to visibility. The normally invisible metallic inks, imbued with power, luminescent in shades of royal, imperial, gold, copper and bronze.

Ama didn't just dance, she flowed, as liquid as the ocean, with a fluidly supple grace that none of the other women could emulate. Though, had Vorn been witness to her fight with the demon earlier he would have known she would dance with perfect rhythm and fiery passion. After five songs, all fast – designed to get the dancers thirsty, she crooked at finger at Vorn and eeled her way back to the table. The bar was now crowded to over flowing and the ambient noise level tended to reduce one to shouting, but the sudden spike of noise was more than…

Ama dodged the wild swing meant for another with her feline grace and spun on her heel with a half step back. However she did not release the wrist that had thrown the misaimed punch, the torii’ nage throw would have sent the brute across the width of the bar. Instead she brought an elbow down hand on his hyperextend one. The sound of breaking bone echoed over the noise …

Meanwhile Vorn had his own problems. The beer bottle that flew out of one of the brawlers hands smacked him hard in the chest and sent a flail of dark sticky brew all over the Argonian. The bottle wielder roared and turned on his unintended scale hided target…Any one would do for a fight, and this was a stranger, and thus so much the better…

Ten

"No help I give is ever free, and that goes the same for the missus. You do something for us, helpin' us out and yerselves at the same time. Ya up for it?"

The two teens looked at the older man with wide eyes, then the girl nudged the boy in the ribs, and haltingly his hands began to move, signing in ASL… there was another, very real reason they had not made a sound.

Ten looked down at the couple and sighed, "Aw, hell's bells." He looked back up at his wife who was staring, leaning, edging towards the night. "Laar'a." She didn't register.

"Laar'a!" He said again a bit louder. Again she was drawn up in the night. He roared at her, a full-chested big cat roar.

She jumped and spun towards him. "What!"

He waved a hand towards the teenagers. "They're doin' that hand talkin' thing. I can't suss'em out. It's like talkin' to a Cheyenne all over again. You read his hands." He got up off his haunches to make room for her.

She glared at him for roaring at her and knelt down by the teenagers. She smiled and faced the two directly, which took a great deal of concentration because she wanted to be up and active, running, and sniffing. She spoke slowly and clearly. Ten's authentic frontier gibberish must have been tough for the poor dears. "I'm sorry, adi'ike. My husband is a little gruff and old fashioned." Laar'a ignored the snort from Ten, well, actually she reached back to swat him.

"Could you begin again, please?"

The pair had been at it again, robbing those who were the worse for wear after a night in Carnival. They mainly preyed on those who were obviously out-of-towners, who didn’t realise that not all of Carnival was a 24-hour party. After their panic-fuelled flight through the slums of the park, they had resumed their activities, following those who wandered off the tourist track. This time, it was made all the more easy by the stolen revolver. There was no need to beat their victims into submission, as a barrel of a pistol hovering in front of any drunkard’s eyes was usually enough for them to hand over their wallet and any other valuables they had on them. Of course, a couple of whacks with a blunt metal object often made the recipient a bit more compliant, especially if they were then face-down on the tarmac.

They had virtually forgotten their run-in with the werewolf earlier on in the night. The muggers were drunk with a night of success and a large amount of cheap, but strong, booze. Crowbar and his friend walked unsteadily towards their home, along a darkened alley. Such a place held no fear to such predators of the night, especially because they were armed and quite drunk. Besides, they knew most of the others who worked the “tourist trade”, as it was ironically called amongst the lowlifes of Carnival.

Ronson, the first mugger, suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing Crowbar to walk into him and drop the beer bottle he was carrying. The beer began to slowly trickle onto the pavement.

“What the hell you doin’, man?” slurred Crowbar as he bent to pick up his split beer, succeeding after the second attempt.

“I thought I heard something.”

The second mugger sighed loudly. “Don’t start with that shit again.” The other man had been saying it all night. He had obviously been shaken by their earlier run-in.

“Look, it’s not a load of crap. What if that thing has followed us?”

Crowbar drained the dregs of his beer and pulled another bottle from the plastic carrier bag he had in his hand. “It hasn’t. We’ve been all over the city. It was just some pissed-off stray dog that got worked up when we got that guy, nothing more.” He pried the bottle-top off with his teeth and proceeded to take a couple of large gulps. “Still, you’ve got that gun, ain’t you? What’ve you got to be afraid of?”

Ronson nodded and shrugged, pulling the revolver out of where he had stashed it, down the back of his trousers. “Yeah, I suppose…”

In the shadows, the werewolf growled to itself. It had been stalking the two men for the last hour, ignoring the pangs of its bloodlust. It wanted the muggers to know they were being pursued, and it wasn’t yet the right time to put the fear of the hunt into them.

OOC: I'd love to do this in asl, but I know some of us can't use flash, and as the main asl dictionaries are in flash...

Ten and Laa’ra

The pair intently watched the woman's lips and with a nod the boy began again. Careful observation would note that the pair's clothes were little more than thick paper, their shoes were rubber flip-flops, and that both were far too thin to be healthy. Though their skin and hair - which also showed the effects of long term malnutrition - were clean under a day's worth of city street grime.

Slowly he began signing...

"We thank you for not abandoning us. Help? How?" He hunched next to Mari who hugged him as he replied, her eyes as wary as his, glistening with near panic

David wasn't a really a coward, but he had been terribly afraid when faced with a werewolf. But the drugs the institution used to keep it's involuntary inmates calm and happy had left his senses muddled and slow to react. And he had had no idea what one did to back a werewolf down in any case. He hung his head as their rescuer chided them. It had been stupid to sleep in the park...it had been so much green though, the most either of them had seen since their incarceration with in the institution.

He and Mari had been lucky to make it that far he knew. Were these people going to be worse than the werewolf he wondered. He knew Mari was thinking the same thing; he had from the moment they had met.


Heathstepper

And sadly for the muggers, this particular stretch of dank, dark alley was quite deserted, the restraunt that backed on to it having closed hours ago.

There were many an anonymous mound of trash, with rats feasting here and there. Though some of them weighed in at fully a dozen pounds none of the long tailed rodents stayed once they got a good whiff of the werewolf.

PC/ Charon/ Andromeda

The were rat eventually hauled itself to it’s feet and shook off the last of the daze the savage beating that the Cannibal had given it. Then with a growl it shifted form becoming a massive rat-man ( http://fc77.deviantart.com/fs29/f/2008/158/6/4/D_D4th__Wererat_by_UdonCrew.jpg), armed with formidable claws and inhuman strength…

With a scream that could be heard for blocks it hurled itself back into the psycho cannibals lair and headed for the seated man, intent on ripping him to shreds as it had attempted to do to him. The first savage blow drew blood, for the cannibal was intent on it poem and not paying attention…

As the cannibal finished its poem, a giant rat monster slashed his arm. Something snapped. His vision changed, he wasn't in a house with a rat, he was back in the cage with the savage dog, and his mother laughing at him. This lead to an adreniline rush and pure primal fury. Now he truely was the Psycho Cannibal. He threw himself upon the rat man with great fury, slashing, kicking, ounching, and even biting at the rat. And he didn't stop.

[OOC: Oh Lord, thank you for smiting the Flash upon my computer for you have saved me from the predations of a most sadistic, malevolent, and spiteful GM. Amen.

:p]

Laar'a stiffened as realizations swept over her. She witnessed the sorry state of their bodies and appearance. Their clothing was paltry, little better than nothing at all. They looked so frail and weak. They sounded that way as well, their breathing, their hearts. They were so scared, it rolled off them, so frightened of her, of the night, of everything.

The sharp, harsh smell of an institution struck her nostrils and froze her. She could smell the chemicals, the medications, and the ever present smell of disinfecting and cleaners. It could have been a hospital she smelled, but they were too fightened to have been held in a mere hospital.

That realization swept the call of the Moon away, and she whispered words to her Mother. She was interceding for her own comfort and convience now.

Ten was looking off into the fog, whiffing in the air, trying to track where that wolf had gone to. The pup was long gone. He was confident he could track it down given enough time. He'd spent a lifetime, a mortal lifetime at least, after The War out West. There would only be one The War for him, though he'd fought in many. The War was his war, the War to Save the Union. He'd spent time with the Cheyenne, learned some of their skills in tracking, and supplimented them after his mortal life ended by learning from other tribes and then eventually from other peoples around the world during his wanderings.

With a scream that could be heard for blocks it hurled itself back into the psycho cannibal's lair

The scream...well, the maddened and well-audible squeak really, broke Ten from his nostalgia. His head snapped around, and his fingers twitched to the cool ivory on his hip. Laar'a's head came up, and she came up off her knees. She half turned towards the noise and brought her spear around to face the same direction.

Ten didn't look back at his wife or the teenagers. "Wererat...and he's got his dander up, sounds like. Come on, Laar'a. We mosey on over." Lawman and were instincts flared up.

Laar'a shook her head. "We need to help these ad'ike, Ten. They're in a bad way. Frightened and medicated I can smell that from their pores."

Ten looked between the teenagers and the direction the scream...squeak had come from. He was torn. There were two good impulses. This might have been easier back in Catawaba. He wouldn't have to worry about leaving these two waifs to the night. He looked down at his wife, and he had no doubt what her decision was. Her eyes were adamant and entirely human again; she was in control.

She was also not a veteran law officer as he was. She'd joined the Rural Rangers only recently since the Werlaar'ade, "Children of Myth" the native name for supernatural beings, had come public. She'd joined the Rural Rangers, of which Ten was a veteran of nearly a decade, to add more Werlaar'ade and officers capable of handling Werlaar'ade to the force. Before becoming a Ranger, she'd been the alor, the shamaness, for her pack and clan. She was priestess, herbalist, and healer both mental and physical. She'd learned sign language along with her other medical training to better treat her patients all of them.

Law enforcement was merely a new diversion and path in her fifty-three year lifespan.

One hundred and sixty-nine year old Ten did his best to remember that.

At the moment however, he reached back around inside his coat and pulled a holster from the back of his gunbelt and held it down to his wife. Laar'a took her holstered POP gun and clipped to the belt that held her criss-crossing swords. She hadn't thought a semi-automatic .357 complimented her Taung warrior woman costume and made Ten carry her piece. She situated the holster forward atop the bone of her wide pelvis. The holster glittered with the inlaid star in heart of the Rural Rangers. It was not a badge however because it did not have the Rural Ranger and her rank inscriptions.

Ten looked down at his wife. "Take care of'em, darlin'. I gotta look inta this." Neither of them could go against their instincts.

Laar'a nodded. "My mobile, Ten." She reminded him. He cursed and remembered the new fangled device of hers. He still hadn't gotten used to carrying one. He handed it to her, and she clipped it to her belt as well. "Got yours?"

Ten nodded, looking towards the squeak. Laar'a smiled. "Okay, git, lawdog."

Her husband turned and smiled at their private joke and took off into the lifting, whisping fog. Laar'a shook her head. As much as he tried and hide it, he looked forward to the hunt. He just found a way to get paid for it and do it as a human. He didn't verbalize it, but it helped him keep his animal in check and keep the Moon's call to a whisper at times.

She lowered her spear's end cap to the ground with a thunk audible only to her she reminded herself as she turned back to the teenagers. She would not be hunting tonight, she suspected, but there would be two more full moons. She had help to lift the Moon from her shoulders, and she had other duties that her beast, matronly and feminine as her agreed with. There were two sick and uncared for cubs with her. She smiled at them and spoke slowly and made herself speak clearly. "My husband has gone to investigate a disturbance. We should get out of the park. If you would like, you could come back to our hotel room, take a shower, and get something to eat."

"We are not as miserly as my husband makes out. Tonight has been...stressful for the both of us." Her smile was motherly and kind contrary to her weapons and Taung iron scale skirt and top.

David and Mari looked at one another for a long silent second. Then slowly Mari nodded and with a sigh David nodded as well. Though both of them remained wary, they were tired, terribly hungry and really thoroughly lost - and that scream had vibrated through their very bones, leaving htem chilled annew.

David scrambled to his feet. He only stood a couple of inches over five foot, then carefully he held Mari stand. If she touched four eleven it was cause she was on tiptoe...Both of their long sleeves fell back as the stood and the masses of white scars - old, old, and the pink - fresher, much fresher - that encircled each wrist was easy to see even in the poor lighting under the parks scrawny trees.

The streets as Ten strode along were mostly empty -= some parts of Carnival did close after dark, and this pocket ws one of them. All of the few streetlights were out, some for nearly a decade, others just in the last few months. And since it was not a main thorougfare or even a major side street, the garbage hadn't been cleared since the last lights were smashed out.

So there were many a dark doorway and large ombred masses to maneuver past and around, and many an unsettleing, mostly undefineable noise, to say nothing of the multitude of intermingling noxious odorss...

Laar'a rose as well leaning on her spear. Her eyes locked onto the scars first revealed on the boy's wrists and then identical scars on the girl's. A gout of anger rose in her chest and she looked away to compose herself. She didn't want to show anger, the depth of anger she could feel and express to these scared little rabbits. She took a deep breath and blew her anger out of her. She looked back, forcing her smile back to her face. "Walk with me."

She turned and waved them up to her, to walk beside her as she began walking the way she came out of the park. She used her spear as a walking stick as she made her way down the path.

~~~~~~~

This was definitely the 'bad part of town.' If he hadn't already past the dark or boarded up remanants of pawn shops, he was sure they'd be here. Ten slowed to a stop and took a moment to listen to the sounds of the city in full and take deep whiffs of air. He needed a better clue to where he was going than just running into the night. He tried to glean some clue, some scent or sign of the wererat or whatever had pissed it off.

He pushed his hat back off his head, and let it hang down on his back from the lanyard around his neck.

“The rats are running.”

Crowbar turned to Ronson, who’d fished out a battered packet of cigarettes and a lighter, proving what he had said to Heathstepper earlier on in the night a lie. Ronson lit the cigarette with a shaking hand and took a long pull, in an attempt to calm his nerves. Crowbar, however, drank another long swig of beer and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Sod it, man. They’re just rats, for Chrissake. Pretty big, yeah, but they could still be spooked by us.”

The other man didn’t say anything to that, just puffed away at his cigarette, his hand hovering indecisively between the pocket with the revolver in it and one containing an opened bottle of spirits. Finally, he gripped the neck of the bottle and pulled out the cork with his other hand, his cigarette clenched in his teeth. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Both men stood silently in the alley for a while, considering their own, somewhat hazy thoughts. The night had given them a good haul, and tomorrow would see them going to their fences to flog stolen mobile phones, watches and jewellery. They’d spent a significant amount of their gains on booze and drugs, but were confident that there was no way in hell they’d be caught without any money on the streets of Carnival.

Suddenly, Ronson’s bottle fell to the ground, shattering and filling the alley with the noise of breaking glass. Crowbar snapped around, a curse forming on his lips that died as he saw what his fellow mugger was looking at.

The creature stood roughly five foot tall, although it was hunched over. It stood on digitigrade rear legs, whilst its front limbs ended in human-like, although clawed, hands. A tail twitched behind it and it was covered in a brown fur, which lightened in colour in some places. Its face was a lupine muzzle, with lips drawn back in a snarl, above which a pair of golden eyes burned like embers. Pointed ears swivelled at the sound of breaking glass. Issuing from it was a low, rumbling growl.

Ronson moved first, bringing up the automatic revolver and pointing it the apparition. The muzzle of the pistol waved a crazy figure-of-eight in the air, a testament to the mugger’s nerves and drunken state.

“What the fuck are you?” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Man, just run,” Crowbar muttered. The thing was if it had just stepped out of a horror film, and he wanted to put as much distance between it and him as he could. He slowly began to turn, grabbing the sleeve of his friend, trying to pull him away. Instead, Ronson stood his ground and squeezed the trigger of the pistol.

The gunshots stopped echoing through the alley, and Ronson peered to see what was left of the monster he had just seen. He’d fired all six shots and the mugger hefted the now empty gun like a club, planning on using it to pistol whip the creature down. Suddenly, it was there. It was bleeding, but not down. In his drunken state, not all of Ronson’s shots had hit their mark. The werewolf was missing half of its right ear, had a furrow gouged out of its left arm and had a steadily-bleeding wound in its stomach, but it looked undaunted. If anything, the growl had now become louder.

The mugger turned to run, the firearm dropping from his hand, all thoughts of attempting to stand his ground now long gone. Ronson didn’t make it all the way round before the werewolf pounced, bearing him down to the pavement and slamming his head onto the edge of the curb, fracturing his skull and making him loose consciousness almost instantly. He never felt the teeth rip his throat out.

OOC: I'm assuming you all will eventually get into the cannibal's lair so please, if you don't mind, rescue my girl. Thank you. :p

"Cool! A rat-man!"

Andromeda didn't know why she had even said that it was cool to see a ratman but it was probably because she had never seen such a creature in her life except for in those mythological books she had read long before she met Charon. She also didn't expect that the psycho cannibal could be so poetic and, indeed, she wondered if he was really all that bad. She could see all the commotion, definately hear it, and she wondered if she was ever going to get out of this dungeon. She wasn't entirely scared and, indeed, rather bored. It was not amusing to be hanging on a damn wall all day but that was just the girl's satirical side kicking in. As she hung there, upon the wall, she smiled at the psycho cannibal. "Do you have a name? Or should I just call you psycho or something along those lines?"

Andromeda smiled. "My name is Andromeda. It's a nice name, don't you think. My guardian told me that once or twice when I first joined him. Don't worry about me here. I'm not too scared. I've seen a lot of this stuff before."

The cannibal did not hear a word she said, he was too busy fighting the rat. Both were heavily wounded from fighting, but the rat was healing fast and keeping up with its attack. But the cannibal got the edge. He grabed the rat's face and shoved his iron clawed thumbs into its eyes, breaking them and shoving them farther and farther into the sockets. He then withdrew and grabed the stone staff. With shear violence he clubed the rat across the face. He repeated, clubing the rat's back over and over. And he didn't stop, he kept going until top of the staff broke off against the creature's back.

OOC: Zainzibar Land - this is your last warning - when playing in my threads you must allow others time to respond - and that definitely includes the GM, namely me. You gave the wererat, which is now about 7 foot tall and stronger than any human - no chance to respond to your attacks. DO NOT do this again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The manrat was battered and temporarily blind, but not out. The club had hurt him, as had the fingers in the eyes. But his eyes were healed enough to see, if blurrily, and he kicked out with one clawed foot, catching the Psycho Cannibal in the knee and throwing him aside, so that the staff was no longer grinding in to his skull.

With the Psycho off of him the rat scrabbled to it's feet and closed with the man, his jaws dripping foam and his eyes glareing red. He would rend the mans flesh from his bones if possible...His claws swung out, hoping to catch the Cannibal across the chest.

Ten...

The sounds of the viscous fight would be failntly but clearly heard as Ten turned his superb hearing to the search. Every thing in the vicinity wsa being quiet - they had no desire to attract any attention...

Laar'a

The pair of deaf mutes followed hard on the womans heels. They had no intention of strayin just yet. They could always run later. Thye kept a discrete but close eye on the twists and turnings that Laar'a too on her return to the hotel the couple from Catawaba had taken rooms at.

It was a modest hostel, but the roooms were large, very clean and the hot water plentiful. Soaps were full sized and the a/c and heat worked well. There were two queen sized beds and a modest room service menue.

Heathstepper

Above, looking over the edge of the building that formed one wall of the alley - some three stories up, lambent green eyes watched what occured below. Silent asw the fog itself the observer waited...

Vorn released a primal roar unheard from Argonian lungs for many generations, while Jerico simply looked to his left to observe what had gotten him so riled up...

"Here we go again..."

The large, tattooed Argonian hurled himself forward, catching the bottle-thrower squarely in the chest with a powerful headbutt, knocking him to the floor before looking down at the reeling man and tapping himself sternly on his own forehead with a pair of fingers and making a wild face at this assailant...

"Three words. Stupid. Fucking. Idea. You've damn near ruined my shirt, and now I hate you. If not for the beautiful woman kicking the shit out of your partner over there I'd be hammering your face into the dance floor right now..."

Vorn extended a hand to bring the man to his feet. It remained to be seen if he'd take it...

Jerico shrugged. Vorn hadn't beaten the man to a bloody pulp, and that meant he was learning some modicrum of self-control...

"If not for the beautiful woman kicking the shit out of your partner over there I'd be hammering your face into the dance floor right now..."

The Hunter that had turned on Vorn had gone down hard, and the primal roar had shaken him no little bit. He didn't know Vorn but did know that if the Argonian was here he was part of the fraternity so to speak...and it was only the first night of the Ball, and getting thrown out for rioting would be humiliating. And his chest hurt, not that really made any difference, but...

He took the offered hand up and grinned half sheepishly. "I'll pay for a new shirt." He offered "Duncan Mcleod...but don't laugh over the name " He growled with an attempt of humor.

Meanwhile Amasaratu had let go of the one she'd engaged, and let him go to his knees, clutching an elbow that suddenly was bendable backwards. Her low growl sounding in his ears "Don't make me break the other one" as he looked ready to try more.

After a few sharp seconds she looked over at Vorn and grinned."Now you were saying..."

Charon walked deeper and deeper into the alleys and catacombs of Carnival in search of the child he had treated like as if she had been his own. Although the Master Butcher had never been known to adopt children or even concern himself with them, he had discovered that he cared for Andromeda and that he would, in the end, fight to protect her from harm. Humming an old folk tune as he slipped through the alleys, Charon wondered if she was alright as he examined, with damn good hearing, the commotion that was ongoing with all the roaring and fighting in the distance. It reminded him of his days as an assassin for hire when he would have killed all the people who vainly felt they could kill him. How he loved to destroy them! Well, back then he had loved it. Nowadays, he was retired from the business of administrating death. As he walked down the next alley, he found himself in the midst of the commotion and he smiled. Just like the good old days. He ran, through it all, into the hideout of the Psycho Cannibal.....

OOC: At first, I was just going to have him slip out with Andromeda but I'm thinking it would be more fairer to have the Cannibal try to protect his latest meal. :p

Ten came be a different direction than the other man to respond and little further away. He made his way through the dark streets which concerned him none. The darkness didn’t blind him as it might most, and anything in the darkness had the distinct impression that he was the precise attention they didn’t want to attract. As he neared the source of the commotion, he slowed and considered unshipping his Barrett. The 50 cal had a…settling effect on weres, especially when he loaded M8 Armor-Piercing Incendiary Explosive rounds. However, a look at the building made him reconsider. It looked close in and potentially cramped, not enough to wield the long Barrett.

He drew the whopping revolver from his belt. He stopped for a moment on the street and broke open the redesigned Le Mat pistol to get at the nine .44 round cylinder. Before he’d been Changed, Ten had also kept his hammer on an empty chamber when he didn’t expect trouble. Since his Change, he had a round in every chamber, but he always kept an ordinary hollow point round in the chamber under the hammer. That was still a safety precaution. Nowadays he could take a hollow point to the leg or foot; however he generally loaded more exotic rounds like silver in the other eight chambers. A silver round to the leg or foot wasn’t immediately fatal as many normals, non-weres, thought. It hurt like someone hit you with a M8 round, and he couldn’t heal that wound until he extracted the bullet and scoured every bit and fragment of silver out of the wound.

Ten extracted the lead core round and thumbed it into a loop on his belt. He pulled another copper jacketed hollow point. As he turned it up to the lone lit streetlight he’d stopped under, the core glittered and glinted with silver through the pitted nose of the hollow point. Solid silver bullets were insane to carry around. With a copper jacket around a silver core, it made it possible to handle rounds without it looking like to his normal Ranger colleagues that he was loading his revolver with sulfuric acid rounds. He shoved the silver round into the empty chamber and snapped the halves of the gun back together.

He looked back towards the building and cocked the hammer back. He slid forward against the building’s walls and slipped around into the alley to enter by a side door.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar’a shepherded the pair into the hostel. She smiled at the man at the desk and said that she would be back down in a minute to talk to him. She led the teenagers up to the room she and her husband were sharing. She unlocked the door and went in. She left the door open for them to follow her if they pleased. She understood the feeling of unfamiliar places at a primal level.

She swept into the room and perched on the edge of the chest of drawers and beckoned them in. She concentrated for a moment to bring her sign language back to the surface. She slowly signed to them. Her gestures were crisp and clear, a few of them were slightly different; she’d learned ASL, but there was a dialect difference native to use in Catawaba. She signed, “Here we are, darlings. You two can have the other bed. I would suggest you take a shower first and take as long as you like. I need to go down to the front desk and get two extra robes and towels. Take the ones in the bathroom. Can I get you all anything else?”

Vorn eyed the man oddly...

"Let me guess 'There can be only one'. Remind me to cut your head off next time..."

There was no humor in Vorn's tone. He really liked that shirt and he really did hate that guy for soaking it with beer. He looked back in Ama's direction as she released the crippled hunter, apparently Duncan's partner...

"And I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted..."

Vorn paused long enough to kick Duncan's legs out from under him again for good measure...

"I enjoy the chase as much as the kill, as it were..."

He made a gesture back towards the booth where Jerico was silently sipping a Sam Adams...

"A drink first?"

OOC: Barrett makes a rifle with an 18 inch barrel, since Law Enforcement snipers don't always have the room to manuver a long frigging rifle through a house.

As soon as the gun started firing, Crowbar had started running. Running as if the very hounds of hell were after him, and, as far as he was concerned, one of them was. Ronson would have to sort his own troubles out, but he doubted that the other man would be able to, even with the gun. The creature didn’t look like ordinary bullets would inconvenience it much. He would be sorry if Ronson didn’t make it. They’d been working together for a couple of months, although the man could be a bit of a liability. His willingness to believe rumours he heard in bars or on street corners could get a bit annoying.

He stopped at a street corner in order to get his breath back. It wouldn’t be too hard to get away. There were a few safe-houses and people who owed him a few favours. Yeah. It’d be just like when that corner-shop robbery had gone tits-up a few years ago. Crowbar nodded to himself in satisfaction, confident that he’d be able to out-think any stupid bipedal dog.

A few streets back

Entirely oblivious to being watched, the werewolf was still busy with the corpse of the second mugger. The human part of the creature took a back seat as the beast sated its bloodlust and desire for revenge on the dead mugger. Anything that attempted to interrupt it would face the wrath of a young and out-of-control werewolf, something that most hunters with experience could probably deal with.

OCC: sorry about that IDUC, fixed it for better
The Cannibal tried to move away, but didn't quite make it. The rat scratched him across the chest. He was bleeding profundly, likely going to die later. His attacks had degenerated into a confused melee while saying random gibberish.

There have never been a more fitting in-flight reading, very adequate for the sort of operation that was on stake. The young woman was particularly nondescript, except for her quite impressive, and also misleading physique. She was pretty quiet, and seemed oblivious to all attempts of the passenger at her side to pull a conversation, because after all, she never met such man, and had no businesses with him. When she ever talked, it always have been with people she met and related with daily, her comrades, her closest friends, and she was very closed to outsiders, for she simply felt uneasy when speaking with them. She preferred to read a book over talking with someone. A book named "God and State", written by one of the fathers of anarchism, Mikhail Bakunin. It addressed exactly the fables, myths and legends created by the Establishment to maintain its supremacy through fear and worship, to create an escape from a harsh reality of the downtrodden, which otherwise could only be supported through the staging of a revolution. The book was very clear on its takes... but particularly interesting was the excerpt she was currently reading, perhaps by the irony and cratering it did to the concept of good and evil, for there was only one thing to conclude from what she was reading:

He wished, therefore, that man, destitute of all understanding of himself, should remain an eternal beast, ever on all-fours before the eternal God, his creator and his master. But here steps in Satan, the eternal rebel, the first freethinker and the emancipator of worlds. He makes man ashamed of his bestial ignorance and obedience; he emancipates him, stamps upon his brow the seal of liberty and humanity, in urging him to disobey and eat of the fruit of knowledge.

...

Let us disregard now the fabulous portion of this myth and consider its true meaning, which is very clear. Man has emancipated himself; he has separated himself from animality and constituted himself a man; he has begun his distinctively human history and development by an act of disobedience and science-that is, by rebellion and by thought.

If such "good" god and the "evil" devil were more than myths, she knew which side their people would have picked, for all of them would have supported the rebellion against tyranny, but after all, it was only a metaphor, a fairy tale to teach people submission to the rulers, as they have been taught by their parents in the Confederacy. To demonize dissenters has been a long held tradition of tyrants and mass-murderers throughout history, from the "witch" huntings against all that threatened the supremacy and exploitation of the medieval Church to the labeling of traitors to the hundreds of millions butchered by Stalinist regimes.

All those who have bothered to read the current holy texts were very unanimous in their belief that the described god in it was an evil tyrant and murderer whereas the so called devil was at worst a being who believed all means justified ends he considered good-willed, and the minority of Christian anarchists did not recognize any modern bible as legit, being very resolute in their belief the original teachings of Jesus Christ have been forever lost, manipulated and distorted by governments who saw in the faith he professed an important tool for the status quo, if the "subversive" parts of his teachings were suppressed or manipulated.

Interesting reading indeed, when her destination allegedly had the presence of demons, and thus, another myth built up. Perhaps the government of that place labeled all who opposed it as demons, vampires and werewolves, like it has always been in tyrannies of the past, or perhaps such were just hired thugs to instill fear and obedience in the population. All she knew, that her mind was very certain about, was that neither of them really existed. A peculiar happening however came, as suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard a male voice she never heard before, of which she could find no source, saying:

"Eternal rebel, first freethinker and emancipator of worlds? Better title than prince of lies for sure."

She simply thought to herself, still in flight:

Well, here I am, hearing things invented by the very subconscious of my brain because my mind has been conditioned by the reports of paranormal activities. First time this happens though. I guess I should take some fresh air, this travel is too tiresome and now I am hearing things.

According to Occam's Razor, that was the most plausible and likely explanation, and she did not bother to worry about it anymore. The mission was just to gather evidence that all in such carnival is part of a government ruse to keep people at bay and send it back. Probably just a test they have given to her, although she wondered if they actually had intentions to stage an anarchist revolution out there, or "unleash the devil's rebellion out of the people's will", in more mythological metaphors. Maybe something existed, but if something existed, her thoughts came in a very strange form and could have been kept such entity, or entities, quite amused with her clear disgust of the concept of God, and links of her political beliefs with the concept of a demon as the "freethinker and emancipator of worlds". When she thought out loud, she had the impression that somehow, others might have been able to hear them. It was just another mental tic for her, and soon she resumed reading the book.

--------------

The place was certainly lively, and other than for a somewhat gritty looks, nothing of the fake, government-funded supernatural tricks and costumed thugs has so far been spotted by her. Somehow, as told by her adoptive grandmother about it, she reminded of an old cartoon called Scooby-Doo, where a group of misfits tried to find a logical explanation to supernatural events and in the end of every episode, all was the work of a greedy person seeking some profit out of scaring people with false ghosts and cheap tricks. She had no Mystery Machine, but she was going to uncover the fraud, to bust the myth and discover the motivations for it to have been created.

There was a quite presence of goths in such place, individuals who have taken lenses of eyes with vertical pupils, like those of cats, perhaps in accordance to the overall mood of the Carnival. Her mind again was throwing some interesting, and loud ponderings, regarding the reports she has been given about the place and the supposed supernatural, smiling discreetly to herself as she headed to a train, on the hopes of reaching a good hotel. Again, she had the sensation she was broadcasting such loud thoughts somewhere, something she always considered a mere tic or fruit of her imagination:

Who in his right mind would label humans as half-demons because of aesthetic choices? I won't be impressed if I find some thugs with surgically implanted horns or canines to give credibility to this bull The Man pulled around this place for a reason.

She has taken a seat in the train, right to the window, and looked at some of the Graffitti sprayed inside it. A very familiar symbol was there, the big A of anarchism, spray painted in red, right next to her seat, just above the windows from where she observed the cityscape. As people got into the train, suddenly her row of seats was filled as a woman with that peculiar choice of cat-like eye lenses sat down next to her. It was none of her businesses to ask whether it was some sort of symbol anti-government individuals used or not in that strange place, to which they were labeled "half-demons" as a way to break their credibility, and if that was the explanation for it, she would soon discover it. And neither she felt the will to ask about, feeling always uneasy with people she never met before. It would be a matter of minutes and such woman would likely never see her again anyway, and thus, it was pointless for her to initiate a conversation with such "half-demon". Thinking about it, another amused, and loud thought came from her mind:

If a demon stands against a tyrant god, and a half-demon stands against a government built from the concept of the latter, then I am a demon and half.

The train she has chosen to board would soon head for the "proletarian", downtrodden part of the city. It has been her choice to do so, for among rich and fat pigs, she felt even more uneasy, while that, for someone used to sleep on the dirt, who once slept on the top of a tree in the middle of a jungle and woke up scaring a snake away, any hotel was five stars. Hopefully it would be a good location to find a data haven, or a good point to conduct her investigations beyond the veil of matter, and into the realms of computer networks, to which, she was much more at home than with actually asking questions, or getting into real places she wasn't supposed to in the search of information.

Chrissy looked at the stranger on the bench seat next to her and smiled to herself. Another tourist who thinks I'm too over the top

But she decided to be friendly, it never hurt, maybe the woman would be interested in the production she had a major role in.

"Hi I'm Chrissy. Like the eyes?" She half turned to make sure the stranger got a better look. "They're just contacts. I'm doing Marguerite in 'Faust et Marguerite, The True Sory' and I put them in at home cause it's easier there, and they glow under the proper lighting."

Suddenly, her philosophical pondering about the reasons why men invented religions and myths ended, as the stranger next to her clearly sought to greet her, probably because the travel was particularly uninteresting by its own, regardless of the lively cityscape that could be observed. Logically, as she wasn't very good with words, she would rather to wait first and listen, for to listen has always been a better faculty for her than to speak, hoping the woman had more to say. Unfortunately it was what it was, and soon she had to ponder on what to answer back, feeling a bit uneasy about it, as the woman demonstrated the logical, scientific and obvious reason for the different eyes.

Hi I'm Chrissy. Like the eyes? They're just contacts. I'm doing Marguerite in 'Faust et Marguerite, The True Sory' and I put them in at home cause it's easier there, and they glow under the proper lighting.

Suddenly she tilted her head to the right, and shifted slightly her body to such direction too, to face directly Chrissy. The young woman had natural eyes, but of a color that wasn't so common. A steel grey, which depending on the lighting of the environment, could either look like green or blue, or just grey. At the train, it looked closer to a steel blue, and likely what would be assumed from the stranger about the blonde lady with her shy, discrete manners. She only would answer back then to avoid being rude, with a quite serious expression, even if visibly cheerful and with a good mood, and where sometimes she seemed to save words on purposes on what she spoke, like a woman of few words, and which speech was slightly accented of someone whose native language was Norwegian:

"My name is Roseann, or just Rose. Yes, interesting contacts, seem quite popular around. I'm curious about how and when they became fashionable. Do you know anything about this unique style?"

She certainly was glad to see that the first set of evidence just came, for clearly, there were no demons, half-demons or whatever, they were just normal people like anyone else, who likely called the attention of a bunch of fundies because of their exotic styles to have created the infamy around the place. The carnival was just a fun experience, nothing more, and Roseann hopefully would have some good moments of entertainment amidst the duty of her mission.

"My name is Roseann, or just Rose. Yes, interesting contacts, seem quite popular around. I'm curious about how and when they became fashionable. Do you know anything about this unique style?"

"Pleased ta meetcha Rose. Pretty name. Oh they'r not unique around here. I mean I need them for my role, but let me think...About five years ago? Every one who managed to get a ticket for the Dark Hunters Gala got a pair...thats the big annual blowout ya know...why last year they spent over sixty million dollars making sure that any one who wanted to party got to party hardy..and since that was any one who could get to one of the party locations." Chrissy chuckled "All of Carnival was in a drunk or dooze for like three days."

She'd been fumbling around in her big back pack - it was large enought that one might wonder how a woman who barely stood five and a half foot tall and while healthy looking did not appear especially muscular could tote it about. Finally she pulled out a slightly tattered trifold and offered it to Rose "Here ya go. Ronin's the best supplier with the biggest selection...Hey here's my stop. Gotta go." Chrissy started to stand, then pulled out a stiff peice of card board about an inch by three inches. "Here a ticket to the show. It's an production comp so it's good any night. We can always use new blood."

The the train was slowing as it pulled into the station. "And if you haven't found a hotel, there's Babcocks across the street there. It's supposed to be good, though I've never stayed there." Chrissy pointed to a three storied building set slightly back from the street. The neighborhood looked to be clean and well lit, the cars in the street mostly electric runabouts.

Heathstepper

The overhead watcher made no move to interupt the dining of the young werewolf, just watched contemplatively.

Ten, PC, Charon, Andromeda

The ratman kept attempting to claw at the cannibal, but most of its rage fueled fury had been lost and some of the cannibals return strikes were getting through. The mans bewhildering accompaniment was also confusing to the creature, though mostly it ignored the babbeling.

It also did not note the arrival of the two would be rescuers, as they each entered by different doors and their individual scents were masked by the overhwelming aromas of the carious corpses decorating the lair.

Laar'a

“Here we are, darlings. You two can have the other bed. I would suggest you take a shower first and take as long as you like. I need to go down to the front desk and get two extra robes and towels. Take the ones in the bathroom. Can I get you all anything else?”

Mari and David having hung back at first, scooting inside as some one exited a room down the hall. Stopping just inside they had been taking turns looking around the room with wary expressions, as if they expeced people to come springing out of hiding. It had been Mari's turn to keep watch in Their benefactress and she nudged David in the ribs when Laar'a began signing. He jumped slightly and looked back quickly. Though his signing was was not shy. "Food... please"

Roseann has been quite surprised from the way Chrissy was suddenly getting so friendly with a foreigner. Her mind was already trying to understand the reason behind it, for a sense of distrust and mankind and cynicism was quite strong in her. If in one hand it served as a good way to make her a woman of few friends, in another hand it increased significantly her chances of not falling into a trap or into the lies of a grifter. Perhaps she was getting too far in her paranoia, but in businesses like hers, it was better to be safe than sorry. The words were very interesting indeed, and it was just a case of distributing stuff around, as far as she expected for it to be.

"Pleased ta meetcha Rose. Pretty name. Oh they'r not unique around here. I mean I need them for my role, but let me think...About five years ago? Every one who managed to get a ticket for the Dark Hunters Gala got a pair...thats the big annual blowout ya know...why last year they spent over sixty million dollars making sure that any one who wanted to party got to party hardy..and since that was any one who could get to one of the party locations." Chrissy chuckled "All of Carnival was in a drunk or dooze for like three days."

"Dark hunters Gala? Quite interesting name." Rose briefly commented as she heard about it, and wondered why such massed investment would happen. Perhaps it could be more than what it seemed. More than a mere Gala. She found it suspicious to be receiving such a ticket from a stranger, out of nowhere. Her mind was trying to put the pieces together, to catch the fishy part behind this. But she simply had to gather more information, a for now too many possibilities were being made, with the old panes et circensis being a quite solid explanation.

"Here ya go. Ronin's the best supplier with the biggest selection...Hey here's my stop. Gotta go." Chrissy started to stand, then pulled out a stiff peice of card board about an inch by three inches. "Here a ticket to the show. It's an production comp so it's good any night. We can always use new blood."

She could just play dumb and hide her suspicions, but perhaps that could lead nowhere. Instead Roseann had decided to take on the risk of showing she was a bit suspicious about the whole thing. After all, it was just too much for her to suddenly receive a ticket for a show from a complete stranger she never met before, and she knew that there had to be something this Chrissy hoped to have in return. Perhaps Rose was too little hopeful of any sense of sharing with others that people could have, and thus, she asked:

"Chrissy, thanks, but what's the catch with this show? To be honest, this seems to good to be true. You know, the fact I just met you, and I already got one ticket. In some countries I have visited people would not given even a coffee candy as a freebie, if you understand what I mean."

Equally, she has made a mental note of the hotel mentioned. As long as it was safe, it was sound, and for someone like her, comfort was secondary, and luxury superfluous. Babcocks was its name, and she prepared to leave the train together with Chrissy. The place was certainly interesting, and equally, she wondered about this Ronin's shop. Perhaps she could pay a visit to it, after checking in the hotel. If she truly believed in the vampire's bull, the word "new blood" would seem a bit, disheartening, but there was nothing really relevant on it. The only problem to visit such place was that Roseann never have been a party crasher. In fact, she never have been in a party other than birthdays when she was a kid. Hopefully the hotel would have a computer area for her as well, and among such thoughts, she still wondered when she would find the first signs of the great fraud.

It would definitively be a busy night.

Ten snarled as the scent of the putrifying corpses filled his nostrils. Both parts of him didn't like the scene as he surveyed it. Human bodies, parts of them were strewn wildly. He moved over to one of the bodies which was lying face down. It didn't look too damaged, and he went to check if it was alive. When he turned the body over, he found that it was simply fresher than the others.

Even in the lowlight, Ten could see the bodies clearly, and what surprised him was that they were not claw slashed or rat gnawed. The butchering was too clean. The cuts straight and exact, made by tools. From the bites he could see on nose, ears, privates and the fleshy tender parts of the body, one the subject was sick, and two, the subject was human from the teeth marks.

Neither part of him liked this. His human half was disgusted by the thought of serial cannibal. His beatial half was disgusted by how wasteful their quarry was and that he went after humans. Preying on humans brought nothing but trouble for everyone.

Ten stood back up and moved deep into the building and closer to commotion. He kept his gun leveled. He figured the nutbird had captured the rat by mistake and gotten a surprise. That rat was now really pissed, but that the fight had lasted this long meant bad things all around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a straightened up off the piece of furniture gracefully. She leaned her spear against the wall and turned back to pick up her purse. The Taung woman hiked it up on her shoudler and turned back to the couple. She signed to them. "Okay, then. Look at room service menu, and we'll order when I get back."

Laar'a smiled and passed closely to them as went out of the room. She closed the door behind her as she left the room. She walked slowly down the hall and then down the stairs towards the lobby. She was proud of herself. She'd took in two scared pups. It made her feel happily maternal. She and Ten had been trying for a long time to have children, but iit hadn't happened either because he was feline and she was canine or it wasn't meant to be.

She pushed that unhappy thought aside as she stopped before the hotel owner at his desk. 'Good evening, sir. I just wanted to come down here and notifiy you that there will be four people staying in our room during our stay rather than two. Is there any chance I could get some extra robes and towels?"

The werewolf had finished with the remains of Ronson. It stood up and stretched, feeling invigorated after the kill. It had waited too long before making the kill this night. It wanted more. It needed more to sate is bloodlust and it didn’t care who fell to it. The werewolf remembered the moustachioed man had said to it earlier on in the evening. The threat that if Heathstepper sought out any who weren’t connected to the attempted mugging and successful beating, then it’d have a whole lot more trouble than a couple of whacks around the head. It cocked its head to one side, listening to its own internal argument as reason attempted to fight against savagery and thirst for killing. It was one that the beast side would always win.

Suddenly, the werewolf felt eyes on itself. The head slowly began to turn, its excellent night vision searching the alley for the watcher. The growl, which had disappeared as soon as Ronson was dead, started up again. It disliked being watched, especially since it hadn’t heard the new comer approach – something that implied either that the thing was stealthier than it was, or that it had been in position for some time.

OOC: Catawaba, feel free to have your character see mine. I'm thinking that Charon could bump into him on the way to the cannibal's lair and don't worry....he won't go asking for a fight. ;)

OOC: Please, all, see OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=570637)

Heathstepper

Nari did not move away or seek to hide as she looked down upon the werewolf as he sought to find the one watching him - She was three stories up and not even a werewolf could jump that high - or so she reasoned. He didn't frighten her, but then again not much worried the Kitsune. Simply because she was a Kitsune and most things couldn't harm one. That innate arrogance was a Kitsune hallmark as well.


Laar'a

'Good evening, sir. I just wanted to come down here and notify you that there will be four people staying in our room during our stay rather than two. Is there any chance I could get some extra robes and towels?"

The pimple faced clerk manning the desk barely looked up from his calculus text book "That will be fifty nine fifty, and I'll have house keeping bring some more up to you. What room are you in?"

Ten; Cannibal; Charon

Ten had entered though a side door off of the alley in the east wall. Charon through the front door which was in the north wall, and faced what was the 'major' street. There was no useable door in the south wall.

Andromeda was in chains on the west wall almost to the corner formed where the west wall met the south wall - it was lit by the only working light in the lair, but it was bright enough to let those charging to the rescue see, if poorly, the fight on going between the tattered and torn Ratman and the battered Cannibal. Thought at times the mounds of debris and mounds of bodies obscured the finer details of what was happening.

Rose

"Chrissy, thanks, but what's the catch with this show? To be honest, this seems to good to be true. You know, the fact I just met you, and I already got one ticket. In some countries I have visited people would not given even a coffee candy as a freebie, if you understand what I mean."

Chrissy blinked and shrugged "No catch. I got extra comp tickets ‘cause I'm one of the leads, and if we can get people to come and then mention later to others that they liked the production, it's good free advertising."

She grinned as she headed out the now open train doors "See advertising is real expensive, and while we have good backing, the pockets aren't unlimited." Then she frowned "And why not be nice to people?"

Roseann, whenever she had nothing to add about something she has listened, tended to simply nod back, silently. Although it closed opportunities, it also allowed her to learn well, to observe the surroundings, and when necessary, to stay in the utmost silence. She has always been better at listening and interpreting words than at speaking. As she finally entered at the well lit streets, she waved her hands to Chrissy and smiled, showing once again she was not a woman of many words. Thus, she carried on, and as instructed, begin to head at the directions of the Babcocks hotel. It was so close, that the likelihood of anything different happen was minimal, and like she expected, nothing happened so far. She entered past to facade of the hotel, simple but decent enough, and walked to the receptionist. She just said she needed a place to sleep, and waited for the price to be mentioned. It was no issue for her to pay, as she took a wallet off her baggy pants and counted the closest value to the price, to later check the spare in the typical routine of lodging. She then took a luggage with spare clothes and hygiene goods to her room, quaint, simple but still much better than many of the places she has been used to sleep at during the last seven years of her life. The mere fact she would not sleep on the ground was already more than luxury, and she certainly was on the exact opposite of someone used to being pampered.

Rose had not much to do, and to just stay at the room, when she had a long, potentially revealing night to go through, was a really foolish idea she never considered, no matter how parties weren't much of her thing. All she hoped to do was to discover more about the place, something which was more than mere duty, for her curiousity always have been large, no matter the uneasiness she has to ask questions, and perhaps it was a good time to check the places that woman name Chrissy mentioned to her.

Ten minutes after she entered the hotel, she was back at the streets. Everything was ready, and she finally had the opportunity to unpack her laptop and put it at her backpack. It would eventually be useful for her, as it had all the suite of "information gathering software", which others also knew as exploitz: port scanners, spoofers, packet sniffers, proxy server tools, rootkits and tailored toolz for using some flaws of typical operating systems across the world she has personally uncovered, back when she had to both study computer sciences at morning, and take arduous physical training at noons. It was one her fields of expertise, her primary one, and thus, such compact computer was very important for her, and certainly more important than what she had for self defense.

It was a good thing that the hotel had wireless access, and checking the networks of the city, she has managed to locate the street of Ronin's shop, which was conveniently close to the region of the city she was currently at. Just a bunch of blocks, to which, in her hopes to observe better the city, the choice of walking on foot was taken. Amidst the usual crowd in the place no matter how different it seemed to be, she felt safe, for little could happen. A short walk was soon resolved as Rose finally found the shop mentioned. Curious, she observed the items displayed by it, and wondered if something interesting could be purchased there. Yet, in her usual ways, she still did not speak to the shopkeeper of the place, which according to Chrissy was perhaps a store of decorative contacts. She was amusing herself to buy some red eye contacts, but she would rather see the everything that was for sale, and perhaps, there could be more interesting things than lenses for the discriminate buyer.

So far, nothing strange seen, heard or felt. Roseann was almost feeling an urge to just say them to double-check their sources, for there was just nothing of supernatural about that place, it was just a city, and like all cities, it had criminals in some places. Not even a hired goon costumed as a vampire or werewolf has been spotted so far, and she doubted that a fraud even existed. While she observed the goods for sale in Ronin's shop, Roseann thought:

I am wasting my time in this city. There is just nothing strange about it, nor people trying to fake strange things. Or perhaps I should investigate less lit areas. Maybe this shop owner could enlighten me.

Her shop browsing continued, as she looked for something that she would want to buy.

The Psycho Cannibal was still engaged with the rat, when he began to chant something. It was a chant sung by ancient men in days before cities and towns, a chant sung by those on the hunt, those in fear, and at times of death. It started slow, but got louder and faster. But it was just a chant.

Heathstepper had found the creature that was watching it and snarled up at it, a direct warning to the thing. It was a fox-like creature several floors above the werewolf, looking down at the scene below with something approaching mild curiosity. Although the lycanthrope’s savage mind couldn’t interpret the intent of the gaze, the fact that it was being spied upon further enraged it. It looked around at the alley, trying to work out the best route to get up at the creature, before the revolver dropped by Ronson caught its attention momentarily. It had vague recollections of the gun being used by it in human form, as well as its own scent being on it, overlaid by smells of burnt cordite and the mugger.

The werewolf picked up the gun in its mouth before padding over to a corner of the alley and burying it beneath a pile of rubbish. Then its attention was back upon the watcher. The buildings that lined the sides of the alley were of rough construction and had a network of drains, downpipes and windows, which would provide hand or footholds to a strong or confident climber. Heathstepper sat back on its back legs, muscles bunching in order to propel it up to at least the second storey.

It leapt up and slammed into the wall slightly above where it was aiming to impact on the side of the building. The werewolf’s arms and legs windmilled as it attempted to find get a grip in the brickwork, its claws raking deep gouges in the wall due to its supernatural strength. For a moment, it looked like the Heathstepper would plummet back into the alley – although the fall wouldn’t be fatal to the creature, it would allow the werewolf’s new prey time to escape.

A drainpipe was gripped at the last moment, deforming slightly under the powerful grip of the werewolf. The creature swung its legs around until they were on a window ledge. It stopped and panted, its tongue lolling from its jaws, trying to get over the disconcerting feeling of hanging over quite a large drop. It shook its lupine head and fixed its gaze back on where the watcher was and began to stretch out in order to grasp another pipe above its head, in order to close the distance between it and the new creature.

OOC: Damn, trying to work out a way not to lose the handgun – it could come in handy later, after all. So long as I can get Heathstepper in a position to collect it later, of course.

Laar’a paid the pimply night clerk and told him what room she and her husband were staying in. She was gratefully that the young man paid little interest or care to the couple they’d brought in. She knew part of it was that this was the graveyard shift and another part was that Carnivalle wasn’t known for its humanitarian ideals. She’d heard from the night clerk’s manager earlier that he didn’t really care what they did in his hostel as long as they didn’t sacrifice anyone in the lobby. That was of course accompanied with lecherous glances from the manager as her rather abbreviated costume. She didn’t mind the glances usually, that was why she dressed this way after all, but she did mind the manager’s gaze. As had Ten, and when her husband gave disapproving glares, they came backed up with a guarantee of spilt blood if the disapproval wasn’t recognized and used an impetus to correct the reason for disapproval.

The night clerk was apparently drawn up in cramming for a calculus test. Laar’a gave him her polite commiserations and returned back up to her room. She about knocked before unlocking the door, but realized that would be largely pointless. She simply unlocked the door and entered carefully.

~~~~~~~~~
Ten entered forcibly.

He came to a light wooden door closing off the antechamber he’d entered through from the growing commotion deeper in.

Was someone singing?

The song was unsettling and primal. It reminded him of the songs sung by his wife’s people the Taung. He knew it couldn’t be the rat singing. By this point, the rat wouldn’t have the mental focus or vocal cords to sing. It must be a human, but was it the human that butchered the people behind him?

He’d have to suss that one out.

He reared his leg up and smashed his heavy boot down next the knob. Lock and doorjamb parted in a snapping explosion of woodchips and splinters. The door flung itself open and inwards. Ten stepped through the door, big revolver leading the way. He surveyed the fight. It was close and deadly, and disconcertingly the wererat looked to have the worse of it.

In the low light, he saw in his periphery and was overwhelmed by the smell of more corpses and violent death in the main room. What attracted his eye was the naked, living girl chained on the wall opposite him. His lip curled in a snarl. He leveled his pistol at the two combatants. “Break it up!” He roared, unfurling his dominate will as he waded into the room. He didn’t want to shoot anyone just yet. He didn’t know who was really at fault yet, but he knew they weren’t likely to respond to a simple command.

"A drink first?"

"Oh if we're going to spend a lot of time chasing, then perhaps I ought to change clothes. I prefer a catch and release policy, unless the catch is exceptional. It takes a lot to keep up with me" It was but a quick mental rearrangement, a brief tap into Carnivaal's higher than normal arcane quotient, and a flick of finger signs to activate the spell and the black leathers changed into something rather more minimal (http://www.atddm.com/dress10a.jpg) - but modest by most Carnival standards. She turned fully toward Vorn allowing him to get a good look at the outfit.

"There better, yes?...and yes I'd love another drink" Amasaratu replied as with out any apparent backward look she left the mix up behind striding on long elegant legs perfectly turned byt he heels she wore with ease, heading back for the table where Jerico sat sipping his beer.

Though in truth while she may not have seemed to be paying attention, she was very much alert to make sure that the 'problem' had indeed been ended. Ama thoroughly approved of Vorn dumping his attacker a second time, it made sure the lesson was driven home. She caught their waitresses eye and signaled for more of what they had been drinking previously.

"So Jerico, liking what you see? You might find a few recruits here." She asked as she slid into the booth, some how manageing not to disarrange her clothing in the slightest.

The Psycho Cannibal did not hear a word the man said, he continued to fight and chant

“And the sun goes down on a sleepy little town…”

The DJ let the Doobie brothers fade away then cued his shows theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AFlxYejQy4)

“Here’s another for the wall of weird folks. The police blotter reported the capture of a dope hyped Elvis impersonator, but our sources on the inside say that when the goalers went to bring him from holding for processing, the cell was empty.”

He let his listeners think on that for a moment then brought up …

A pleasant faced man steps up to greet you
He smiles and says he’s pleased to meet you
Beneath his hat the strangeness lies
Take it off, he’s got three eyes
Truth is false and logic lost
Now the fourth dimension is crossed

He shook his head and looked at the tidbits he chose not to report, as he ran his tongue over his fangs. It hadn’t been easy getting this job ( even for a vampire ), and the pay minimal ( but it wasn’t as if he needed the money ), but he’d wanted to be a DJ ever since the job had been invented.

And the Dj cued...

Somewhere in a lonely hotel room there's a guy starting to realize that eternal fate has turned its back on him. It's 2AM.
The fear is gone - the fear is gone
I'm sittin' here waiting - I'm sittin' here waiting
The gun's still warm - the gun's still warm
Thinking my connection is tired of taking chances
Yeah, there's a storm on the loose, sirens in my head
Wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead
Cannot decode - my whole life spins into a frenzy

Oh he liked the set he was cueing up, the little blind as a bat to the weirder side life intern that the station had saddled him with had a oddly good eye for this...

The rain is all over, it's only stopped for an hour
And I stop you, and I stop you
When you go too far
And you stop me when I go too far

The Cannibal seemed immune to the wave of Dominance flowing off of Ten and continued to chant, but the wererat jerked and swayed as he could not but help respond to a more alpha were...

Then let the music take command
Back to back to another dimension
Stop the force and pay some attention

Rose would find that the proprietor of Ronin - for that was the shops name not the owners - was a young looking man of Japanese descent (http://www.atddm.com/kai.jpg), who was currently polishing a very expensive Hyabusa GSX (http://www.polyweb.com/danno/bikes/HayaBusa03/03hayabusa3.jpg) the fastest motor cycle in production. And his was heavily modified, making it faster than any racing bike either. But he had the skill to handle the massive machine -and the experience. He'd been around long enough. But that didn't show.

When I hear this melody
This strange illusion takes over me
Through a tunnel of the mind
Perhaps a present or future time oh, oh
Out of nowhere comes this sound

"Can I help you?" He looked up as Rose browsed - the tidy shop was filled with any thing one could imagine in the way of high end prosthesis, and costumes, accessories for Cosplay, theatrical productions, reenactment societies -and of course blades and appropriate weapons of all sorts.

She lays in bed at night and that is when I make my call.
But when she stares at me, she can't see nothing at all,
Because you see I can't take no shape or form.
It's been three long years since I've been gone.

I can't get used to purgatory, you know it really makes me cry, I'll never know the reason why I had to go….

The Kitsune, her name was Nari (http://www.atddm.com/nari.htm), and she had only recently arrived in Carnivaal, and had come just a day ago to the city… backed away from the ledge and took a seat on the comfortable chair she had willed into existence. She wondered if she could bend this one to her will, it would be interesting to see if she could manipulate his blood lust.

“And the thirteenth caller to tell me what connects all these songs wins tonight's golden cookie!” The mellow voice of the DJ intoned.

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man.
It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity.
It is the middle ground between light and shadow,
between science and superstition,
and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge.
This is the dimension of imagination.
It is an area which we call...

In the low light, he saw in his periphery and was overwhelmed by the smell of more corpses and violent death in the main room. What attracted his eye was the naked, living girl chained on the wall opposite him. His lip curled in a snarl. He leveled his pistol at the two combatants. “Break it up!” He roared, unfurling his dominate will as he waded into the room. He didn’t want to shoot anyone just yet. He didn’t know who was really at fault yet, but he knew they weren’t likely to respond to a simple command.

Andromeda looked at the man who had entered but knew it wasn't Charon but it didn't matter much who is was since he looked like he would get her out of this dreadful but still amusing dungeon. She looked at him, smiled, and began begging him to unchain her and find her some clothes to wear since she felt apparently immodest. "If you help me out, good sir, my guardian will hear of your virtues. It's been quite amusing, this place, with this cannibal here with whom I've had quite a good conversation about his mother who he wants to kill and about how human flesh, to him, sometimes tastes like dog flesh. It makes me think he eats dogs and other animals."

Charon, on the other hand, was steathily coming into the dungeon on his own accord with the ruthless fury ready to brutally come upon the cannibal. Everyone who abused children knew that Charon loathed them but, of course, none of them could get out of a meeting with him alive to pass on their newfound wisdom.

Suddenly the cannibal ended his chant. He began another, this one odder than the last, and seemingly a bizarre pattern of movement. He was no longer the Psycho Cannibal, nor the little child Abraham, nor the mature Abraham, he was something else entirely. His pupils faded, he was a hunter, his prey was all around him, breathing and living ariund him. The chant seemed to come to life in the minds of those who listened. The picture painted was a rolling grassland during a dry season, and a thunderstorm raged far away in the distance. The hunter stalked his prey, who in turn was a hunter stalking him. It was acycle of nature, of man and beast. A fight ensured between man and beast, a battle of gods. The storm was upon them, a full force of rain pelting them. The sparse trees and the stones seemed to speak, whispering amongst each other. The battle began and never ended. That was the chant he sang.

Ten swayed back as the chant told its story in his mind. The building took the appearance of a broad savannah, the dry, crisp rolling grass and the few trees spread out on the horizon. He saw himself, the rat, the man, the girl all in contexts better befitting a far away land and a long ago time.

The ailuranthrope shook his head to dismiss the chant's image from his mind. What was this man? Shaman? A bezerker of some kind? Those were the only he knew that sang in battle and might have a chance with a wererat.

Whatever this man was, he needed to stop. Ten saw the wererat stagger back under the force of his dominance. The were might even stop fighting. The human on the other hand...Tenadore came within reach of the man, so focused on fighting the wererat. He made to grab the man by the neck and haul him off the rat.

~~~~~~

Laar'a was surprised to find she left the radio on in their room as she came in. She heard the last few songs and the DJ's contest. Frankly she didn't even concern herself with them. She wasn't a fan of whatever music that was. She listened to her people's music, some old trail songs that Ten could warble off, and she might even stretch herself to B.I.F., the celtic rock/punk band headed by ever handsome Matthew Quigley who was friend of her husband's, but other than that her music interests were very narrow.

It was a truly interesting shop. It had everything, from the most to the less contemptuous, to "morally decent" garments and pieces to things that would make everyone in a radius of five meters stare at someone wearing them. The anime stuff was only briefed, virtually ignored by Roseann as she looked for something that would allow for her to blend into the partying crowds. The idea of joining a party was still a bit unsettling, but she knew that it could be the best way to discover what she wanted to. She still did not find what would be the most interesting set for her, something like the retro and militia fashion of the New Spain, or perhaps something which load of irony would go off-scale. As sets for historical reenactments were available, she was very clear on which she was hoping to get her hands into. A set of either the Spanish Civil War, or of the Second World War were her goals, coupled with something extra, but not too outlandish.

She was still at doubt on what exactly to take, and still looked at things she lacked any interested to just out of curiousity. Suddenly she spotted something that certainly another one from her country would likely buy: A cosplay set for the character known in their networks as Desu from an anime she remembed as Rose Maiden, or something like that, and it included the red and green eyes. It was not the real name of the character, as while animes weren't exactly popular in the Confederacy, Internet memes originated from them were quite well known. The 4chanTV crowd would certainly be interested in purchasing this. She smiled softly as she imagined one of the "mythical women who use the Internets" among "Anonymous" crowd getting such costume. It was a quite silly thing in her opinion, but she wasn't much into things like these. Suddenly the Asian shopkeeper asked her:

"Can I help you?"

Roseann looked at the man. Her clothing was primarily utilitarian rather than stylish at the moment, and obviously she lacked the "style" of the place. Just black baggy pants, a sleeveless black shirt that allowed her somewhat muscled shoulders to be exposed, and a pair of black boots. She wondered for a while on what to say to the shopkeeper, as she thought on the possibilities, and decided that irony was at home in a place such a this. In accordance, there were only two options for her: either a Soviet Union Commissar uniform from the 1940s, or, perhaps the most strikingly ironic, an SS uniform. A Soviet or Nazi costume could be quite interesting for someone like her to wear in a party. Pondering for further few seconds about it, she finally faced the shopkeeper next to the balcony and said, demonstrating clearly it was easier for her to pronounce German rather than English words, even though her way of speaking still did not hide her Norwegian origins:

"I need a Schutzstaffel uniform, a pair of steel red contact lenses and, if you have one, a working replica of an old MP-44 submachinegun, and real magazines for it. And I need a ballistic knife as well."

Indeed, there was nothing wrong anywhere. The Dark Hunters Gala was what she saw as the last place to check for anything strange, and if nothing happened, she would tempted to just enjoy the place and ignore the wild goose chase they have given her to achieve. Such quijotesque search seemed like a waste of time in the first place, after all, nobody needed to investigate and gather evidences to show that ghosts did not exist. The burden of proof was with those who claimed such supernatural entities did exist, and not with her. Maybe it was really just a dull test of her patience, or of her ability to deal with potentially difficult places she did not expect to reach where her skills would be less important, and her shortcomings more critical.

The cannibal was taken out of the trance by the man grabing him, he was confused by the man grabing him, he was once again little Abraham, and asked,"What I do wrong?"

Vorn wasn't sure what to think of what she was wearing. It did, however, bring certain other things to mind. He slid into the booth next to his employer, only to catch an elbow in the ribs. Vorn grimaced a bit, but he got the idea...

"In the words of a famous Khazakstani news reporter... Ver Nice!"

Jerico could only shake his head. He hated that movie...

"You aren't bad on your feet, Ama. I don't much care for magic and such though..."

The old hunter's reply probably wasn't what she was after, but Jerico wasn't there to fluff anyone's ego...

"I'd credit that to your demon genetics, though and I can't hold that against you. My little family could use a little more in the way of smooth-skinned members. I get tired of starting at Argonians all damn day..."

He looked over at Vorn, scowl still in place...

"With humans you at least get a few different shades of color and a bit of difference in body shape. Green and trim gets old after a while..."

Vorn couldn't help but smile. The Argonians were a rather standardized race, true, but then again most successful species were...

"C'mon boss, you know you love me..."

The scowl returned to catch the younger hunter in it's all-powerful grip...

"I'd love to make a nice belt-holster-boots combo out of your scaly ass but so far Argonian law forbids that and you're more useful to me out shooting things than as a carrier for my shooting iron..."

The Argonian wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, but he kept it in stride...

"Uh... Thank you?"

His reptillian eyes flicked back towards Ama...

"He really needs a friend. And a hug..."

The bigger hunter made a mode to embrace his Agency chief but caught another elbow to the solar plexus...

"Cut that shit out, Vorn..."

"You should really call Tabitha, boss. She'd like it here..."

"That's really none of your business you overgrown zoo attraction..."

"Geez you're in a shitty mood. Anywho..."

Vorn was once again looking into Ama's eyes...

"What do you think? Does the old guy need a hug or what?"

OOC: My fault. Internet access is pretty shitty during the day.

OOC:loL It's okay - I figure the sight of that dress had him brain fried. But whats the point of being a bad girl if one can't enjoy bad girl clothes. or as it gets put best..."I'm not bad I'm just drawn that way.."

Ama had hated that movie too, and she hadn't even seen it - the trailers were bad enough. But she wasn't going to mention that. She was having too much fun.

"You aren't bad on your feet, Ama. I don't much care for magic and such though..."

Ama grinned at Jerico, unfazed, her delicate fangs flashing and she gave a most gallic shrug that made her dress do interesting things but displayed nothing more than it already had - it's own brand of majic on a perfect physique "It's an added edge. There is no such thing as playing fair when one hunts. Or as one of the best of us put it 'If you aren't cheating you aren't trying'. I go up against major demons, and I don't intend to become dinner, or desert."

She looked at Vorn, who was concentrating on her eyes, and her grin grew into a chuckle. "I think I should be pleased, but Vorn, if you want to look, feel free to. I wouldn't have changed into this if I though you were going to be flattened by it.

Looking back over at Jerico, she cocked her head to one side. Something Vorn had said cued a memory tag and a connection. "Tabitha? Would wouldn't by any chance happen to mean Tabbe O'Kane (http://www.atddm.com/tabitha.jpg)?

Ten looked down at the human. He was different, and that raised his hackles. Something was off about him, bad off. Ten kept a firm grip on the back of the man's neck. His revolver rested down at hip level. He glanced at the rat. The were was injured, hardly standing it looked like. Ten's will had just pushed the scale over on exhaustion.

Ten turned his head towards the girl, creepy unsettling girl, even naked. God help whoever was saddled with that one. She was however helpful. Cannibalism bothered him. As a human, it was one of the few taboos you didn't cross but under the most extreme circumstances. As a cougar, it was damned inconvient because it got all sorts of hunters after you.

Ten looked back down at the cannibal. "What ya done? Boy, you done made my night a whole hellabunch more difficult." He brought the revolver up and then thumbed the hammer back down to rest. He took a deep breath and raised the revolver as if to scratch his head before bringing the five pound pistol down on the cannibal's head.

The pain angered the Cannibal, there was a large bruise on his head, but he didn't go drop down. His vision was blurry, the pain overwhelming, but he still stood there and said,"Why you do that?"

Having narrowly avoided a twelve-foot plummet by grabbing onto a nearby drainpipe, the werewolf was angry. It was angry because it had been watched, angry because it hadn’t killed enough and angry because it had nearly slipped. It pulled itself up to the pipe above its head, but the creature it had been pursuing had disappeared from the window. Heathstepper grabbed the window sill and swung over the ledge and into the room, smashing aside the upper part of the window itself to enable the werewolf to pull its body inside the room.

The kitsune was calmly sitting on a chair, as if she was watching TV, rather than awaiting the arrival of a vicious supernatural killer, driven by the need fulfil a burning bloodlust. The werewolf snarled at it and sank into a position that suggested that any minute it would pounce. However, it didn’t do so. There was an aura of power about the creature before it that was putting Heathstepper off. If that creature displayed any weakness, though, it would soon be having to the full savagery of a werewolf.

Ten frowned. Damn, this kid had a hard head. He'd hit him as hard as he dared without cracking him open like an egg, which he could do if he wanted to. He dragged the man about until they were fasing away from the wererat and the girl and shoved him him away violently. He cocked his revolver again, leveling it at the man's back.

"Why? 'Cause yer crazier than liquored-up polecat, boy. Now don't move." He backed up away from the Cannibal and towards the girl. He stepped to her side so he could keep his gun on the man. "You okay, little miss?" He spared a quick glance to see how she was chained up. He gripped the chain holding one of her arms and gave it a quick were strong tug to see if it'd come loose.

Vorn nodded in response to her question...

"Yep, that's her..."

Jerico glanced in his direction again, and Vorn anticipated another elbow to the rib-cage, but one never came...

"He's right. And I never said I didn't cheat Ama. A wiser gunfighter than myself coined the phrase 'Always Cheat, Always Win' a long time ago. I tend to live by that particular saying..."

The older hunter was silent for a moment...

"Yes, and Vorn's right. That's the woman he mentioned. I used to work for her husband..."

The Argonian on his left looked into his bottle of beer for a moment before he looked up again, at Ama...

"That's his own issue, though. I'd like to leave him to it. That OK with you boss?"

"Yeah, that's fine with me. Get out of here..."

Jerico was in his usual surly mood and Vorn would be glad to get away for a little bit. He slid the card towards his boss...

"Call that number boss, she wants to meetcha..."

Jerico nodded, then produced a cellphone...

"Have you ever eaten a rat?" The cannibal said. "How bout a dog? A cat? Cockroaches? anything like that? Have you ever been forced to fight for your life just to eat said creatures, so another profit? Has the profiteer been your own mother? I'm not crazy, you all are. Do you think I did this to myself? Surgically attached steel teeth and claws to my hands? Do you think I've never tried to rejoin society? I've observed these supposedly sane laws we allow. A man working to get by while a man who does nothing lives in luxury. A woman growing fat off the shit food she eats, never bothering to exercise, and crying about how fat she is. Children, thoe little monsters, fighting, killing, destroying, and getting away with their crimes. Hatred to another man because his Keeping a brain dead person alive and suffering. Churches accusing all others of burning in damnation. I'm perfectly sane, this society, the normality, they are the crazy ones. The whole damn world must pay for its sins!"

Ten turned his gimlet eyes back on the rat and sighted down the revolver for the man's gut. "Shut yer blasted piehole! Don't ya blow smoke up my ass. You ate these people. You stripped this girl and chained her up. You lookin' fer yer jollies, ya sumabitch?' He growled lowly, audibly growled. He had an old fashioned sense of proprieties. At the top of the list was the way to treat ladies and children.

All through his anger, the barrel of his LeMat stayed steady. "Don't ya dare spill me any of that 'I'm a victim' swill. I ain't cared a damn for it so far I ain't gonna start now. You could have stopped any of this, gotten the help o'every bleedin' heart that gotta hole in his head to believe that crap. But now? You move, and I swear to God I'll end you and do the World a favor." Ten also had an old fashioned sense of justice, quite Biblical.

"Do it, kill me, end my torment." The Cannibal became frantic, he started to move towards Ten. "Shoot me, end my life. Be the Reaper of man. I'm no victim, I am the monster, I've done bad, horrible things. Why? I don't know, I just did, maybe out of hate, I hate everyone and everything. i expect no sympathy, there is no such thing as sympathy. I should be punished, kill me, blow my fucking brains out, you'd do the world a favor. Don't hesitate, shoot me. Everything dies eventually."

"Have you ever eaten a rat?" The cannibal said. "How bout a dog? A cat? Cockroaches? anything like that? Have you ever been forced to fight for your life just to eat said creatures, so another profit? Has the profiteer been your own mother? I'm not crazy, you all are. Do you think I did this to myself? Surgically attached steel teeth and claws to my hands? Do you think I've never tried to rejoin society? I've observed these supposedly sane laws we allow. A man working to get by while a man who does nothing lives in luxury. A woman growing fat off the shit food she eats, never bothering to exercise, and crying about how fat she is. Children, thoe little monsters, fighting, killing, destroying, and getting away with their crimes. Hatred to another man because his Keeping a brain dead person alive and suffering. Churches accusing all others of burning in damnation. I'm perfectly sane, this society, the normality, they are the crazy ones. The whole damn world must pay for its sins!"

"Behaupten Sie dann die Stimme des Gottes zu sein?"

Charon walked into the room with a sadistic grin upon his face and with his customized gun pointed straight at the back of the psycho cannibal's head while his eyes scanned the room only to be focused on Andromeda but that was only for a quick moment. Charon had been quite pleased with the speech of the cannibal but, of course, found some flaws in the man's beliefs. "I suppose, then, that you claim to be the Voice of God in this world. Let me tell you that you, my friend, are but a man among the most repugnant of sinners. You killed innocent children. You punished them for the actions of a damn few, you sick bastard. You killed the mothers and fathers of young ones who are now, most likely, being abused under that in loco parentis bullshit. You threatened to harm the child I treat with much affection; as if she were my own flesh and blood. If this man here is to shoot you, I'll be glad to give you the coup de grace, the finisher, the sealer of your fate."

Charon walked towards Andromeda and unchained her before smiling at the man with his gun pointed at the cannibal's head. "Perhaps you would like to shoot him at the same time with me? I loathe people who harm children....but, wait, can we actually call them people?"

Andromeda looked at the cannibal and, all of a sudden, spoke softly to him before looking for her clothes. "Thank you for not eating me."

"God? God is dead, I cannot be a voice for the dead. Mankind killed and raped god, and now try to elevate themselves to his position. I voice myself and myself alone. I am Abraham!"
He then looked at the girl,"You're welcome"

"Yer ruttin' loon, boy. I told ya to shut yer damned mouth, so do it." He growled. Ten flicked his eyes towards the man, moving himself so he could keep both the cannibal and the newcomer in view. "Little miss, this guy your legal guardian?" Sure didn't look like her father.

"I will not keep quiet. If you want me to shut up so much, silence me forever."

"Yer ruttin' loon, boy. I told ya to shut yer damned mouth, so do it." He growled. Ten flicked his eyes towards the man, moving himself so he could keep both the cannibal and the newcomer in view. "Little miss, this guy your legal guardian?" Sure didn't look like her father.

Andromeda nodded with a smile. "This man is my legal guardian. You don't need to fear him. I'm sure he won't harm you because, well, you haven't done anything to make him do that. I guess, now, you are just going to kill this cannibal here?"

Charon looked at Ten and smiled. ".....You know....I'd have already shot him by now but it seems you want to prolong his existence for just a little bit longer."

Rose

I need a Schutzstaffel uniform, a pair of steel red contact lenses and, if you have one, a working replica of an old MP-44 submachinegun, and real magazines for it. And I need a ballistic knife as well."

Kai cocked an eyebrow, the young woman did not look at all the type to want That particular look, but one could never make assumptions. And the ancient demon didn't tend to; not with the way he was easily able to change his own appearance. Though a quick, and very discreet arcane sweep showed him that she had none of the Gifts save for a weak psychic transient...then his head came up slightly...no she didn't taste fully human though...a faint alien taste to her that was oddly disturbing, especially as it was not one he was acquainted with.

Quickly he began assembling what she had asked for while attempting to draw more information out of her “Is this for a private party with heavy emphasis on authenticity, or more for a casual affair where a few years difference in the fit, material, and details won’t matter?” He could make her look as if she had just stepped from Hitler’s side, to as faux as a bad fan boy skin head dream. The biggest difference was in price and he did not hesitate to mention that.

“The price varies considerably”

Heathstepper

Nari brightened as the young werewolf made his way into where she sat. He had well exceeded her expectations “Oh you are a determined young wolf man, aren’t you” She chuckled low, keeping her voice strong but soothing, unaggressive – “But still hungry I think “ And with a wave of her hand a large side of bloody meat appeared before Heathstepper – still steaming, and rich with blood. It smelled human.

“A gift, an apology” She made not attempt to dominate him, but showed no sign of nerves or weakness either.

Laar’a

Mari sat on the spare bed, watching the door, and smiled slightly when Laar’a returned alone. The shower could be heard running, she’d forced David to bathe first. She had the menu in hand and was ready to present their wishes to Laar’a. Mari was more trusting than David, and the two who had saved them from the monster seemed to be what they appeared to be- a small miracle.

PC/ Charon / Ten…since the PC needs to live to find his mother and brother, but is about half a sec from getting righteously plugged deader than the proverbial doornail …

Suddenly the south wall, which had been covered over in shoddy brick work, and which backed up to another building exploded violently, flailing all within with myriad bricks and raising a huge, choking cloud of mortar dust. Every one from the battered and bleeding Cannibal, to the exhausted were rat, to Ten, to Charon and Andromeda were tossed about and injured to one degree or another, their hearing temporarily gone due to the blast…

“See! See! Aye toll ya it was the wrong wall. The bleedin’ vault is on the other wall, ya bloody rotter”

“Thas no wa the map says” Came the protest.

Then two dirty, foul smelling - not that they could be smelled ovcer the flat stone and sulpher smell from the explosion - men looked through.

"Blimey, I thinks we inn'rupted something private."

"Well don'e jess stand here, out ta other way."

And as one the pair of interlopers vanished back the way they came. Leaving the survivors dazed and confused, behildered and contused... and a way out other than they had come in...

OOC: Please imagine the voices & facesof Pintel and Ragetti (http://listverse.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/fattyskinny-732044.jpg)

"Call that number boss, she wants to meetcha

Ama was willing to just ignore the old hunters foul mood, but she certainly didn't want her's and Vorn's mood squelched. She tossed back the last of the fresh drink that the waitress had brought and eelsed out of the booth.

"So, dinner, a movie, more dancing, pick up a few trinkets from the marketplace,or to we take the lift up to my penthouse suite?" She asked with a twinkle in her eye. "We could always do some sparring in the dojo, or take down a number of targets on the firing range...or pull a name out of the jar and go on a Hunt""

Suddenly, a few moments before the shopkeeper asked what she was looking for, Roseann began to feel a strange illness, it was an weird sensation, out of nowhere. It was not simple to explain, for it was like a mosaic of feelings, some positive, and others negative. Her mind became confused about it, and for a while her eyes became distant and detached from reality. It was like something was whispering in her ears, something getting inside her mind, suggesting, insinuating, or perhaps scanning her deepest thoughts. She felt authentic horror, like if something could really happen, like if perhaps it was not a mere construct of her mind on what she expected from the place in the briefings she was given. She finally heard the answer of the shopkeeper, who seemed oblivious to her very little perceptible torment.

“Is this for a private party with heavy emphasis on authenticity, or more for a casual affair where a few years difference in the fit, material, and details won’t matter?”

Her nerves began to have others effects, and suddenly she felt difficulty to breath. The hindrance finally allowed for the strange sensation to vanish, as she immediately approached her hand from a bag she carried, and took an oxygen mask with a pump from it, as she wore and began to pump it for a while, as the difficult breathing began to wane. Rose then guarded the mask again and looked at the shopkeeper, as he mentioned that obviously, authenticity would make a difference in cost. She said then, in a way to lacked seriousness, but even then, without smiling:

"It must be as authentic as my belief in National-Socialism. It is a casual affair."

As she scanned the eyes of the shopkeeper next to her, she began to feel something about him. It was like he was different, but she could not get how. It wasn't usual for her to face people straight at their eyes when she spoke, but at the moment she watched the very reflexes of the outside from the black iris of the shopkeeper, compelled for some reason to face him as she was about to get the costume she wished to blend into the Dark Hunters Gala. Perhaps it would not blend well, but even then, it could call enough attention to let her identify the big deal, the source of the possible fraud of the supernatural, and the exact reason why it was being done.

While the two bungling bankrobbers capered away, Ten groaningly stirred. He'd been nearest the south wall, and he felt it. There was an upside to it. He'd shielded the girl from most of the blast, standing between her and the wall.

That was about the only up side he could feel.

The Cannibal got up, rage had filled him. He charged out of the hole in the wall after the two would be bank robbers.

The werewolf looked around the room. It appeared to be somewhat decrepit, much like the alleys that it’d been hunting through for the last few hours. The well-stuffed chair, much like the Kitsune, seemed very much out of place. The thrill of the hunt was still in the front of Heathstepper’s mind, and it was all the human side of the creature could do to hold it back. Alarm bells were going off inside of its mind, whilst the beast snarled at the rather smug creature in front of it, and the attempts to rein it in. This was the second time that night that its hunting was being called in check, and it was very much displeased by such a turn of events. This creature wasn’t exerting the aura of sheer willpower like the male therianthrope from earlier that night, but there was still something off about it, something that discouraged the young werewolf from attacking.

The creature in the chair spoke, but the words meant little to Heathstepper. The voice was confident in a situation where most others would at least be panicking or equally aggressive. The werewolf, thoroughly put out by kitsune’s behaviour began to consider backing away and resuming the hunt out side the room, away from this off-putting creature, before a smell hit its nostrils. The smell of blood.

Immediately, it was the only thing the werewolf could think about. The fact that the creature had apparently plucked it out of thin air was forced to the back of Heathstepper’s mind, as was the general feeling of unease. It wasn’t quite the same as actually hunting and killing for oneself, but the werewolf had been denied the chance to hunt for most of the night, and now a meal from anywhere was more than welcome.

Heathstepper lunged forward and sank its teeth into the side of meat.

Gentleman Jim was strolling around. He enjoyed the city. So many things to see and do, so many people to eat. He was walkig when he heard an explosion, he wondered if the police would bother to investigate.

PC / Ten / Charon & Andromeda

The would-be bank robbers were fast, they had to be - they knew that the police would be forced to come check out the blast. It had been loud enough to be heard for many blocks, and numerous windows had been blown out as well. Then there were many shops with audible alarms, and they were sounding too.

Very shortly the sound of distant sirens could be heard growing ever louder.

The bank robbers scuttled across the street and were moving quickly away from the site of their bungled attempts, not looking back and thusly not noticing the Cannibal charging after them.

Heathstepper

Nari watched the werewolf eat, glad that he had taken the meat and not lunged at her. She would have hated to have to harm him.

As he ate, her shape shifted, taking her from a icy white three tailed fox (http://www.atddm.com/nari11.jpg) to what looked to be purely human female, clad in a kimono of darkest bronzed brown silk with embroidered and beaded falling blossoms and leaves in gold, brass, and copper.

She could only hope that once his hunger had been assuaged that he would be willing to listen to her offer.

Rose

"It must be as authentic as my belief in National-Socialism. It is a casual affair."

Kai had raised an inward eye brow at the woman’s obvious need for a boost in her breathing. He wondered if it were asthma or damaged lungs, but he didn't enquire. Instead he turned and looked at her fully, exerting but a tiny faction of his will, catching her gaze with faintly lambent eyes of a most remarkable lucent green. His voice took on a much different timbre, now deeply resonant...

"And how authentic is that my dear lady?" He queried gently as he exerted his will over her to pull forth a revealing answer.

The Cannibal caught up, he lunged at one of the robbers.
........
As Jim walked around, he noticed 3 men following him.

The taller robber, who was as skinny s a scarecrow, screeched as the Cannibals strong hands grabbed him. Flailing he tried to keep his balance, but the shorter one, who was much stockier. jumped at the high pitched scream and toppeled into his partner, tripping him thoroughtly.

Both of them began to fall, and the cannibal would be pulled down with them unless he chose to let go or use his greater strength to hold his prey upright.

The cannibal let go and the two men toppled over each other. He then jumped at them and began slashing at their faces.

The hunger had, for now at least, been sated by the readily offered meal the mysterious creature had placed in front of Heathstepper. The werewolf’s had raised at the creature’s change from a fox-like creature to what appeared to be a young human female. The transformation would have startled anyone but another being that wasn’t so used to changing in a similar manner, albeit somewhat less controlled. The moon obviously had little control over her, which would have surprised the werewolf, had the human part of it been fully in control. Heathstepper had had little contact with others of his kind, bar the sire that had nearly killed him. The newly-turned werewolf had returned the favour the next night, feeling somewhat vindictive about the near-death experience.

Heathstepper now took up position near the window that had it had smashed in pursuit of its erstwhile prey, in case the creature attempted an escape through it, or to use in case a rapid exit was needed.. It sat on its haunches, with its lupine head cocked to one side. It was mildly intrigued by this transforming creature and wanted to see what it would do next, whether it would turn out to be an amusing thing to hunt before going in for the kill, or if it would be a powerful enemy best to leave well alone.

It was rare for Roseann to ever laugh, but somehow the strange sensation has vanished, and everything seemed fine again. She never expected for the shopkeeper to actually not get what she meant about the authenticity she needed. That was something that empowered her. After all, only a dimwit would not realize what her reply meant, or at least she thought so. It would be an amusing mission for certain, and for an anarchist to dress as a Nazi was something that surely fit her ironic senses. The question was straight out, and as soon as it was done, she laughed friendly.

"And how authentic is that my dear lady?"

"If I was an authentic Nazi, I would never purchase anything from here unless you were blonde, had clear eyes and Germanic looks. I don't need any authenticity for this. Oh, and just to remind, I also asked for a contact lens with a steel red iris."

Laar’a shut the door behind her and smiled warmly at Mar. She sat down on the bed opposite the girl and signed to her. “Alright, dear heart, what would you all like to eat?”

~~~~

Ten finally succeeded in pushing himself to his knees and then to his feet. He looked around a shook his head to clear it and at the damage. The dolts had pulled a Butch Cassidy with their vault job. Ten shook himself to clear the dust and rubble off himself and his clothes but winced as pain shot up him. He reached around back and felt his back. His hand came around bloody. “Aw horse puckey.”

He pulled his Barrett off his back, afraid for what he might see. To his immense surprise, the long rifle had only suffered superficial damage, pitting and scaring on the surface. He even flipped the lens covers on his scope and found he had no damage. Bewildered, he checked his back again and felt less blood, smaller wounds that what should have been weeping blood seconds ago. He was healing, but he’d been peppered with shrapnel in the lower back and…yes the legs, he found as he twisted around with hissing pain and saw the bloodied tears in his trouser. “Thunderation, everywhere but the damned gun…”

While it was easier to heal than buy new fifty caliber rifles, the principle of it was backwards. He’d rather not be hurt and it was strange to be wounded elsewhere and not across the gun. It was as strange and confusing as Wyatt’s Miracle against Curly Bill Brocious. He would have to leave that for another time’s pondering.

He looked around the rubble at the others while he looked for his LeMat. “Y’all okay?”

Vorn nodded in agreement. The whole evening sounded fun. Jerico, on the other hand, began to tap the number into his cell phone...

"You go do what you want, I'm going to make a call..."

The big Argonian shrugged, then rose from his seat and left his boss to his own devices. Jerico leaned back in his booth seat, hesitating to hit the call button. He'd often thought of Tabitha, that night in the resturant that had ended in a certain friend of his ramming a pick-up truck through a wall to save the day before he and Tabitha both became dinner for an Elder vampire. It was why he'd upgraded to a bigger bullet in his trusted 1911 format. It was why he was here. He didn't remember much about the hospital he'd been in, the broken ribs. Tabitha had been much worse, broken spine and a lot of blood loss.

The authorities had taken him away while he'd been in a drug-induced stupor, and the powder residue on his hands confirmed he'd been involved in the shooting that night. His little J-frame had been taken as evidence and he'd gone away again for a while until that day he'd earned a transfer to a minimum security prison, and those commandos hit the prison bus, led again by their savior from before. It seemed they'd both found places for themselves in the weird Argonian culture and way of life. Finally, he punched the call button, and brought the phone to his ear...

Crowbar had made it as far as another bar, typical of the sort used by the lower and criminal classes in Carnival. It had a low ceiling and was generally pretty dirty, wreathed in smoke from numerous patrons smoking not only tobacco. However, the mugger not gone there just for a drink. It was a place run, more or less, by someone slightly higher up in the dung-heap that was the criminal underworld of Carnival. Crowbar had always been a petty thug, with aims not much more than where his next meal would come from and the next poor sod that would be beaten up to get the money for that meal. Others had higher thoughts, so had crawled up higher. Currently, he was sitting opposite such a person, a large piggish man with a broken nose and a scarred face.

“So you think it was a dog that got your friend.”

Crowbar nodded and took a small swig of his bottle of beer. He’d explained what had happened earlier on in the night and his own personal opinions on the unbelievable tales Ronson had told him. “Yeah, of course.”

The other man shook his head. “There are other things than humans on these streets.”

The mugger frowned. “Come on. That’s the sort of thing the junkies and crazies say.”

“It ain’t widely advertised, admittedly. After all, who’d come to a place if it was known that the people there were used as walking blood-banks and dog-food.”

“Really?” Crowbar couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. He’d heard stories, but always put it down to people indulging too much in drugs or freaky serial killers. After all, humans could be pretty shitty to one another, without having to involve anything supernatural.

The other man leaned forward, thrusting his meaty face into that of the mugger. “If you’ve seen the sort of shit I have, you wouldn’t be all too keen to put it down to the ranting of smack-heads and people who ought to be in a funny farm.”

Crowbar muttered an apology, and the second man sank back into his seat. “If what you say is true, then you two tried to beat up a werewolf.” Crowbar coughed and sprayed beer onto the floor. The man waited until the mugger had recovered and continued. “Your mate’s dead. Pretty certain about that. But you’ve got bigger problems now. If werewolf’s a member of any of the local packs, then you’ll probably have them on your case now, too. A lot of them don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

The mugger’s face had drained of colour at this news. The man gave him a slap on the shoulder.

“If it’s a new arrival, then you’re in a better situation, but not by much.” He paused as he took a mouthful of his own drink. “The local packs don’t take kindly to others hunting on their turf. They might get your doggie before he has a chance to get you. If not…” he shrugged and finished the rest of his drink and made to get up. “You’ve got a few choices. Do a runner, which is your best bet. The second is try to get one of the local packs to sort it out, which I don’t recommend. Last, track down a hunter and see if one of them is sympathetic to your story. Either way, I’d suggest you get something with a bit more of a kick than that jimmy you carry.”

OOC: Hope this is ok. More than happy to change it if it isn’t.

Laar'a

“Alright, dear heart, what would you all like to eat?”


Mari's face lit in a smile and she handed Laar'a a neatly written list. Her penmanship was excellent and very tidy

Three bacon double cheese burgers with all the fixings, with extra French fries, two large salads, one with French dressing the other with bleu cheese, an order of onion rings, two orders of Devils Food chocolate cake with chocolate icing, two orders of iced tea, and two chocolate malts, extra malt.

She didn't look like she could hold her half, but then again while teenage girls tended to eat like birds, teen aged boys had hollow legs, that was a given, so most of that might have been for David. But some how Laar'a might guess that Mari would finish her half, not worrying a bit about calories. She was too skinny by half.

The shower stopped and a few minutes later David peered round the corner. Satisfied with the situation he continued on out, almost lost in the large terry cloth robe. She settled on the edge of the bed sliding his arm about Mari, who laid her head on his shoulder.

Cannibal / Gentlemen Jim

As he slashed at the bank robbers faces, the two men squealed and tried to extricate themselves from their attacker. How ever while their flailing about might have made the cannibal’s attack less effective than he might have intended, it also did not keep them from collecting numerous cuts to themselves.

Behind them - they were still in sight of the bank, just half a block down – the first arriving police cruisers pulled up and the three LEO’s within came piling out – faceless in their riot helmets, bulky in their armor and numerous weapons.. While one started up the steps of the damaged building, the other two scanned the streets. And saw the mix up … as well as the solitary figure ahead of them

“Hey! You there ! What’s going on!” One used his vox amplifier to boom forth a question to the entangled trio.

Rose

"If I was an authentic Nazi, I would never purchase anything from here unless you were blonde, had clear eyes and Germanic looks. I don't need any authenticity for this. Oh, and just to remind, I also asked for a contact lens with a steel red iris."

Offended by her laughing Kai hid a frown and just shrugged. He hadn’t known Rose from any other stranger, and had no idea of her political leanings or affiliations. It wasn’t as if she carried the word anarchist imprinted on her forehead in glowing pink ink. He seldom read human minds, they were too jumbled and uninteresting. And her alienness must be what contributed to his attempt to influence her having no effect. But Kai really wasn’t interested enough to try harder.

He pulled out the less expensive of the two outfits and laid them out for her. He said nothing of the fact that the lesser outfit also made any female with any assets look even more endowed, and flaunting it. He directed her to the changing room so that if she wished to change immediately she could. When she wasn’t looking, with a flick of his fingers he added something to the armband, a glyph that would let any with the ability to discern such that this female was higna – prey….and that it would, should she try and discard it, keep coming back to her.

It’d serve her right for her rudeness.

Heathstepper

Nari concentrated for a moment, and her innate magic swept out, rolling over the young werewolf and enabling his currently wolfish mind to understand what she was going to say.

“I am sorry to have interrupted your hunting, but I would ask a favor from you, one I am willing to repay lavishly. I need directions, or better yet an escort to the Lupanar” I spoke of the place that the local werewolves would hold their meetings, rituals, accept the arrival of visitors - their home base so to speak. And it was always better to go accompanied by one of them, and customary to pay the one who guided you there very well indeed.


Charon / Andromeda / Ten

the first arriving police cruisers pulled up and the three LEO’s within came piling out – faceless in their riot helmets, bulky in their armor and numerous weapons.. While one started up the steps of the damaged building, his powerful helmet mounted light sweeping into the building, loking to see if any one was still within....

Roseann face suddenly became closed and serious as before, as she reminded why she rarely, if ever, smiled or laughed. It has been when she was just an innocent child, playing sme friends in the terrace of a building. A quick memory suddenly came to her mind, letting her temporarily lose touch with reality.

´It was like yesterday. Juan, Lilly and Rosa were just toddlers, like her, as the wind swept through their faces, and hidden from their parents, they played tag in the terrace. Juan was a clumsy kid, and when was his time, he was having difficulty to tag both of them, panting and running through the edges of the building, dangerous, and without any safety grating to avoid accidental falls. Roseann eventually looked at the exhausted boy, sitting on the edge of the terrace floor, and laughed, amusing herself from the half hour the persistent boy spent running after them. The boy was sweating a lot, as were them, when he suddenly began to sprint towards her. She dodged, but was still touched by him, who in his resolve to not be laughed at, won the game fair... but forgot that past her there was only the pavement, thirty meters below.

She attempted to hold his arm, to stop him from falling, but his fingers simply slipped from her small hand, as the kid, one of her friends, fell over the pavement, and died. Suddenly, the young kid looked at his dead body, to never again smile, or laugh.´

As she observed the outfit, and realized the shopkeeper was not glad with her. Rose simply looked at him and said, trying to explain it. She felt uneasy at all the seconds, like if there was more at stake than just showing some respect and trying to be more empathic. It was only one word, nothing more, as she looked at the man, before heading for the changing room, but with such word, her clear closed face, and sign that she was clearly not amused by her previous behavior highlighted her polite word.

"Sorry."

She entered in the changing room, and dressed the ironic outfit, undressing her previous clothes as she putted them in her backpack. As she was putting the quite provocative clothes, suddenly her mind began to wane from reality... as a strange vision took place, but it was more than a vision, for she could feel tiredness, smell and despair. Her eyes were nearly watered, and she wished to only fall unconscious to never again wake up. Her blurry eyes could only see black soldiers and dogs of undefined faces, taunting and clearly looking at her with disdain. Each step was a major martyrdom, and yet, a primal fear forced her to continue walking. Then a cold metal touched the back of her forehead, and a loud bang came, as everything vanished.

Sighing, Roseann tried to find a logical reason for bearing witness, in a strange vision, for feeling for brief moments like the victim, to one of the greatest atrocities of mankind history. Likely, another construct from her mind, or perhaps, something else, but she refused to consider the possibility she was having visions of the past. It was then that she began to feel uneasy, like if the mere outfit was emanating an aura of death and oppression from merely what it was supposed to represent. She felt unease by it, and quickly changed of idea, undressing it and putting her old clothes on again, completely oblivious to the strange thing that stayed from the armband. She then returned to the shopkeeper and answered:

"Again, I apologize. Actually I changed of idea, because it did not fit well with me. I want the most authentic-like uniform you have instead, but not for wearing. My grandfather fought in the second world war, and I wish to make a collection with uniforms and artifacts from all sides that fought in it. As for the party, I would rather a nearly authentic-looking officer uniform of the Red Army during the first years of the Russian revolution, back when they still were... idealists believing they were fighting for a greater cause. And coupled with the red contacts, it is all, mister... may I ask your name?"

Never in the past she has been so open and wordy about what she wanted than now. Perhaps it was a way to compensate for her early, hostile attitude, as she felt owing something to him from the way she acted before, as after all, he was just doing his job, and certainly, it was better to be loved than to be hated, and if it was possible to be both feared and loved, even better, although Roseann still saw no reason on why to instill fear to other peers in Carnival.

Sometimes, it seemed almost like she knew that her luck in such city was partly at Aki hands, even though in truth, she never realized what he did to her, for otherwise, then everything could get really nasty.

The Cannibal saw the police, and decided getting captured was not a good idea, he smashed through the door of the nearest building. He began to charge through houses in a random fashion, then he smelled her. He charged after the smell, continuing through a multitude of houses, until entering another abandoned building. He found them both. His mother and his brother, but they were different, much different, they had become vampires.
She spoke first,"Abraham my child!"
He responded,"Yes your beutiful darling boy, look at me mother, am I not your darling boy?"
"Brother please calm down."
"Shut up you pampered little rat, you ate the turkey and the ice cream and the jello while I ate rats, cockroaches and dogs. You would never be able to stand the taste, but I did, you get used to it."
"Son please that was so long ago, we can make it all better."
"Don't lie to me bitch, you told me that all the time, yet I was still down in that shit smelling cellar, and only brought out when you needed a gladiator to get you more money."
"I'm sorry son, please forgive me, I can help you."
"No you can't, nobody can, you know I got sick of eating all those dirty animals, so I ate people. Some taste like dogs, but most don't. And you know what, I've been the healthiest man alive, flesh is good for you."
"Son please, we can make it up to you, we can give you imortality."
"No I want nothing more from you"
"Brother please, think logically, we can make you immortal, and fix the damage we've done."
"Yes son please, forgive us, and well help you, you don't have to have the gift, we can help get rid of the madness. We'll get rid of the steel claws, we'll give you the food you crave, please just forgive us."
The Cannibal went nuts,"Forgive you? You can never be forgiven you whore." With that he smashed off the leg of a chair, and stabbed her with it.
She screamed, and began to burn to ash, but then she stopped screaming and said to him,"I'm sorry my little Abraham, you have every right to do this, I do not hate you." She completely turned to dust.
"Brother I don't hate you either," is what he said as he turned into a bat and flew away.
"Damn you, hate me despise me,"the police were coming,"God, why did you die, why did you die to me, why do you ignore me? Please forgive me for all my sin." He picked up the piece of the chairand started to approavch the door as the police burst in.
"Drop your weapon now!"
"Oh God, thank you, thank you for what you are going to do, thank you in advance for ending my pain forever, I am truely freed from the madness, this is the happiest day of my life!"
"Drop your weapon now!"
"Shoot me asshole, cut my cords, end it all now."
The police began to back out into the street, not wanting to really wanting to kill the crazy man.
"Please just drop your weapon sir, we can help you."
"This is judgement day, Ragna Rok, the day it all ends.'
He charged at them, and in panic they fired. He fell and landed on his back and in the last moments of his life, Abraham was at peace.
OCC: IDuC, you can take control of the Cannibal's brother if you like
......................
Gentleman Jim ignored the police, the three men still followed him

Rose

it is all, mister... may I ask your name?"

"Kai, just Kai"

Kai looked at Rose with raised eyebrows as she came back out with the outfit over her arm and rejected it. Though he had nothing but distain for Communists, and idealists mostly even more so, she had changed her tune and was trying in her own way to make ammends.

"If you are serious about collecting hold here a moment" Kai vanished innto the back to return with a real uniform, one that had survived the war unscathed only becase it had belonged to an officer of high rank and his family had hidden it. It was within a special carrying case, such as musenums use to store their valuable garmets. And he handled it reverently.

"Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, an honorable man. This was his spare formal uniform. He never got to wear it before the attempt to assassinate Hitler failed."

While leaving it for her to look at through the special case he moved quickly to assemble her alternate choice. And not one of the faux ones, but a good one that he'd give her at the lesser price. And he'd, with but a flick of fingers and wash of arcana, altered her status....Let her learn...

Roseann nodded to Kai as he replied to her questions. Suddenly she returned to her usual way of being, with few words and timidity, and looking at the Soviet uniform, she wondered about past, present and future. It all have been the same, after all, the only difference being that while soon corruption washed away the idealism of the Russian Revolution, the will of the people to be truly free preserved and secured the integrity of the Second Spanish Revolution. What if history have been different? Perhaps it was all a matter of one single action, no matter how such action was done by many rather than just one, that defined the difference between a new age of oppression and a new age of freedom. Perhaps, in another strand of time, Third Spanish States itself has become a Stalinist police State rather than what it is today, for history was full of turns, and perhaps the social formations have been favorable by a mere event that, should it be turned different, would have given a completely different fate for her homeland.

"Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, an honorable man. This was his spare formal uniform. He never got to wear it before the attempt to assassinate Hitler failed."

She nodded again as she heard it. It was perhaps a fact. Probably most of them were even unaware of the extent of atrocities done in the past. The power of lies and of government could turn honest, hard-working people into accomplices of mass murder, with single men twisting the views of millions through their power of rhetoric and charisma. It has been humanity's history, even though Roseann has been told there was more behind it, that it might have not been an accident, but a planned string of events, by a puppeteer which somehow would be benefited by a second world war. It was only a supposition, for most of it came from strange coincidences, and connections with occultism in the ghost of the Reich. Some were blunt to pack all the sparse evidences together, bundle up with a name like Illuminati and claim all was part of a conspiracy to create a fascist new world order, but Roseann never believed in such bull. As the quite convincing Red Army uniform was given, she came again to the changing room, and undressed again her baggy pants and sleeveless shirt to put her new outfit. This time, she felt nothing, although her memories of watching footage from the anarchist guerrillas in Spain became vivid and clear for a few seconds. People who sacrificed their lives, to secure the future of people who like here, were born in the land they fought so hard to liberate.

As she returned to the balcony, now dressed in the classic communist uniform, Roseann faced Kai again, and hearing the total price he gave, she asked him to just give her a moment, as she took both red eyes lenses and headed to a bathroom, which location she asked him about. Washing both she putted them before her eyes, and looked at the mirror, observing as her steel grey eyes became steel red, and thinking to her self:

Well, rabbits have red eyes, and they aren't "evil". Plus, red is the color of revolution. So now I have to reach this Dark Hunters Gala, to see if there is anything really around, besides my mental constructs. I should be careful anyway, for there is nothing of supernatural about thugs and serial killers.

As she returned next to Kai, Rose finally took her wallet and began to subtract a large amount of hundred bucks to pay for everything, counting it exactly. When she finally reached the amount, she handled him the small pile of bucks and nodded as she took the remainder of the past war that shaped the world, and perhaps have been essential for the very existence of the Confederacy now, nearly a hundred of years since it started. She was paid well, and perhaps, it could be something for her to do. To keep pieces of history, for rememberance of past mistakes, and of past heroic deeds. When everything was set, as she careful folded the uniform to fit in her backpack, Rose finally faced the shopkeeper again and replied:

"Thank you Kai. I will probably return once I am about to leave Carnival for a souvenir. Good night, and I wish you good businesses. But first, may I ask you which is the best way to reach the Dark Hunters Gala from here? I am heading there now."

Clearly, she has been completely oblivious to the strange rune, or to the way it has somehow, changed, together with her supposed status, from what it originally meant.

OOC:Sorry for not realizing this was here-totally my bad
IC: The strange tall figure in his monkish robes, the Holy Bible hung by chains from his belt, spoke:
"Revere the Brujah, my children, for they are the oldest of clans!
"Revere the Brujah, for they are the children of Enoch's King, Lamech of the Third Generation of Man!
"Revere the Brujah, for Lamech alone knew Caine and walked in Enoch, the First City.
"Lamech, son of Enoch, son of Caine:Revere Him! Author of the Book of Nod:Revere Him! Braggart, hypocrite, and liar:Revere Him!
"As mortal king of Enoch, Lamech decreed a seventy-and sevenfold vengeance on his slayer, even as Yahweh Saboath decreed a sevenfold vengeance on the slayer of Caine. Did His Sire take it as a challenge, or did the jealous god take offense at such hubris?
"Who can tell why Death rejected Lamech that night, why Lamech refused to lay dormant in His grave? I cannot say why he wandered instead of shuffling off this mortal coil, only that he did.
"Perhaps he knew this was not right, for he travelled West-the Western Lands being the land of the dead to the Egyptians, but Nod lay east of Eden and none may say of a certainty why Lamech headed west, only that He did so.
"As He travelled, He collected lore from the scholars of the day: the wise women and necromancers, the hedge witch and the hoary priests. To this lore He added His own commentary and suppositions, as well as a touch of hypotheses based on His own spurious logic.
"Then is was that Lamech came to the house of the father of the one we know today as Troile. The name is Greek, but the Hellenes travelled throughout the Mediterranian, and where this house lay is lost to the Ages.
"Did Lamech come humbly, as a guest? Did He force entry and demand, as the king he'd been? I cannot say: I know Troile was a beardless youth, a mere adolescent, a swift, strong, and charismatic athlete.
"I only know Troile stoked the fires of Lamech's Beast and burned:the Scholar-King recovered from frenzy with a pale, bloodless, yet muscular corpse in His arms.
"Perhaps Lamech was not recovered from frenzy: perhaps he had come as a guest, for His next actions were induced by frenzy or fear: he opened a vein and prayed the healing properties of vitae should redeem Him, and restore the youth.
"Your expressions are transparent:We've all been there. As the French say, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
"The situation is akin to that of the piano teacher:'But you don't play the piano.'-'I only have to stay one lesson ahead of the kid.'-Now, imagine being the kid.
"Lamech's 'discovery' of the Embrace had a profound effect on Him: He became obsessed with the vampiric condition: His writings shift from general knowledge to what becomes the Book of Nod. Of course, as is often the case, sire and childe come to a strange village, sire indulges in arcanology while childe pursues-other matters, and both are forced to flee into the night.
"Have you ever wondered why no intact copy of the Book of Nod exists? Have you ever wondered why the fragments are so contradictory? Why many supposed segments contain obvious mistakes(from our perspective) or anachronisms spanning centuries?
"By the time the pair reach ancient Kathardasht. Troile had had enough. Perhaps the society of the demonolator Baali inspired him, for Moloch, lord of Kathardasht, was very close to him, and while a mutual Regnancy is implied in the texts, for Troile did feast upon his Sire there, yet his childer became dominant as Moloch's dwindled, existing as advisors or servants at the sufferance of Troile's line, and Moloch sacrificed himself to spare Troile from the claws of He Whose Childer are called Ventrue. It was the Tzimisce who discovered the Bond, and have to this day modified it far beyond our capabilities.
"Troile's line was legion, based on those things as impress youth:skill in arms, physical prowess. Insisting three draughts of his vitae ensured the Becoming, the Embrace rites of Kathardasht took place over the nights of the new moon, though this limit may have been imposed to limit the childer of Troile's young.
"You see what Troile had done? His system ensured his childers' loyalty, while ensuring their childer were loyal to them. All adored the boy-god and competed for his affection, building broods of loyal slaves to His glory.
"You all know what happened-how the First Punic War was directed by the fractured childer of Malkav, and waged by their Bound Ventrue, how the Brujah returned with Hannibal-and found the Lasombra where they sought the Mad Ones? The Lasombra wage war as they do all things-on their terms, and Kathardasht fell. Moloch died at the hands of He Called Ventrue, while that fell one and Troile struggled to the Sun together. The rest is known-the Brujah, bereft of the Fourth and Fifth Generation, weathered the Dark Ages alone, but still mustered the Anarch Revolt.
"The Sixth and Seventh founded the Brujah Council which strode large until Baba Yaga laid them low, with Her Fell Awakening.
"Now the question remains-shall you band together forcibly, unable to resist the Bonds of Blood, and fall prey to the plotters and planners, or shall you Bond of your own free will, and fall only by placing your Best and Brightest in one central location?"
The cheers, and later the screams of the few humans brought, answered him, and the great bear of a bearded prophet walked calmly to his private chambers.
"What purpose this?" young Boy asked, providing an arm freely given.
"The caitiff and the rabble will band, Boy." came the answer. "With the chaos ensuing, the demons we must defeat will show themselves." the prophet opened his Bible, revealing the hollow within, and the Ruger Super-Blackhawk it contained. "Behold, the piece of the Lord!-Long may it hold sway on this land!"
(OOC:If this is too much, or needs elaboration, let me know)

Crowbar found himself wondering the streets after the revelation in the bar. Part of him wanted run and hide in a cupboard somewhere and gibber, trying to deny that this was anything but a bad dream. Another part was fatalistic. He and Ronson had stirred up a hell of a hornets’ nest, one that could truly come and bite him on the arse. Like it had done to Ronson, the poor sod. He ran his had through his close-shaved hair and swore quietly to himself.

The mugger jumped like hell as someone else passed him by on the road he was walking down. He pressed himself against a wall until the person passed, trying to keep himself out of sight as much as possible. When the pedestrian walking by gave him no more than a funny look for diving out of the way so conspicuously, he detached himself from the wall, his heart pounding. Crowbar realised he needed a way of evening the odds between himself and these creatures of the night.

But first, he needed to get himself a gun.

Across town, on the third storey of an otherwise abandoned building…

Heathstepper continued to sit with its head cocked to one side and felt a wave wash over it. It was an unpleasant feeling, just like nothing the werewolf had felt before. Neither in human form or this had it ever encountered magic before. It was something new and somewhat uncomfortable. However, the werewolf found its usually bestial mind reducing and the human part coming to the fore.

The woman spoke of something called a “Lunapar”, a word which didn’t mean much to the werewolf. However, the promise of payment did. The fact that it’d been mugged earlier on in the night would undoubtedly come back to haunt the werewolf once back in human form, as to be broke in Carnival was to invite arrest by the local LEOs.

One thing did nag at the werewolf’s magically enhanced mind, the fact that Heathstepper had already hunted and even made a kill. If the pack that possessed this territory learnt of this, they might not be that happy about it.

Laar’a smirked at the long and thorough list she’d been given. She picked up the phone and called down to the desk to place her room service order. She added one item to it a pot of tea pot of hot water. She had the clerk repeat her order and repeated her room number and thanked him. She’d worked in the allit’s bar once upon a time. After you work in restaurants you become very polite, but you also don’t leave anything to chance.

She hung up and turned back to the pups, children. “There we go. The food will probably be about twenty minutes.” She signed. She got up from the bed and unbuckled the belt that held her crossed kads and her POP. She took it off and rebuckled it before hanging it on the bedpost of her bed. Unencumbered, she laid back down on the bed on her side. She pushed the loose locks of her long dark hair from her brown shoulder. She didn’t change from her skirt and top of metal scales or take off her boots. Her husband wasn’t home from checking out that disturbance yet; so she wasn’t going to get comfortable until he was.

“I suppose should introduce myself.” She signed. The next part wouldn’t be precise. ASL didn’t precisely translate Taung’a, so she’d have to finger spell her name and her husband’s. Even if ‘Tenadore’ was Western it was so disused to be unfamiliar, which was no surprise, it fell out of real use about the same time Ten stopped being human. “My name is Laar’a Pitat Starr. My husband’s name is Tenadore Pitat Starr. You can call me Laar’a, if you like. What are your names?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten's head swiveled around at the sound of approaching sirens and screech of tires and squeal of tires as the black and whites pulled up outside. He cursed and kicked a head sized piece of brick like it was a piece of paper. He was about to turn around when he saw a glint in the dust. He bent down and picked up his LeMat. He promptly returned it to its holster. He'd check it for damage later. It wouldn't do to be caught waving a firearm when the local yokels burst in edgey and finger-twitchin' on their service sidearms.

The Barret couldn't be hidden and would be its own brand of 'fun.' He spread back his duster and reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a heart shaped badge with a star cut into it. It proclaimed him to be a Rural Ranger, Captain, Company A. He pinned the badge to the chest of his vest and moved over to the wererat. He'd need keep the thing down and calm when the local LEOs burst in.

Ten / Charon / Andromeda

The lead LEO never made it that far into the building - when his partners called out that there was an assault going on just a hundred feet or so down the street, he hurried back out. It was standard operating procedure to stay as a team, and he hadn't seen any one within the range of his light, though he had noted the gaping hole in the shared wall.

That left Ten, the wererat, Charon and Andromeda alone for at least a bit longer...

The trio charged thumpingly down the street, intent on the 'public disturbance' in full view. As they ran they radioed that one of the three had begun to run off and directed the other squad cars to try and intercept the runner.

Eventually the Cannibal would be cornered and killed.

Laar'a

You can call me Laar’a, if you like. What are your names?”

Their names were David Lee Jones, and Mari Candace Terrahaut it turned out.

Mari left to take her turn under the shower as the fresh robes were brought.

David moved over to look closely at the kads, the POP, and belt, though he was very careful not to touch. "Nice" he signed. "Is this your costume for the big gala? Why the gun though? Doesn't match" Even in the depths of the institution the buzz about the big annual free for all had made the rounds.

Cleaned up, David looked better than he had, bright blue violet eyes, wavey dark blonde hair and the definite promise of being a handsome man though he was still too short and thin for a boy of his age, and one might guess would be around sixteen, maybe all of seventeen.

Mari came back out, a waft of steam enveloping her just seconds before the food arrived. She looked fairy like given her paleness, small stature and overly slender body. Her hair, with the harsh dye required by the institution to hid her ‘difference’ washed away, was now a pale pink, soft and fluffy like a dandelions down over eyes the same hue as David’s.


The one who had once been a monk, a mad monk some claimed but now was much different…

No, in this part of Carnival, even this close to the more frenetic areas of this neighborhood, a scream or even many drew little response. Save for a pair of faintly glowing red eyes that watched carefully until the rabble that the tall shaggy vampire had roused dispersed about their masters orders. Then a small wrinkled figure (http://www.atddm.com/spinx1.jpg) stood and stretched, it's back making a long familiar arc against the full of the moon.

Nearly invisible wings of thin but strong bone with taunt skin stretched tight between them spread and the Moon Cat half flew, half soared down to poke cautiously at the still steaming bits human body and bone that the Lycan’s had left of the corpses. A winking of the eyes and a distasteful moue and the watcher had a small tuft of Lycan fur in his teeth.
A run of a few bounding steps and it was launching itself aloft to take the shortest route it's mistress.

Faro knew that Jazz tolerated a lot, but some things she did not, and rebellion was foremost among them

Heathstepper

Nari gave Heathstepper time to assess her request, she was patient and had all the time in the world. Kami could be killed-however those with the ability were few and far between - and they could be forced back to the High Planes of Heaven, but Heathstepper was not one would could even do the lesser of the two.

Rose

Good night, and I wish you good businesses. But first, may I ask you which is the best way to reach the Dark Hunters Gala from here? I am heading there now."

Kai tucked the money away. “Which venue did you want to experience?” He pulled out a brightly hued brochure. It was thick, over thirty 5x7 pages worth of slickly detailed listings of what, where, and when. Twenty locations some more family oriented, others as debauched as any sybarite could imagine….

“They’ve got live music at some, magic acts at others, even Lunacy is performing at the main spread. I’m about to head out, want to ride with me? I’ve got another bike with a side car.” It too was a Suzuki GSX 1300R, but not near as heavily modified as the one he had been working on.

The werewolf, its mind still buzzing from the magically-induced expansion to its cognitive powers, gave the kitsune a slow nod. Heathstepper accepted Nari’s proposal, even if only for a mercenary reason, one which would make life in Carnival as a human easier. The last thing it really wanted was to meet more of its own kind, even if they could be sympathetic to the werewolf’s cause, to track down the last mugger in order to give him a taste of his own medicine, revenge for the attempted murder of the werewolf. It had fostered the feeling of being a lone wolf over the last few years, one which it liked. Hunting and taking down strays and stragglers, whilst less than noble, was something that was less demanding than running with a pack. Such things usually had a whole host of politics attached to them, and for the moment, the young werewolf liked the feeling of being able to move around as often as it wished.

Heathstepper moved from the position it had previously taken, one which hinted at a pounce if the kitsune turned out to be weaker than it appeared, or running like hell if the creature was much more aggressive than the werewolf. It adopted a less hostile stance, sitting on the ragged carpet that floored the rundown room in which the pair faced each other. It waited for the woman to make the next move, especially since Heathstepper didn’t have any clue as to where this “Lupanar” was supposed to be held.

In life, Grigory Efimovich Rasputin had been illiterate. His wandering as a staretz had brought him all the lore he'd needed, without ever referring to the written word, and when he entered the palace, his patroness had gifted him with a secretary, that his words may be preserved for the ages.
Death had not been so generous, and he found himself relying on books on tape or readers for the blind, sizing the volunteers up for continued service. As yet, he'd not found one, but Carnivaal was filled with those who would be happy to perform this task-should he abide here a time.
Still, he compared the meaningless scrawlings on the business card with the address he'd scribed on the package, as he'd done with all the others.
Boy had acquired the business cards of the various television stations in Carnivaal, and Rasputin was sending tapes of Don Siegal's The Killers to each-the soundtrack dubbed with odd sounds and commentary, humorous skits to usher the film in and out of commercial. Rasputin preferred The Killers, as it had been made for television, with breaks for commercials already factored in, making editing simpler. He'd worked this sort of program before, and could easily have a fresh show in five days' time, more than adequate for broadcast.
Besides, it amused him to portray himself to a city as "The Vampire Rasputin", late night host and comedian, the cities opening their doors to him, allowing him easily into an adoring society. That most stations had their own newsrooms and live reporters even if the bulk of their programming came from elsewhere was not lost on him, either, and journalists knew of the workings of a city faster and in much better detail than any other circle of friends he could cultivate.
Satisfied with his work, he gathered up the parcels of videotape and walked leisurely to the nearest postal pick-up box. Boy was sleeping, now, and the night was still before him-he'd need to hunt before returning, and the wee hours before dawn were actually best for his preferred prey...

Grigory Efimovich Rasputin

While no one paid attention to the screams that had echoed about earlier save for the observer, the neighborhood was lively this night. The first night of the annual Dark Hunters Gala was this night and the streets were still full of people going to and fro not just to the Gala but with all sorts of the errands of dailly life. Or Even just spending money on things the marketing divisions of every corporation deemed they should have - or for darker purposes still.

Hunting was always gooD in Carnival, and not just for one sort of hunter.

No his walk to the postal box would allow him ample opertunity to obvsere those out for whatever reason and to begin his filling of his needs.

Heathstepper

When the werewolf began looking less hostile Nari relaxed slightly, but when he made no effort to leader her to where she needed to go she sighed.

"Let me guess, you don't know where it is either. So, are you a stranger here too?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC: Yes I know that the Psycho Cannibal is dead, I was just making it official.

Taking Vorn's hand Amasaratu led him toward the series of rooms the next level up that had been turned into the Ball's dining room. The Kitchen might have been makeshift but it was being tended to by some of the most superb chefs about. Dark Hunters didn't tend to live to retire, and there for most of them never saved a cent, but they were certainly willing to spend their money on good living and part of that was good food.

Over a superbly cooked rib eyes, an inch and a half thick, blood rare on the inside and lighly charred on the outside, she flirted with Vorn as they decided on what movie to see.

"And then will it be sex and violence, or violence and sex?" She cocked one perfect eyebrow at the Argonian.

The lupine head gave another slow nod, attempting to indicate that it was, indeed, a stranger to Carnival. It would have been easier had the full moon not had such a strong hold, but it always did. Any conversation would have been easier with a human body, with a face capable of making the correct movements and the right sort of vocal cords. In the end, the werewolf followed the nod with a shrug of its furred shoulders, about as expressive as the creature could get in ways that weren’t geared towards making its prey know that it was truly dead. Heathstepper’s body language was one of submission, as it was currently entirely in the thrall of the kitsune, primarily due to the magical field that was in effect, but also partly due to the obvious power the woman wielded, both in the magical sense and in the physical sense.

Ten stood perfectly still as the cops pounded away. The Catawaban lawcougar, sort of like a lawdog but not, grunted and blew into his salt and pepper mustache. "Well, that was just about the best turn we're gonna get." He squated down to check on the wererat to see if he was going to need to carry the creature. He was still talking to Charon. "Get the girl outa here, pard. Carnival ain't got the best o'lawmen, but they'll still make our weekend hell if they find us in here with a parsel of bodies. That nutbird's most likely the one that drew'em off. Let them piece him together afterwards with this place. Doubt they'll care who was where after that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a laughed. "Yes, the gun doesn't match my costume. I suppose you don't remember, but my husband was carrying it for me." Laar'a waved to Mari as she showed up out of the shower.

With the knock at the door, the were got up from the bed and got her purse. She took the food cart and tipped the server. She pushed the food cart into the room and between the beds right in front of the two teenagers. "Dig in, you two." She went around to her bag and took out a tea ball. She climbed over the bed and lifted the lid of the tea pot and dropped the ball in before replacing the lid.

She stretched back out on the bed and watched the teenagers dig in. They were so pitifully thin it tore at her. Their height was more than likely stunted by their malnutrition, perhaps with some good eating they'd get another growth spurt or two. David would look especially handsome, more than he was already, with a few more inches. However height wasn't everything, Laar'a reflected. Her Tenadore was comparatively short nowadays.

She rested her head on her arm and curled her legs up near her as she watched the two pups. Those curious violet eyes...so mysterious...so full of...something she just couldn't place.

“Which venue did you want to experience?”

As Roseann paid for her merchandise, she observed the large brochure, and tried to find something that would be appropriate. Probably, the more family-like places would be essentially the least likely parties to draw the sort of crowd she hoped to see, and to gather evidences from. Evidences, proof that all was only part of a major set-up, that indeed, nothing supernatural existed. She simply nodded to Kai as he handled the brochure and explained:

"From what I have seen, well, I'd rather to visit one of the least... conservative."

Rose still tried to understand the suspicious vibe that she felt around the place. It was a bit too much for her, after all, and she also was a bit uneasy about everything. Essentially, Carnival seemed like an hostile, foreign and fearful place for someone so used with the familiar, where every word had to be calculated, another good reason to not speak too much. A lack of trust did much to the sum of features in her that made of her, despite her attractiveness, very far from being amiable, or very social. What Kai further said was enough to allow for the usual uneasiness take heed of her gestures again.


“They’ve got live music at some, magic acts at others, even Lunacy is performing at the main spread. I’m about to head out, want to ride with me? I’ve got another bike with a side car.”

Rose observed the motorcycle, and feeling strange about the invitation, she tried to understand why such man was offering her such ride, other than as a way to befriend a good customer for she did a quite big purchase from his store, as she looked at the vehicle. She has never been a fan of bikes, preferring cars over them. and in fact she never piloted one either. Nevertheless, the man certainly knew the place, and it was perhaps safer to get a hitch with a seemingly honorable businessman than to walk or make her way towards it alone.

Of course, before she even pondered about it, her most immediate reaction was an involuntary blush, as the first thought was that he was attempting to somehow conquer her. Roseann tried to recompose herself pretty soon however, as she nodded to him and added with brief words her decision:

"Certainly Kai, certainly. And thanks."

She thus kept her trust over a man whose true nature she was completely unaware of. It was a conscious choice, for the risks of going there alone, in the wake of night, were likely greater than the risks of such man being a psychotic serial killer. With no delay, already dressed up like the stereotypical "Commie girl", Roseann took her seat in the sidecar and awaited for him to carry on. She did not speak much, and likely would stay quite during most of the trip, only observing cautiously everything around, and listening.

Is is too late or could I toss someone into the mix?

Is is too late or could I toss someone into the mix?
Probably not. OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=570637)

The gun, a heavy revolver chambered in .357 magnum, sat on the battered wooden table, amongst stained mugs, dirty plates and empty takeaway wrappers. It had been bought from a fence and the man had assured Crowbar that it was “clean” – that it wasn’t on any of the databases of weapons used in crimes anywhere in Carnival. Not that the mugger cared – he’d just wanted something with enough kick to take down that werewolf that had got Ronson, although he hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to the man he’d purchased the firearm from. The mugger had decided that it was a werewolf, especially after his talk at the bar, although he would prefer to deny that such things didn’t exist, but after seeing it both in the park and when Ronson confronted it, he knew there was no denying it.

Crowbar shuddered at the thought of werewolves, vampires and the like. How could something that had only previously existed in the mugger’s mind as things from horror films be real? He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he had bought after getting the handgun and took a long pull. Crowbar didn’t intent to be going out again that night, especially with such creatures abroad at night

Ten knelt down next to the were and sighed. He was bloodied and healing but also entirely out cold. The werecougar looked around. The man and girl had ghosted from the room. "Figures." The man had entered so quietly and quickly; his exit should have come as no surprise. He hoped they'd be okay. He'd hoped someone might want to do this for him.

Ten bent down and took hold of the wererat and slung him over a shoulder. He turned around headed back the way he came in through the antechamber. Even with his strength, carrying a were isn't the easiest thing. They tend to way more than a normal man or beast of their size, and there's always that annoying danger they wake up while you're carrying them. Tenadore came out onto the street and looked both ways, getting his bearings.

He'd been here before, a few times in fact, a long, long time ago. He'd known a few places people like his cargo used hang out. He took a few whiffs of the air, deciding which way the ocean was. He turned and started walking towards the wharves. Wererats are true to their animal's nature as much as Ten was to his. Cougars liked having a lot of room to roam. Ten lived in the rural backwoods of Catawaba, patrolling counties-wide areas as his territory. The first place rats inhabit upon coming to a new land is the wharves the ships that carry them anchor at. Wererats feel kinship with the salty air but mostly the smell of rotting fishheads.

Perhaps the Ratlins Pub was still here, but no telling how things had changed since 1922.

Heathstepper

Nari looked downcast for a moment, then threw back her head and laugh. "Oh but aren't both of us in a quandary. But I will still pay you for your time and trouble. When you change, come back here. I'll still be here, and I'll pay you." Her chuckles died away and she regarded him seriously. He, in all likelihood had never dealt with a Kitsune before, and knew nothing about them.

Lightly easing to her feet she glided over to the window, so that she could see the moon, and it's lgiht shine on her. "By the Pearl of Night's Ocean, I promise I will be here, that I mean you know harm, and I will pay you as I have said."

Then she stepped back, so that she was not blocking his way, and showing that he could leave if he so choose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rose

The Bruja that the vampire once known as Grigory Efimovich Rasputin had stirred up were already beginning more open depredations, though perhaps Rose could be forgiven for not realizing what she had seen - A broad shouldered man holding up the limp form of his female victim - But Kai had been driving fast - though with consummate skill -and there was so much to see.

But Kai could smell the tang of blood, feel the weight of the vampires 'presence' and he growled low in his throat. That it had been done on one of the more major thoroughfares was dangerous - and against Jazz's edict - for even here the Masquerade was kept.

As he came to a stop on a red light he asked "Are you sure you want to go the down and dirtiest party? The 'least conservative' is the Circus of Blood. And those there can get very drunk and it's known for the brawls that break out."

Laar'a

"Dig in, you two."

David caught Laar'a looking between their eyes and smiled shyly ducking his head - but he didn't stop eating. He and Mari both at as if they hadn't in days, and perhaps had not. But both also ate neatly, with manners other than one might expect from a teen, or one raised in an institution."

Ten

The Ratlin Pub wsa still there and not much changed from its days back in the 20's. Though it took Ten some time to get there - it being close to five miles away from where he started. The path he took wound though alleys or the green spaces along the numerous bayous - and he might be disturbed to note that he had the scent and blood trace of several poorly done vampire kills - clumsy in both application and in the disposal of the remains
.

Ten stood perfectly still as the cops pounded away. The Catawaban lawcougar, sort of like a lawdog but not, grunted and blew into his salt and pepper mustache. "Well, that was just about the best turn we're gonna get." He squated down to check on the wererat to see if he was going to need to carry the creature. He was still talking to Charon. "Get the girl outa here, pard. Carnival ain't got the best o'lawmen, but they'll still make our weekend hell if they find us in here with a parsel of bodies. That nutbird's most likely the one that drew'em off. Let them piece him together afterwards with this place. Doubt they'll care who was where after that."

Charon had been quite amused with the entire spectacle that had went on in front of him while Andromeda was intently looking at the wererat and wondering if it was going to be alright. When Ten finished speaking, Charon began to respond. "I'm going to take her, yes, but I think we'll stay here in Carnival for just a while longer; I'm glad to see we could take care of the cannibal and all those other people. I'm a bit surprised you didn't just kill him then. After all, just look at this place. It's all covered in blood and guts and he even threatened to eat this poor child of mine here. No, she's not my daughter by blood if you were wondering about that."

Charon got Andromeda some clothes to wear before they proceeded to walk out into the streets but not before Charon said a quick farewell to Ten. After a while of walking, Charon took out Wanda's card. He was going to look for her and see how she was doing.

OOC: IduC, I'm going to have Charon look for Wanda. He wants to see her again. Perhaps she could see him on the street or something? I'm assuming I can just send him over to some building where he finds her waiting to give him his reward. :p

Ten stopped and looked around as he smelt the blood and decaying bodies. He stopped at one and toed the head to the side so he could see its neck. It didn't have the gentile two pinpricks most people thought customary of vampires. It was customary for some vampires. The ones that either cared for the victim in some way or didn't want massive wounds to be noticed or thought they were still some noble gentlebeing of a bygone day and still comported them in the way they still thought to be proper...for a smarmy corpse that is. No, this poor sap had nearly had its neck gnawed apart, and for all the viciousness of the wound there was little blood.

Ten looked back up from corpse, dispassionate. It was something you got used to as a lawman, and as one of the Strange Folk, it was something you saw on a regular basis. Ten glanced around and unholstered his LeMat. He walked over into one of the few street lights about and checked the gun over. It was pitted and marred on the surface. He pulled the hammer back and watched the cylinder rotate one chamber.

Ten shifted the wererat on his shoulder. He let the hammer back down to its rest position and holster the revolver again. He looked at the corpse again. Either there was a young, frenzied vamp around or an especially nasty older one. Ten didn't want to figure which was worse, they both were a nuisance in their own ways.

The werecougar hefted the wererat higher on his shoulder. "Yer causin' me a pack o'trouble, boy. I better get some damn nice pat on the back when I dump yer carcass with yer king or yer baron or whatever the hell you belong to." He grumbled to his unconscious burden. "I coulda been at that fancy fandango wit' me wife, enjoyin' myself with her, enjoyin' how everyone else looks at her but knowin' she's there wit' me." He growled. "Lettin' yerself get jumped by a nutty human, just a human."

He shook his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a leaned away from the bed and took a tea cup and poured herself some of the herbal tea. She brought it back to her on the bed and took an eyes-closed deep, aroma-filled whiff of the warm, fragrant tea. It was so calming and relaxing, just the scent. She took a sip and returned to watching the two across from her.

She saw David duck away as her dark eyes connected with her bright violets. So, there was something there, so could guess from his reaction. But what?

She shifted her focus to their eating. For half starved teenagers, they ate like this was a white tie event. Laar'a cocked her head to the side. She remembered her younger brother and her cousins. They ate like animals...well, they were technically.

ZL; Aresum Please keep the OOC to the OOC thread!

As the motorcycle traveled through the streets of the city, Roseann began to listen and watch everything around, even because, should a mugger come, she would rather notice it quickly for reacting first and warning about it to Kai. In many ways, the barely lit streets, the atmosphere of sinister happenings blanketed, the distant howls and suspicious types walking upon the streets, everything was reminiscent of a typical scenario of a slasher movie, although the only monster, as always, was a monster called human. A city with much glitter, and visibly much trouble, was a good way to describe Carnival. The division between rich and poor, maintained over the ages by fear, oppression and superstition, seemed like a mocking scenery at her, daring for her to incite a revolution, and yet, her discipline and her rationality kept such ardent thoughts at bay, for now.

Her observance was interrupted, as in one of the red lights that was given on the way, Kai briefly asked her a very important question. The answer could be the very difference between the success and failure of the mission she was assigned for. A quite daring name, which however wasn't much for someone who once has visited, albeit only to see rather than join, as establishment known as the House of Sodom.


"Are you sure you want to go the down and dirtiest party? The 'least conservative' is the Circus of Blood. And those there can get very drunk and it's known for the brawls that break out."

"I doubt either of us would let our blood be spilled there," she commented, not really taking literally the meaning of the event, and interrupted her words for a while, "plus, I am level-headed enough to avoid meddling into the middle of a brawl, neither I drink alcoholic beverages, and thus I'll always stay sober enough to spot any trouble before it becomes too late for both of us to avoid getting into it."

The name was certainly suggestive, and probably a choice to help keeping up with the myth. The only circuses of blood however, were those of human savagery, rather than the works of fantastic and supernatural beings. Probably it was named in such way for the same reason certain metalheads would chose names like "The Demon". The most key moment of the night could come soon for Rose. In this Circus of Blood, the twilight of truth could perhaps be encountered.

With free access to the window given, the young werewolf pulled itself out of it and leapt into the street below, not sparing a backward glance to the kitsune. The magic that the creature had used to boost Heathstepper’s thinking was beginning to wear off, and the werewolf wanted to get back to the hunt. Its mind was buzzing, however, with what the woman had said. Usually, when back in human form, the werewolf could only remember what it had done whilst in lupine form only hazily, like a person trying to remember the specifics of a heavy night of drinking the morning after. This time, the werewolf would be able to remember the events, probably due to the use of magic to affix them in its mind.

The werewolf landed in the alley below the room with a thump, falling to all fours. Slowly, it drew itself up to a bipedal standing position and shook itself, to remove glass fragments and dust picked up during its pursuit of the kitsune. The wounds it had suffered over the course of the night had almost entirely healed, with only the stub of its right ear to show were Ronson had shot it with Heathstepper’s own revolver.

The bloodlust was beginning to rekindle in side of the werewolf, and a need for revenge still burned within its chest. Without a howl to announce that it was once again hunting, the werewolf stalked off into the night.

Eloise Coeuret was a native of Carnivaal, her first ancestor coming over during the reign of the Sun King with a sizable fortune. The Coeurets prospered, both due to business acumen and certain advantages their ancestor had allowed them to inherit.
Though she was a social lioness and wealthy patroness, tonight was not for politicking and scheming, but for hunting. She hadn't preyed in some time, and the city practically begged it's predators to shorten the dole queues at times.
So, she abandoned her satin and silk and donned her leathers for a short bout of slumming.
At the first bar, she saw nothing worthy of her attentions, though an oddly dressed biker with an uncanny resemblance to Rob Zombie briefly caught her eye. Deciding against someone who may well be famous, she left and headed to a pool hall.
A large man in a silken robe was playing as she entered, heavily bearded with the most brilliant green eyes she'd ever seen-ah well, it was Carnival. Costumes were part of that. As he finished his shot and collected from his opponent, she moved up to the table and pressed a twenty to the edge.
He smiled, and signalled for drinks. She nodded and racked.
One game lead to another, and soon she took him to her bed. His prowess was astounding, as was the delicate touch of those large, calloused hands, bringing sensations she'd long forgotten about.
Her breath came in short pants as she shifted into the lithe hairy form she preferred for the Kill, ready to satisfy the one hunger he hadn't. "You've really been wonderful." she growled, "But the words a man says to a woman in the night should be immortal..."
"As are the words a woman does not say in return." This wasn't right-his voice dead calm, when this form shattered the resolve of normal men. Those brilliant green eyes transfixed her, and she was only peripherally aware of the great hand quenching the candle, and his mouth between her breasts, bringing an ecstasy that wiped the night away...

Vorn reguarded her again with an air of mischeif in his eye...

"How about both?"

There were two options, obviously, but he meant both combinations...

"How about both?"

Both of Amasaratu's winged eyebrows flew up "Oh! Some one who thinks he can keep up with me!" She said in breathy delight, as she daintily dabbed at the corners of her lips as she finished the last of the meal. "Then why don't we skip the movie, and go straight to the Wishing Well. See if we can draw a bounty that will be a quickie. There are some pleasures that should Not be done and over with quickly. Bounty Hunting isn’t one of them."

She led Vorn back down the stairs, explaining the Wishing Well as they went. ""They are all legit. And the monies depositied in Carnival's main bank in escrow so no one has to worry about getting stiffed. Some are easier, some harder, it's the luck of the draw. The entry fee's end up in a pot that goes to the winner of the 'Hard Luck ' contest."

The mock up of a traditional wishing well (http://www.gardendecorforyou.com/images/wishing-well-MYSMWL38.jpg)was in the center of the merchants area, and there was a small table, staffed by a nerdy looking young man, wearing a name tag that read 'Hard Luck committee chairman' 'Bob'. He pushed his thick glasses back up his nose and greeted Amasaratu bashfully as he gave Vorn a once over. "Hey Ama! Who’s your new partner?”

Ama introduced the two and signed for a pair of draws. “Vorn, you want to reach into the well and pull out two tokens so Bob here can match them up with the case files.”

Rose

"plus, I am level-headed enough to avoid meddling into the middle of a brawl, neither I drink alcoholic beverages, and thus I'll always stay sober enough to spot any trouble before it becomes too late for both of us to avoid getting into it."

That made Kai thow back his head and laugh. "I can tell you've never been in many bar brawles. They just happen out of no where and before you know it you are fighting in purest self defense, wether you intended to or not."

He slowed to a stop before an immense building - maybe it had once been a factory, but was no longer. Fully six stories it stood, and could hold two or three football fields and their bleachers. Now its corregated tin walls vibrated from of the force of the music pouring forth.

The skylights and countless window -freshly sealed around cheap transparent plastic panels - blazed with deep scarlet light. A huge billboard had been errected and against it's black background shone a scintillating light sculpture.

http://www.atddm.com/kob1.jpg

Get a Kiss of Blood
at the Circus of Blood

There was a steady stream of people in all sorts of costumes and fancy dress going in and out, many very noticeably wobbly on their feet. Some of the costumes would do the finest special effects professionals proud.

"Here you go Rose. I'll be back once I find a safe place to park"


Rasputin

The social lioness, and werewolf, writhed in the grips of the passion the one who had once been Grigory Efimovich Rasputin granted her and decided she did not need to kill him just then. Sometimes hunting was best shared.

And this year it was the tawdriest of venues – the Circus of Blood, close to the wharves - where the best hunting would be found he learned as they lay spent in each others arms. For there was the most likely place to find those who hunted in turn – the real Dark Hunters.

Ten

The alley’s that Ten found himself taking were not his first choice of routes. He could hear even a good distance away the howl of very loud music. Heavy Metal, hearing ruining…but when he searched other alleys that he remembered he found unexpected changes. Ten had no choice - He’d have go directly past the back side of vast heap that housed the Circus of Blood, or detour more than a few miles around.

As luck would have it though, it looked as if he might not have to go all the way to Ratlin Pub.

"Holy Crap! Benny! Hey, mann, bring'em inside and lay'em down." The small scrawny roadie scrambled down from the pile of crates he’d been sitting on enjoying a thick reefer. “Wass happened?” he asked as he looked over the lump on Ten’s shoulder, obviously recognizing the still unconscious form.

He wrung his hands and scurried over to open a barely visible door. “Here, I can take care of him till he comes around. ‘Cause of Byron sees him like this he’ll skin him for sure.” Little light came though the open door, it led to a nearly lightless back stage area.

Heathstepper

He'd be able to follow the scent of his quarry, though it would not be easy, especially with all the mingled scents pouring forth from the Circus of Blood, not that far distant and now in full swing.

Ten stopped and turned to the explosion of anxiety. The scrawny little dude seemed to recognize his cargo. Good enough. This dude didn't look like he was going to kill...Benny, and the quicker he was rid of the rat, the quicker he'd get back to his wife. "The rat got jumped by a human and wholloped good."

His night was shot. No appearance at the Ball. And now since those pups were probably in the spare bed, his nights were celibate.

He followed the bundle of nerves into the back stage area. "Who's Byron?"

Charon & Andromeda

The address on the card read: The Garden of Earthly Delights
1217 Norn St.
That was in one of the nicer neighborhoods of the south side. But it was quite a number of miles distant from their current location. However the nicely and discretely done card also had a 1-800 number on it to 'request a reservation'.

Their randomly chosen direction of ambulation had brought them to a neighborhood that seemed more lively. Most of the stores were open, with customers, and in the near distance they could hear a live band playing. And the heard but as yet unseen club had circling spot lights lancing heaven wards.

With a kiss and a murmured word to wipe the wolfess's memories, Rasputin rose and considered. Elysium (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrVShsFB40Q) always evoked certain emotions in him, but this "Circus of Blood" hosted some Dark Hunters affair.

Predators are always polite, and it would not do to ignore potential competition-or potential prey. Perhaps Mme. Coeuret would prove more than a night's dalliance-werewolves were loyal once won over, but Rasputin could not drag her into his Hunt. Not yet-his prey was too deadly, too venomous, too cunning.

He signalled for a hansom. "A l'Hotel Transylvania, Rue Fouberge de Saint-Germain." he instructed. The sun would rise soon, and best he be home. The next sunset would see him seek out this Circus of Blood.

Perhaps he could locate one of the mad seers-one assumed his identity in Moskva, and most were well-disposed as a result. His own folk would house and provide for him, but they were too insular, too wrapped up in their own world of power and obligation. The Circus of Blood was on the wharf-perhaps a bit of wandering could be beneficial.

He mused idly as the cab pulled up to his current abode-he tipped the cabbie and made his way inside. The sun was on the rise and he'd best be in repose by then...

Once again, the vibrant smells of Carnival filled the werewolf’s nostrils. It had missed hunting for too long, and a single kill after being clubbed, shot and magicked wouldn’t be enough. Its ears swivelled, picking up noises on the wind. There was loud music coming from a few streets away, as well as the noise of a lot of humans mingling and interacting together. Heathstepper began to pad in the general direction of source of the racket and the smells, bloodlust slowly returning to the levels earlier on in the night, when it had been so close to killing that pair of teenagers.

Heathstepper had forgotten the warnings of the moustachioed man from earlier on in the night, that to go after those unrelated to the earlier attack on the werewolf would invite retribution. The werewolf just wanted blood, caring even less than usual from what human it came from. Now, as the moon sunk below the skyline of Carnival, the werewolf was on the prowl again, working its way towards the Circus of Blood. The place seemed to be attracting a lot of attention from the supernatural population of the city tonight.

The three men still followed him. He quickly made a turn into an ally. The three men followed him and drew weapons. Only one came back out. Jim smiled, he enjoyed a good meal, he'd cough up the skeletons in a sewer or something later.

When she witnessed the facade of the old industrial building, soon things began to make sense, and the explanation for everything was so simple that she wondered why she was sent there in the first place, for anyone with more than two working neurons would get it from merely online information about Carnival. Just like certain backwater towns became tourist centers because of supposed UFO crashes, Carnival had its own way of drawing attention and by extension, improving their economy. The vampire motif was nothing but a trick to draw a certain type of tourist to the city, just like the UFOs were used to draw tourists to cities which otherwise would not even be drawn in a map. Her mind suddenly realized it, as Roseann thought:

A tourist bait! How did I not consider it first? To think of all places where they claim about ghosts just to draw the curious. This is just another one, except it is certainly much better developed than most. Yet, like the Yeti, these vampire stuff is just a myth. There are just the usual load of junkies, freaks and thugs that can be found anywhere.

It was then that he left, explaining he had to find somewhere safe to park his motorcycle. Rose nearly immediately raised her senses, and kept a constant watch over her back and over everyone around her for anything suspicious. In places like this it was not a bad idea to be cautious, but her paranoia was a bit too much. The way she behaved seriously coupled with a visible alertness in her ways, like if expecting something to happen, weren't typical of someone looking to only party.

"Here you go Rose. I'll be back once I find a safe place to park"

There was however a certain anxiety. She felt uneasy amidst such large crowd, vulnerable. Watching around carefully, Roseann crossed the street to the pavement across the Circus of Blood, thinking to herself in a burst of paranoia, as she turned her back to the multitude and took something from her backpack. It was a 10mm pistol, which was basically something she hoped to not have to resort to. But to avoid being unprepared for trouble, she loaded a full magazine into it, with its safety still on, and putted it in one of the pockets of the pants of her costume. However, even then, she stopped at every uneven seconds to watch around, observing everything around and above her.

Not going to be my blood. Better safe than sorry

With her safety ready, she then decided to get inside rather than wait. The nearly deafening music wasn't exactly something she appreciated, but there was a job to be done, to prove that the kiss of blood was just a slogan, and nothing more. What she was worried about were not mythical vampires, but the usual dregs of mankind that might be found, and threaten her in many ways. Perhaps her decision to not wait for Kai has been too risky, but she had a strange feeling about the man as well, and did not trust him entirely. Paying the entrance fee to a bouncer who seemed nearly like an automaton.

It was a bacchanalia. A man was so drugged that he rolled naked over a puddle of mud in one of the outdoors areas of the place, like a swine in an pig wallow. Whores looked for potential customers, of who most seemed seriously unhealthy from probably use of drugs. A handful of men were drinking beverages in rows of tables, while others danced. Some of the men flirted at Rose, although she simply ignored them. Ecstasy was likely flowing around like water, and the place in many ways managed to be more shocking than the House of Sodom. Yet there was nothing really impressive, and still unsure on what to do, Roseann, always watching her back, for she clearly had enough perception to avoid being stalked, headed towards one of the many counters where an attendant lied. She was unsure on what to order, but soon she realized that there was only one thing that would avoid making her look unsuitable for the place. Perhaps it would not be available however. She knew that it would not have enough punch to get her really drugged, although she could become addicted to it anyway. It was a risk to take, and maybe a good start to meet someone else that could be interesting to know about.

"A can of Cocaine-Cola, please."

OOC: My timeline's off-I figured I'm due for a rest and next day before going to the Circus of Blood, but since everyone else is going there and I wish to meet them, I shall beg Arachne Solara, the authoress of Time to weave me a portal, and pray for best results.

IC:
As the sun lowered it's head to a sullen orange, Rasputin stirred. The Circus of Blood was his lead, and he had two options: either enter clandestinely and hope to stumble across something promising, or soundly slap the table and see where the frog jumped.

Ah well, he'd never struck at the Madman claiming to be him for a reason, and had sold his identity to the Clan of Discord for a similar reason. "You should be glad, Boy-we're going Hollywood tonight. Dress (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcwAymlCB1k) me, now-let us be flamboyant for Carnival, so much so every proper sort knows me mad, and let us see what fruits are ripe for plucking..."

Vorn reached in quickly, snatching a pair of tokens before tossing them to 'Bob'...

"That do it?"

He really wasn't sure what else she was hinting at, the procedure seemed simple enough...

To human eyes, the Circus of Blood would have looked like a proper dive. The fact that it was based in what looked like an old warehouse or an industrial unit would have made Heathstepper, had the werewolf been more in control of its faculties and in human form, snort in derision and avoid the place. The name hardly helped and would certainly attract a very particular sort of person towards it, one the young lycanthrope tried to avoid.

However, tonight the werewolf was going towards the Circus of Blood. The vibrancy of the sounds and smells of the crowds in the run-down industrial unit attracted the werewolf, filling its nostrils and ears and making it slaver with anticipation of another kill. Any thoughts of problems that might arise if a kill was made in public were entirely out of Heathstepper’s bloodlust-driven mind. Others in the area might take a dimmer view of the feral werewolf’s actions, especially since the Circus of Blood as well known as it was, and was the focus of attention of more than just Goths and wannabes and on this night of all nights.

OOC: Bit contrived...

The wererat roadie looked up from Benny, checking to make sure the half-transformed wererat’s wounds were healing. "Byron” ‘e’s a kniggit, like Benny an’ me we're Pea - on's. See there are Smurfs, Pea - on's, Squares, Kniggits, Lairds, and so on up the ladder to the Kink. The Rat Kink.” The roadie turned back to quietly hissing as he saw the multitude of wounds on his pal. “Youse sez a humin messt up Benny?”

Ten nodded. “Yep. Had metal claws though, put on his hands somehow, and he was nuttier than an oak tree.” The grizzled were pulled his hat up by its chin cord and set the wide brimmed hat to rights a top his head. “Wouldn’t worry about it none. The local LEOs chased after the guy and fired on him. If’n he ain’t dead, he soon will be.”

Tenadore looked around the stage for a moment to spot a door to the house of the club. “This town’s cops might not be worth a pot o’cold piss most days, but when they get up off their keesters to shoot at somethin’ they’re gonna make sure they put their target down, just for the frustration that they had to actually do some law enforcin’.” He tugged on the brim of his hat and said good night. He wasn’t especially happy tonight, but there wasn’t reason to be impolite to the roadie. The guy had taken a burden off his hands.

The ailuranthrope opened employee’s backstage door and walked into a sight he probably could have done without. This definitely wasn’t his crowd, he thought as he blew into his salt and pepper mustache. It wouldn’t have been his crowd if he was human and roughly the age of his appearance, which was roughly in range late forties to early fifties. He’d seen cowtown saloons after the herds came in and the hands were paid off. He’d seen roaring speakeasies when a rumrunner’s cargo made it through. But this place had a leg up on Dodge or Chicago even in the height of their swings, but it also fell into the gutter relative to both places.

The drugs had changed from opium to cocaine and marijuana to ecstasy, and alcohol was still running all cases. But Tenadore snarled. Dodge and Chicago didn’t play the crap cityslickers called music nowadays, and the dancing was well, dancing, none of this thinly veiled rutting. It was like the folk nowadays were so plain dumb they needed to hump and rub up against one another just to realize they wanted to get into bed with each other. The werecougar sighed, grumbling about the old days, as he stepped down the few stairs from the backstage door and edged around the bumping, grinding crowd.
People mostly gave way to him. His serious expression and the large rifle across his back helped him that venue. Also, Tenadore had that air of ‘I’ll tell your father what you’re up to’ and thinly-veiled aura of ‘COP’ about him. Some still thought he was just in costume as a Wyatt Earp. He ignored them mostly and those he didn’t he simply said ‘Wrong Earp brother’ in passing. It was so confusing to be in amongst all the bodies, and frankly he was slightly claustrophobic. Not so much that he couldn’t ride an elevator, but he liked wide open places and a generous personal space about him. There were also so many noises and smells. He couldn’t really discern them, separate them. He smelled were and vampire but couldn’t tell if they were fresh, present, or old. All of it made him a mite jittery.

Still has he made his way through the bacchanal mob, he still attracted notice, perhaps more than he wanted. Some people were not deterred by his foreboding and dour countenance or air of authority. Several girls, they might have been women by most standards but not by his, brushed up against him, wanting him to challenge his marital vows to Laar’a. Frankly it wasn’t much of a contest. All of the girls were hussy-upped trollops. Even when his wife was feeling naughty, she wore more clothing in their bedroom than these girls were wearing right now. Anyways, a glance at their bodies, ravaged by drugs and a compulsion to be fashionably waif-thin, and Tenadore knew he’d break them if he considered accepting their propositions. He politely as he could manage told them he was married.

Now the men who brushed up against him…Tenadore had failed many a sensitivity class. He knew he was technically labeled a homophobe. He didn’t like homosexuality, that was how he was raised and how he lived, but he was also raised not to hunt trouble. If they left him alone, he was more than willing to let them be. He didn’t go out to hurt anyone no matter who they were until they broke the law or hurt others. They were mostly law-abiding citizens, and he saw it as his duty to protect law-abiding citizens from all harm. However, he didn’t take kindly to being propositioned by them. He merely glared at them until they got the point. It wasn’t exactly nice, but it wasn’t violent.

Ten edged out of the crowd to the safety of the bar. “Give me Dodge City any day,” he grumbled as he stood up to the bar and motioned for the bartender. The bartender stopped first to take the order of the young woman next to him, who he realized to his amusement was dressed in a Russian uniform. He heard her order and smiled as the bartender turned to him to get his order. Tenadore ordered a mug of whatever was on draft and turned to the girl. She was about his height, but damned young.

“Yer just full of anachronisms, ain’t ya?” Said the cowboy to the comunista.

Charon & Andromeda

The address on the card read: The Garden of Earthly Delights
1217 Norn St.
That was in one of the nicer neighborhoods of the south side. But it was quite a number of miles distant from their current location. However the nicely and discretely done card also had a 1-800 number on it to 'request a reservation'.

Their randomly chosen direction of ambulation had brought them to a neighborhood that seemed more lively. Most of the stores were open, with customers, and in the near distance they could hear a live band playing. And the heard but as yet unseen club had circling spot lights lancing heaven wards.

After leaving Andromeda back at the hotel, Charon looked over the card that Wanda had given him and felt quite happy with his plan to find her again. He had been with some women, usually for fleeting moments that didn't gain him much in the regard of activity, but he was confident that this Wanda girl may be the one that he spent much time with; he had already called the establishment and reserved some time with Wanda. He was quite explicit on that one aspect. If he was going to be there, giving them his money, then he wanted no other girl than Wanda.

Eventually he came across the club, it looked typically burlesque, and Charon grinned as he put on the charm which he often used with female clients wanting his work as he walked inside to see what he expected to see and, indeed, to look for Wanda. Wanda, he hoped, would be here. Hopefully, as well, she'd be good at her work.

OOC 1: This has taken me far too long to post!
OOC 2: Players don’t necessarily have to fall under the spell, but need to make some effort to withstand it – this is NOT just normal ‘entrancing due to intensity’, but actual arcane casting and not just shake- offable by will power alone.

There Were’s there were mostly wererats, werehyenas, wereboar, werecaymans and werecats hunting the were rats – and having some success in dragging their prey out to the back. That’s part of the reason for the wererats’s nervousness. While there might be far fewer of the feline variations on Were’s – the feline based virus was a far sight harder to contract than say rat, hyena, wolf or bruin – they were the natural enemies of the wererats - hunting them viciously and with excellently effective teamwork. There were five teams spread through out the vast sprawl of the building and they glided though the crowds like furry sharks, cutting out their prey and strong arming them out to the alley and near by deserted buildings for final slaying. It was a good thing too, or the wererats would have over run Carnival years ago. Yes, they are that prolific – their leadership often sending out teams of subordinates to produce mass numbers of wererats.

On the stage the Death Metal band had given way to a more eerie sound – discordant but subverting the senses fitting mate to the players that moved fluidly onto the stage. In white, black, or blood face ( a screaming scarlet ) – their stick thin, androgynous selves wrapped in layers of variously hued translucent plastics over second skin tight matte black suits – a troupe of contortionist acrobats began to perform their routine. They leapt impossible distances, or hung in mid air for unnaturally long times, they bent, twisted, flowed into positions that most certainly not even a double jointed person could have pretzeled themselves into. And the troupe did it with flat, painted on smiles that never wavered, but never reached their eyes either. As they moved to the eerie music the crowd slowly silenced, beginning to really watch the act, slack jawed and staring eyed.

Even the majority of the Weres seemed under the odd spell, and any one hoping for quick service from the bartenders would be in for a disappointment.

And Rasputin, Heathstepper and Ten would know what they were, though maybe not the specifics.

How to pretend on drinking such stuff was a good question. Roseann had a good idea on what to do from the beginning, and to pretend was the key behind it. Nonetheless, faking was something she never has been very proficient at, to the point that many opportunities have been gone. Lying was complicated for her, just like it was to impersonate another one other than herself. To assume a completely false personality, to claim to believe in things totally opposite to her own beliefs, to demonstrate pleasure in things that disgusted her, such were actions that she had little capability of doing.

As she received the Cocaine-Cola, Rose noticed a peculiarly different man next to her. He did not look like a junkie, a metalhead or another goth. Instead, he seemed like someone who came straight from a western. An experienced, mature man rather than another one getting lost in a world with no turning back: the depravity and decadence of drugs and crime. The man promptly faced her and said, with a smile, as Roseann realized a potential source for the information she needed coming:

“Yer just full of anachronisms, ain’t ya?”

Smiling back, Roseann observed the mess and amorality everywhere around, noticing how such man seemed, like her, an exception to the rule in a place like this. Soundly, she answered back, noticing he was likely a married man from seeing his wife, in a tone of voice that would likely make it difficult for anyone to overhear it amidst all the noise:

"Certainly. I suppose that my choice of clothing lacks cleavage and bare skin, maybe because the reasons I came here are not the same others likely came. I am Roseann Line, journalist of the Skeptic Monthly, nice to meet you."

There was a magazine named Skeptic Monthly, focused exactly on "myth busting", which could be considered the antithesis of a tabloid. It has made multiple interviews and analysis of many international myths across the world, debunking things like Bigfeet, haunted houses, Yetis, supposed cryptozoologic proofs, supposed UFO sightings, alien autopsy videos and of course, reports about vampires, demons and werewolves across the world. Due to its specialized nature, very few were aware of it. Roseann has somehow managed to pull it off this time, and the lie sounded authentic. Perhaps the man would give some interesting information if she continued to keep up with the "journalist" disguise.

Then suddenly the band began to play a quite eerie sound. It seemed strange, like if the music was somehow affecting her mind, in some way. Roseann wasn't much into death metal, and although she would deny it, Gangsta rap was something she was fond of. Ignoring the sound, more of a noise, she suddenly began to feel bad, like if there was a burden right into her heart. She looked around again, as she noticed the strange manner that the mass was becoming catatonic. Once a rock group claimed to be able to manipulate the crowd through music to incite brawling and alike, and the typical fundies found it as a fact to claim that rock was satanic. It is known that sounds of twenty or less hertz are prone to influence the human body, and somehow, she felt like if somehow, there was something watching her, perhaps because she did not fell into the same hypnotic trance of the majority. Perhaps because of being too distracted to observe them, or perhaps because she ignored the musics altogether since her arrival in the place. Despite her skepticism regarding the supernatural, being a Blackguard one was naturally prone to consider the possibility of conspiracies. After all, her goal was to uncover a conspiracy behind the vampire fraud, or whatever it served to cover up. Her thoughts soon began to form, despite the bad sensations.

A mind control experiment? Could it... no. This is just because most have more chems than a clandestine chemical weapons depot, thus little is necessary to suggest and... influence these junkies and their screwed brains.

The music and the writhing mass of the dancers spread an energy throughout the room. Rasputin observed, and allowed himself a grin.
In his youth, he had gone on a lengthy pilgrimage, wandering as far south as the northern heights of Tibet, where he spent some time among the lamas in their remote temples.

He kept to many of their practices-the scourgings and hanging from hooks attached to his ribcage earned him the name the Holy Devil, but there was a purpose, a reason. The pain aligned his energies, even as pleasure could, giving him his prowess in fields monks were not supposed to traverse.
He had heard of these strange creatures-gravedancers, practitioners of a dark tantrika. Their dance suffused the viewers with energies that invaded by the lowest chakra, the blackest of arts, a perversion of the very force of Life.

The undead could not be lured so-their reproductive practice was largely a matter of habit acquired over years among the living, but a few-those still given over to the illusion they were living beings-would succumb. Rasputin could not afford such illusions in life, and Death had hardly been more accomodating.

These creatures, whatever they called themselves, had their own agenda, and their odd energies were palpable to his senses. Seductive, promising such pleasure for obedience-Rasputin was reminded of that countess whose whip summoned up a devil to dance, holding her audience enthralled as she freely fed upon them-just a sip from each, enough to sustain her while injuring the crowd minimally.

Calmly, he drove a toothpick into his thigh, disaligning his energies to combat the invader. Although most physical trauma affected him little, wood-which like himself, had once been alive-still thrilled him with pain and disrupted their assault.

A shotglass on the bar held many toothpicks intended for olives and cocktail onions, and Rasputin pocketed it. He had memorised an acupuncturist's charts during his stay in the mountains of Tibet. As the dancer's energies flowed contrary to his desire, another tiny splinter would disrupt that flow, leaving him intact.

He was Rasputin, the Holy Devil, the Harbinger of the Antichrist if not the Antichrist himself, and no performers would lay him low...

Heathstepper moved quickly towards the Circus of Blood, nostrils wide and its tongue hanging out of open jaws. The werewolf could smell the crowds within, and its blood was up. It didn’t arrive at the main entrance to the industrial unit, but rather leapt into an alley near the side of the building, scaling a chain-link fence, the steel wire providing the werewolf with numerous hand and footholds, unlike the wall it had nearly fallen from earlier in the night as it tried to pursue the kitsune. It landed on the other side, with a clear run to the run-down building that housed the Circus of Blood.

The lupine head scanned the wall of the building, looking for a possible entrance into it. Movement to the werewolf’s left caused its head to snap around. People were gathered around the rear of the building. No… not people. The smell of them was similar to rat, and Heathstepper’s nose told it that these weren’t just humans, but therianthropes, wererats to be specific. A low growl began to build in the lycanthrope’s throat. They were nothing but prey-animals to the werewolf’s instincts, creatures to be hunted down and killed. Other, larger figures were shepherding them out behind the building, ones which smelled like a whole range of animals. The Circus of Blood was a veritable zoo of different kinds of were-animal.

Rather than immediately follow the were-creatures who were herding the wererats, Heathstepper crouched behind some dumpsters, watching rather than giving in to the pangs of bloodlust that were still coursing through the werewolf. It was curious more than anything; it had rarely seen such a spectacle in either of its forms and Heathstepper was content to watch for the moment, rather than throw itself into an unknown situation. Especially since it was rather outnumbered by both the wererats and the other assorted were-creatures.

The music from inside the Circus of Blood was audible from the outside, and Heathstepper’s ears began to pick up a change in the music. The death metal that would have been a sonic assault on the werewolf’s keen ears had it been inside the building was being replaced by music that was like nails down a chalk-board. Nonetheless, the werewolf felt it losing control of its own body, for the second time that night. It shook its head, attempting to break the spell through willpower alone. Panic was rising in the werewolf, even more so as it felt the bloodlust that was its usual driving force being replaced by serene calmness.

In an act of desperation, it brought up its left paw and bit down hard on it, bones breaking under the pressure exerted by its powerful jaws. Blood ran freely from the mutilated hand and the taste of it, as well as the pain shooting up the werewolf’s arm, broke the spell, for the moment at least.

"Certainly. I suppose that my choice of clothing lacks cleavage and bare skin, maybe because the reasons I came here are not the same others likely came. I am Roseann Line, journalist of the Skeptic Monthly, nice to meet you."

"Tenadore Starr." He put his hand to the brim of his hat and tipped his hat to her before settling it back. "Far be fer me to speak against a lady who knows how to dress herself. No, I was talkin' about yer Coke. Ain't been a lick o'cocaine since Nineteen O..." Ten trailed off as the discordant music ran a shiver up his spine. He shook from head to tail as he felt the ethereal fingers of the arcane running up his neck and through his long locks.

He regretted sparing a look over his shoulder. "Aw...sheeit," he whispered. His gaze hung on the impossibly lithe forms of the arcobats. He growled mostly at his own stupidity, and his neck muscles bulged and strained as he fought to tear his grey eyes away. He physically turned and flung himself against the bar. As he held onto and gripped the wood, it creaked.

Sirens, he'd heard some call'em, the Greeks especially. This was damned bad, and Ten knew it. More so he knew, he didn't have the best resistance against their sort. He'd been played like a harp by an enchantress years ago. He yanked his hands up off the bar, leaving his finger prints imprinted on the varnished wood, and clapped them over his ears. He closed his eyes, but he could feel their spell surrounding him. His back arched, bringing him hunched down onto the bar. He tried to stifle the noise with his thick, rough hands, and tried to keep the images from his mind with his eyelids squeezed.

The weathered man whispered the Lord's Prayer as he hunched over. He was not going to lose control. He couldn't.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a was almost half dozing as she watched the two children eat. She stiffened up as she felt a shock ride up through her. Something was wrong. She could feel something wrong with Ten. Her beastial half had strong emotional senses and made strong emotional connections with her mate. She could feel what Ten felt at times as he could her. She looked down at her tea cup and sat up. She sat up and swirled what was left her cup. She looked at the rim and whispered a few words to Mira, her Mother. The pattern the tea leaves compounded the sick feeling in her stomach and her heart. Something was wrong with her Tenadore.

She set the tea cup down and waved to attract the two children's attention. She calmed herself down to speak clearly and slowly. "Something has come up, and I need to go out. You all stay here, and I will be back shortly." She walked into the bathroom and took off her armored skirt and top and her boots. She pulled on one of the new robes she'd picked up, and left the bathroom. She left the room quickly without glancing back at the children.

She nearly ran down the hall and down the stairs. She sprinted out of the lobby and on to the street. She glanced around and headed for the first dark alley, which wasn't too far due to the convient plethora of dark alleys. She shed robe and dropped to all fours. She concentrated and reached down inside herself. She found her vornskr alert and ready when her human relinquished control, she ran to the fore.

Laar'a's body shimmered as it began to lengthing and stretching. Bones and muscles shifted under taunt Taung skin, and black fur sprouted. Her dark eyes which were squeezed shut with focus shot open now crimson and shining. A tear drop bulb bulged from her lower back and then slithered away at the front of a long, whip-like tail She kept her shift going through her hybrid form to her full vornskr self. After a minute or two, she stood up on her four paws and shook herself, from head to the tip of her nearly meter and a half tail.

She sniffed at the night air and swiveled her narrow, triangular head about as she searched for her mate. She felt his distress in the distance and took off. Her long lithe legs extending out fully , giving her the appearance of flight as she ran.

Bob caught the tokens that Vorn tosssed him, smiling at the first one, but dropping the second almost before it handed in his palm.

"Shit! Ama toss that one back in the pot" He exclaimed then frowned. "I know I didn't put that one in there."

Ama had bent over to take a closer look at the icon then flinced back a step as she recognised it. "No...I wouldn't suppose you would. Thats off limits."

She looked down at her owtfit, growled, shrugged and looked at Bob "Rescue kit! Now!" The skin of Vorn's palm was beginning to blister..

The scrawny young man reached under the table and brought forth a leather covered case and popped the lid. Inside, velvet covered mouldings held various glass vials. None were labled, though Amasaratu knew which one to go for and she pried it quickly from the case.

The burming in Vorn's hand had grown to a firey burn that could not be ignored, but a quick dash of faintly glowing water caused the pain to disappear as if by majick. And in a way it was - Thrice Blessed Water did that to contagation by the Unholy.

Ama kept his hand in hers, blowing on it gently while looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "We can't get that first bounty over and on to other fun if you can't fight." she said softly.

When the House had contacted Wanda, advising her that a private client had called and engaged time with her she agreed to come in just for him "But remember now, don't say anything about money. He's the wonderful man who rescued me. I'll pay the house percentage myself." She'd worked it out with the manager and so Charon was greeted by a happy flurry of welcoming activity. And while the House wasn't as highly ranked as some, it was well established, discrete and definitely upscale. The decor and furnishings were those of a old fashioned gentleman’s retreat - comfortable, intimate - all dark woods and leather.

He was offered a glass of fine champagne and a tray of various gourmet nibbles as 'Wanda is just making sure everything is perfect’ - though he had to wait for less than ten minutes in the private club room, before a gorgeously attired Wanda arrived with a bright smile.

Kissing him on the cheek - she had to go up on her tip toes to do that and the feminine curves of her silk clad form just brushed against Charon ever so lightly.

"Would you like to start off with a Japanese soak and a massage?" She asked softly once she greeted him

Circus of Blood

Rasputin’s methods were very effective - but then again he had the strongest defense of all - he was another of the undead…and the secrets he knew for misaligning his Tantric energies served him effectively as well.

As the llamia flowed, with supple soundless movements, one by one off of the stage to dine from their chosen ones among the crowd they nodded to him in admiration and respect. Though No llami dined 'to the death' from their diners - that night - they still would leave their inadvertent hosts tired and weak. And little evidence was left behind as a quick lick and the wounds made by their fangs would vanish...

the youngest one, looking to be only in her late teens sliddled up to Ten, laughing at his hunched over figure with a softly murmured "I think I see, I think I see a big bad pussy cat...It's not going to hurt you know...it's going to feel ever so good." She ran a cold, soft hand over the back of his neck as she smiled, displaying her fangs. Then her eyes fastened on Rose and they narrowed.

Outside Heathstepper found the self inflicted pain was sufficient for washing the music from his thoughts, leaving him clearheaded. Not being inside, and thus not in the aura of visual somatic components, had reduced the effect to where he was able to break it Though there was much hunting to be found around. His keen senses could track the smell of freshly spilt blood and not just from the inside - the wererats that the werecats had bundled off were fighting for their survival in the deeper darkness’s of the abandoned buildings near by.

Swiftly, Rasputin moved to intercept the creature about to feed on Ten.

Raising three fingers in the traditional benediction of the Orthodoxy he'd followed in life over the thing's head, he bent his will-and his Dark Gifts-to drawing it's attention towards him, and filling it with fear. "That would not be wise, child." his deep voice rumbled like dim thunder. "His blood would be ash in your mouth, for he has called upon the Lord to save him. As the nearest agent, I claim him inviolate. Choose another."

These last words were subtly reinforced by his Dark Gift of Control, wrapped in his Dark Gift of Manipulation, twisting the dancer's emotions to make it fearful and pay him heed. He stared at it, waiting for a response...

"It's 'I tawt I taw a puddy tat,'" Ten growled and twisted away from the young vampire. He fought to keep his anger deep down inside him. Anger, any strong emotions would rile up the cougar. Even now he could feel his fur itching underneath his skin. Of all the nights why did this have to happen on a full moon?

He leaned back against the bar. Her words, well besides her butchery of famous lines from old movie shorts, stroked across his spine and up into his mind like phantom touches of her fingers. It could hurt. He'd known vampires who'd enjoyed hurting their victims. He reckoned this gal wasn't one of them. She was too wrapped up in the seduction fantasies that most vampires fell into, but he didn't want it to feel good. He'd rather it hurt.

Allowing her feed from him, letting her work pleasure into her bite was not something he could allow. He'd allowed himself down that path before and hated himself for it. His own pride beside, he had given his word in vows to Laar'a. He would enjoy no one but her. That was his deepest vow, one of the few that both his human and cougar agreed upon.

He didn't want to fall under their spell, her spell, like the spell he fell under before, not again. He knew were blood was a delicacy to a vampire, and an alpha or any dominate were's blood was a rare treat. He shooks his head.

Having her near made the tendrils stronger, more persuasive. What he felt was muddled; his authority and power was confused and clouded. His mind fought with itself.

Laar'a would understand. She knew his weakness. No, his weakness was only what he allowed. He had to keep it together. But how could he be blamed? All of these vampires, the magik so thick...

The magik was thick, arcane energy was palatable in the air. He opened his eyes and looked at her, unable to keep them closed. His eyes were no longer grey but a bright yellow and his round pupils were feline slits.

"His blood would be ash in your mouth, for he has called upon the Lord to save him. As the nearest agent, I claim him inviolate. Choose another."

Ten jerked back at the voice as it intruded upon the haze of the Siren's magik. The Llamia hissed and drew back from the werecougar as if he'd suddenly sprouted a halo and snow-white wings and his blood was divinely blessed. It couldn't be further from the truth. He was religious but more of the brand of a devotion that culminated at table graces and a few church visits a year. He wasn't the religious one in the family. Not of the level of Faith necessary to burn the wicked with mere looks.

He stared at his savior...if that was what you could call him. Ten knew what he was, he could smell him, feel him. He was a vampire and a powerful one, from the threads of magik swirling from him. He stared at him as his vision cleared and the haze of control and of fear and rage dissapiated. He narrowed his eyes and recognized a face he'd seen long, long ago at the top page and cover of nearly every international rumor and gossip story that was printed leading up the Great War. Those rumors had not been kind and glowing, and Ten quickly worried that he hadn't been saved at all. "What do you want, Black Monk?"

"Mad Monk." Rasputin corrected as he seated himself. "As far as what I want-my face on the one dollar bill? No, too self-aggrandising.

"I am a dilettante-enjoying what I find-and I have found you, versispellis." Rasputin took a certain pleasure in using the Latin, and continued: "Perhaps we should play this quid pro quo. So what do I want?" He stared idly at the ceiling, musing.

"I expect I want to drive the demons from this place-not all, only those detrimental." He was swift to amend himself. "Not strictly demons, either, as many simply act on impulses placed there by Nature and exploited by demons-it is a careful tightrope to walk.

"So tell me, little shifter-how does this excursion improve you?"

Ten huffed into his mustache as he considered the man's impenetrable beard. It looked so thick that birds could nest in it. He chided himself mentally and pulled the wool from his mind. "This excursion? I was passin' through,"

He kept his gaze on the Black Monk's beard, he wasn't going to call him Mad. It wasn't polite, and it wouldn't have been smart to call him the Mad Monk when he was just human. "I just returned what I figure was one of these folk's minions. I ain't wanted a damn thing 'cept a beer after an already rough night."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The long black streak skidded around street corners, claws clicking and scrapping on cement. She could feel her mate had calmed. Laar'a could feel he'd almost reached the edge of the precipe before someone had grabbed his collar. She still didn't sense he had back away from the cliff yet. She pushed herself, tearing down alley ways when they were quicker.

As she neared she picked up Ten's scent and that of a wererat. Ten was human, the wererat not, but there was some of blood a little. She turned to follow it down the maze of alleys. He'd been lost, looking for something, heading towards the docks. He'd come up against a deadend and turned aside. She could feel him nearer now. She could hear strange music in the distance and it played across her fur like a legion of butterflies. She sniffed the air again and her hackles rose. Magik was in the atmosphere, draining off like ozone around lightning. She sprinted back up to a gallop.

~~~~~~~~

Ten looked down and rubbed his arms absently. He felt some of his worry lessen as Laar'a connection with him grew stronger. With a little more courage, he moved his gaze up to the Monk's face but never his eyes. Wivestales or not, he wasn't in any condition to chance it right now. "The best improvement fer me...." He quickly shot a glance to the enthralled crowd and then back to the Monk's chin. "...is to know whether this is activity is approved by the Prince of the city."

Rasputin nodded as he listened-the man hadn't answered him, but what he did say spoke volumes-an altruist, eager to be pulled this way and that by his odd moral compass.

Using his Gifts almost offhandedly, he drew the bartender's attention and pulled over the gravedancer's spell-not difficult, as the bartender wasn't on the menu, but the man's actions were still stiff and jerky.

"Landlord-a drink for my friends!" he called loudly, yet not so loud as to break the dancer's spell.

Turning to Ten, "This little excursion?-You stated yourself, just passing through-but how does this improve you?"

Halting only briefly to instruct the bartender he personally only desired a half a cup of coffee-halting the server halfway with the explanation he liked it cold and leaving half a cup making no mental impression-he bent his ear to his new acquaintance's answer.

As night descended upon the land, Jim decided to have some fun. He covered himself in his cloak, and his hair grew wildly, his eyes seemed to become demonic. He had become Spring Heel Jack, as he had been called in this form long ago. He began to hop around the city, until he noticed the circus of blood and eriee music. The spell did not effect him, his will was too strong to be broken so easily. He decided to take advantage of the situation to feed.

Ten scowled. Damn vampires. They were so willing to sit around while all manners of things whirled about them as long as it didn't effect them. "I ain't going to stick around and philosophize with you. I don't know how this excursion improves me. Frankly it don't." He drew back his duster to expose the star in heart badge of the Rural Rangers on his chest. "I followed my oath to keep the peace and protect the innocent and got on this little excursion which ain't been no bed o'roses."

Where was she? He closed his eyes. He could feel her close. He'd have to wait for her. Couldn't piss this vamp off as long as it was interested in him, the other vamps were deterred. Damn, he hated vampires. At least he now remembered how to keep them off him for the most part and had the mental focus to do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She was following his tracks through the city. She came to the same backstage door he'd come to. She followed it past, lost his trail, and then backtracked. Ten's trail ended at the door. It was strong and fresh as was the arcane bleed off. She felt those same seductive tendrils play across her.

She however did not have a preexisting weakness to their jota, what she called magik. No, this jota could find no crack undermining her foundation as it did with her husband. She concentrated as it tried to overtop her. She shifted again. This time her pelvis popped and reshapped, her spine curved and brought her upright, her skull reformed to bring her muzzle down. Her paws popped and gnarled as they became articulate.

She flexed her claw tipped handpaws and looked down at herself. She always marveled at her, her hybrid form (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/Gold.png), half human and half vornskr. She was over six feet of muscle sheathed in black fur. Her mind was more human but blending animal instinct and human knowledge. She raised her hands to moon and chanted in her native tongue, Taung'a. She requested help from her Mother-maker, Mira, asked to be sheathed in her thick scales against fell jota that was being weaved inside. She held out her hand and summoned for her kavikak. (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/spear.jpg)

And in room in the hostel, the traditional fishing spear, which had been leaning against the fall, shimmered before the eyes of the two children finishing their large meal. Jota, energy, flitted around the spear like heatwaves, and then the kavikak winked away to reappear in the hand of its mistress across the city.

Laar'a spun the kavikak in her hand. She spied the Taung symbols, runes, that spiraled up the shaft and ran out to the tip of the spear and back along the backward facing barbs. She spun it back and held it behind her along her arm. She grasped the door's handle. It was locked. She snarled and put her weight into it to see if she could break the latch and pull it open.

"I think you will find otherwise." Rasputin replied calmly, watching the gravedancers feed. "This-this is the Dark Hunter's Other Ball. Such a blatant attack, one affecting those who are Dark Hunters, implied the Prince has little liking of them, or is clearing the field of those whom would otherwise drag in the standard authorities. Waiting and watching will tell all.

"Should the Prince's forces waylay these dancers, the Prince disapproves of their actions, and it is an assault on the city. If the Prince-or an emissary thereof-appears after this clearing of the hall, then it is merely to protect the Prince, and may be taken in stride,

"In any event, the gravedancers will not approach this table, so we are safe. What would you do-launch an attack?" At this, he drew his Ruger Super Blackhawk from the hollow of his Bible, and crossed himself with it, with the words, "By the Father, the Mother, and the Son-" Here, he kissed the gun, bestowing his Faith upon it.

"We are ready, now-what would you suggest?"

The tang, and smell, of Heathstepper’s own blood had made the werewolf crave for the taste of flesh. The throbbing pain of its mutilated left hand slowly healing was being drowned out by desire to hunt. The lycanthrope’s keen ears picked up noises from the surrounding buildings – yelps of pain and snarls of rage, from both the werecats and the wererats. The latter were fighting for their survival against the therianthropes that had shepherded them into the jumble of abandoned industrial units and warehouses that surrounded the Circus of Blood. Their reasons for doing though weren’t, as yet, clear, but that was something Heathstepper wasn’t concerned with at the moment. A more-controlled creature may have been puzzled by it, but the young werewolf didn’t care.

Once again, the werewolf reared up to its full height, its usual hunched over stance straightening out as it filled its lungs and threw back its lupine head to send out a howl that echoed off the enclosing buildings, alerting those that were listening that there was a werewolf on the prowl. Whether this would effect the activities of those in the Circus of Blood was far from Heathstepper’s thoughts, and the hunters of the wererats would probably be far too interested in their own chases to take stock of the new arrival.

Heathstepper dropped back into its hunched posture and began to stalk towards the sounds of hunting, quickly scaling back over the chain-link fence, favouring its right hand over the mangled left one, and landing lightly on the other side. Its nose twitched as it breathed in the smells of blood and fear emanating from the darkened buildings around the Circus of Blood. It located a likely source in one of the buildings and set off at a fair pace towards it, in hopes of finally getting more prey. After all the activity of the last few hours, a single human wasn’t going to sate the werewolf’s lust for blood.

Rose

Rose had turned away from the hunched over cowboy and the religious fanatic. She was much more interested in the teenager who'd hissed at the cowboy she'd been talking to. She had to find out where the troupe had obtained such real looking fangs and other special effects. She wended her way through the crowd but could never quite manage to catch up with the rail thin girl before she disappeared back stage. Then she found herself in the midst of the confusion that is the hallmark of such places, and she lost sight of the girl completely.

Before she could intercept any of the milling bodies, she found herself having to move out of the way of a large number of large enclosures on wheels. In the noise and confustion she was bumped out the door into an alley way filled with deep shadows, a tall poorly costumed figure and many a noxious odor. She moved back towards the welcoming safety of the street while mumbling about being sent on wild goose chases and having to evade capitolist orgies. The figure she had blinkied at had certainly seemed nude, but the costume had looked very threadbare, and the tail seemed far too thin to be a wolfs.

She headed directly back to her hotel room. She would fly home, economy class, of course, first thing in the morning.

Heathstepper

The hunting wolf would notice a woman coming out of the buidling it had just moved away from, along with a werecreature the like Heathstepper had never encountered before. The newcome were had entered the building as the woman left.

But the abandoned buildings the young werewolf headed toward had indeed many tantalizing scents wafting from it. The wererats had been out numbered, and now lay dieing, thoroughly ended with silver. The werecats had never intended to eat their foes, just slay them, and they had their own wounds to tend to. They weren't hanging around, and knew that the real rats would dispose of their debris. Just as the human scum that dwelt in such places would dispose of anything useable the wererats had on them.

In fact the bodies were already being looked over by the boldest of the street people.

Sorry, I'll remove the OCC posts. And Jim only unnerved them, didn't stop them, just unnerved them, but whatever, I'll delete. Could I still stay, or is your decision final?

OOC: Since you can not keep your ooc out of my IC thread - please see the OOC thread for my final decission

Jim decides there isn't as much oppurtunity in this place as he thought, thus he leaves the country in search of different prey

Heathstepper cocked its head, trying hard to listen for the sounds of the wererats and their pursuers. It couldn’t hear them any more, although it didn’t know if this was because they had moved out of earshot or due to one side getting the upper hand over the other. The lycanthrope threw caution to the wind and burst through the door of one of the surrounding warehouses. It followed the scent of the other therianthropes as well as the stink of blood created by the battle between the shepherds and their unwilling flock.

The werewolf pounded through a drab concrete corridor that allowed access from street into the depths of the warehouse. There were signs all along the corridor that spoke of the struggle between the two different sides. It was obviously one-sided, as the werewolf made its way deeper into the warehouse it was forced to step over the remains of several wererats. Heathstepper’s run slowed into a walk, as caution began to overtake the bloodlust fuelling the werewolf. Its ears picked up movement in one of the large open rooms that branched off the bare-floored corridor that it was moving along. It couldn’t tell what was causing the sound, as Heathstepper’s nose could only pick up the smell of blood and fear left over from the massacred wererats.

It padded towards the steel door that closed off the corridor from the large room. The door was slightly ajar, and the werewolf used its good right hand to push it open, still favouring its right arm over the slowly-healing left one. Heathstepper’s keen night vision saw the scene of carnage that lay before it. The floor of the room was carpeted in the corpses of wererats in various stages of transformation. Most of the bodies bore claw marks from their killers; others stab wounds from the weapons that finally finished them off. Other bodies were virtually unrecognisable due to the ferocity of the attack against them.

Vermin were already beginning to gather, most still too wary of the wererats to move in properly. Heathstepper’s keen ears picked up the chatter of Carnival’s large feral rat population as moved in to feed on the bounty laid before them by the werecats. The werewolf could also hear the murmurings of the city’s human lowlifes as they moved in to scavenge from the corpses. Heathstepper growled to itself as once again the urge to kill overtook the caution that had made it slow its charge into the building.

One of the human scavengers was moving through the bodies ahead of the rest, confident that all of the supernatural creatures were dead. The person was too busy frisking cadavers and pocketing anything of worth to notice the werewolf moving in from behind it. Too late, they turned around at a noise behind and looked up into a pair of golden eyes filled with rage and a mouth full of sharp fangs.

Rasputin watched Rose walk away with a slight tinge. Away flaps Doctor Bedlow, to his well-earned oblivion. He gave a start-why did he think that? Clearly enough he heard the polished tones of that Pratt fellow, as well.

He shrugged-the saints had often spoken to him in life, offering him glimpses into the Book of Heaven, but that had largely stopped with his heartbeat.

He laid the gun on the table before him and looked at the cowboy. "So, my friend-do we save the innocent or wait for the next player to step on stage?"

David and Mari looked at one another as Laa'ra left the hotel room. David took one last bite. He was fullish but still felt hungry but he would always. Mari was already standing, having set her napkin aside, and her hand reaching out for his.

He licked his lips and stood with a sigh - though it wasn't much of one and his face lit with a smile. He laid a gentle kiss on her forehead and lucent eyes met as he took her hand.

Then they disappeared. Behind them the meal steamed untouched on the small table in the corner of the room

Heathstepper

The man managed on high, futile scream as the hungry beast pounced bowling the human over. He didn’t give up but fought back savagely, though it was clearly futile. He was just a human, and while he was fighting for his life, was in no condition to prevail.

The others that had been beginning to gather their courage to loot the bodies now found it deserving them much as the contents of their bowels did. The stench of those panicked evacuations hung heavy in the air, competing noxiously the copper tang of blood and fear laced sweat.

Those close by that might have heard his screaming minded their own business, mainly surviving to see the dawn.

Circus of Blood

The Llamia finished their feeding and returned to the stage, the last one giving Rasputin another nod of respect. Their victims would come to themselves as the act ended, being unaware of what had moved among them, had fed on them. It was the Llamia’s protection, this beclouding glamour they could cast as a group. It had kept them safe in Carnival so far.

When the House had contacted Wanda, advising her that a private client had called and engaged time with her she agreed to come in just for him "But remember now, don't say anything about money. He's the wonderful man who rescued me. I'll pay the house percentage myself." She'd worked it out with the manager and so Charon was greeted by a happy flurry of welcoming activity. And while the House wasn't as highly ranked as some, it was well established, discrete and definitely upscale. The decor and furnishings were those of a old fashioned gentleman’s retreat - comfortable, intimate - all dark woods and leather.

He was offered a glass of fine champagne and a tray of various gourmet nibbles as 'Wanda is just making sure everything is perfect’ - though he had to wait for less than ten minutes in the private club room, before a gorgeously attired Wanda arrived with a bright smile.

Kissing him on the cheek - she had to go up on her tip toes to do that and the feminine curves of her silk clad form just brushed against Charon ever so lightly.

"Would you like to start off with a Japanese soak and a massage?" She asked softly once she greeted him

Charon didn't mind the wait nor partaking in the champagne and the gourmet nibbles although he didn't want to indulge in either for he feared that his performance in the impending carnal acts would be diminished to his own embarrasment. With a smile, he walked into the private club room and felt quite energized. When Wanda finally arrived, he noted how gorgeous she looked, but he didn't tell her that. Rather, he simply smiled and said that a Japanese soak and massage would be a fine way to start. "I'm looking quite forward to seeing your talents, Wanda. To be honest, I've been thinking about you ever since that day but let us focus on the task at hand, shall we?"

OOC: You can just proceed from her, IduC. I'm sure they'll get along quite well. ;)

The werewolf gripped the throat of its prey in its fangs and twisted savagely, which almost immediately stopped struggling as blood pooled on the cold concrete floor. The man had managed to cause some damage to Heathstepper, mainly by kicking out and re-opening the self-inflicted wounds on its left arm. It vented its rage on the unfortunate who had been incautious enough to loot the bodies of the fallen wererats without properly checking out the building in which the creatures had been killed. After all, there might have been some of the creatures still alive enough to take offence to the attempt at plundering them, or some of the killers may still have been lurking near their prey.

Either way, the man had been luckless enough to run in to a blood-frenzied werewolf in his search for enough money to make his difficult life just a bit more comfortable. The rest of the human scavengers in the warehouse began to back away at the sounds of the struggle, the animal scavengers having fled almost immediately after having caught the scent of a lycanthrope. Their keen sense of smell told them that trouble had once again arrived amidst the carnage.

Some of the people, the brave or the drug-addled, had picked implements they hoped to use as weapons from amongst the debris on the floor. Although they gripped their weapons in a threatening manner, none were brave enough to approach the feeding lycanthrope before any of their fellow-scavengers. A few of them ran when werewolf raised its bloody head and snarled at them, gore dripping from its open mouth.

[OOC: Some of this is written with knowledge provided by IduC during conversations between us. ]

As he felt the strength grow within him as Laar'a neared, his mind cleared even more. He made himself take another sweep of the room. He took in great whiffs of the air and let his eyes travel the room, listening to his instincts as he examined certain club goers in depth. He could smell the weres mixed in with the humans, but then he got scent or felt the presence Others, Strange Folk, Werlaara'ade. Whatever you wanted to call them they were in the crowd. Ten smelt several shifters in the crowd, not weres for their scents were a mix and jumble, not the pure strong scent of a were's single beast. He could also smell swanmays. He smelt something that drew his attention to a foursome of overly tall individuals that were shrouded in what Ten's mind classified as burkas, but they looked like the biggest, Redwood scented Islamic ladies Ten had ever seen.

As he began to pick out others he saw and smelt clues that hinted to more terrible and awesome party goers. He saw the twig-tangled and birds nest infested mane and greenish skin of a green man getting along well with two as arboreal and drunk dryads. Ten's long life and longer travels allowed him to spot a few more including elves, hobs, dwarves, a couple of different sorts of gnomes or what he thought were gnomes. That was bad enough.

What was worse was the full number of the crowd in the place. Ten hadn't really taken a count. He stopped when he estimated more than two hundred and he was pretty sure he'd stopped mid way across the giant room. That was really bad because he could feel Laar'a fuming as she neared. Their connection was primarily just emotions, and the last ones he'd been broadcasting had been a muddle of anger, fear, and desperation. He took a moment to send a few feelings her way that amounted to "Whoa, darlin'! Whoa, darlin'! Calm down, I've got a handle on this."

Ten turned his head to the man he'd known all to well from newsprint he'd read in winter and spring of '16 when the news hadn't been taken with the Great War it was discussing the 'Mad Monk' and speculating if they'd actually managed to kill him. "We start anything, Monk. We're gonna get a lot of people hurt. All the Strange Folk here ain't gonna take kindly to havin' the wool pulled over their eyes, and the vamps are going to be a mite steamed that we blew their meal ticket."

It was hard to say. Ten was still pissed. He didn't like being dominated and forced to bare his neck and fed upon. If he wanted to do something about that, he'd need to take it up with those damned Siren later with Laar'a at his side, or he'd need to take it up with the powers that be in the city. He looked back out over the crowd. "The vamps didn't kill anyone, don't look to. I'm gonna stay here and keep an eye on things." He blew into his mustache and cross his arms over his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a stepped aside as the communist woman burst out of the door, grumbling to herself. The werevornskr felt the comunista's eyes scan over her and then heard the bitch, human definition of the word, comment about her threadbare costume and something about furry perverts. She snarled after the woman but forced herself inside. She had bigger beings to fry, literally.

She found herself in the dark, shrouded backstage of some theater. She latched onto Ten's presence and could smell a fresh trail from him. She stalked towards the main stage when her seething anger was intruded upon by a fresh wave of emotions. They were calm but insistent. They were assuring because he wasn't panicked. She could also feel that he was more focused and logical, and his insistence was halting, the same feeling he'd get when he wanted to stop a suspect intent on ramming his squad car.

Laar'a took a deep breath and forced herself to stop. She set a doubtful wave across her empathy. Ten sent back the same calm wave. She looked around and took stock of her situation. She wanted to hit something, someone. It wasn't the full Moon in her mind. Near to Ten she could ignore it easier, just as near to her Ten's resistances to mind magic were as strong as hers. No this was just the adrenaline and awakened vornskr inside her wanting an outlet. She took a whiff about her. She could smell a menagerie…a sick one. She opened up her mind to the backstage and focused on the animals. She could smell and hear several ferrets, bunch of doves, a bison, a few miniature horses, a few grey hounds, and a couple of tigers. They were scared, starving, and desperate. They were hurting…beaten…abused, and now that they sensed her, every emotion of theirs turned to her, they were even more desperate with their begging.

She felt a gentle tug on her tail, and Laar’a spun about, bringing her kavikak up and around to deal with the ambush. Her spear froze as she turned as saw the little orphan girl, Mari, standing before her. Laar’a’s crimson eyes widened and flicked over to her left as she glanced towards the new presence of David who was standing near a row of cages. Laar’a looked down at the girl, who was unafraid of Laar’a only hybrid vornskrwoman form. It was as if the girl saw through her fur and into the woman inside. Actually from Mari’s piercing violet eyes, Laar’a was more than willing to assume that was exactly what the girl was doing. “Mari, dear, what are you doing here?”

How had they followed her? Kept up? She’d left them in the room when she’d run off. She’d shifted in the alley and hadn’t felt them or smelt them. Yet here they were.

"As you wish." Rasputin deftly swept the gun off the table and placed it in it's hidden hollow. If the cowboy was wiser than he seemed, all the better-The Mad Monk hardly needed fools near him here.

About him were scattered the inspirations and children of a hundred nightmares, letting down their mortal guises to relax and partake of the Society of Night. The sacred and profane mingled, hiding or revealing themselves as pleased them.

Idly, he cast his gaze about the crowd, wondering what had brought them, what they hoped and dreamed of to come here, to this place. Some were predators, others known mainly as a cry in the darkness, leading others to the pathways between worlds, to wander forever. Still others played mad games of apocalypse with the mortals, testing Man unto destruction and beyond...

In life, Rasputin had been a healer, a wandering elder who took confessions and offered absolution, a man intimate with Sin. He wondered how many would know this, and seek him out-what sins weighed so heavily on the souls of these assembled that would drive them to seek forgiveness...

Ten leaned back against the bar, ignoring the beer that had been brought to him. He wasn't in the mood or condition to muddle his senses any right now, however welcome it might be. He swept his hand to make sure his LeMat was still unlashed. If there were any trouble, he'd have to use his handcannon. The one strapped to his back would most certainly rip through any thing except perhaps the most durable of bodies and then pass through any five things behind his target before the armor-piercing explosive incendiary round detonated. He flicked his eyes, which while they had regained their grey hue still had his cougar's slit pupils, over to the Monk. "If yer so ready to pass out the philosophical mumbo jumbo...how does this improve you."

"Look about you, and see!" Rasputin's tone was joyfully reverent. "A cornucopia of Man's fears and joys-cautionary tales to push back the far horizon of personal ignorance, new and strange vistas to arouse the most jaded passions!

"There-a rusalka, I believe-a girl drowns, and rather than move to her next appointed life, joins with the cycle of nature! In spring, as the waters thaw, she grows more vibrant, moving to the woods, where she haunts and preys until Autumn calls her back to her depths, where she slumbers oddly, interacting with her sisters in their unique dreamscape. One wonders why she is not there, now..."

Rasputin pondered, musing aloud for Ten's benefit. "In my homeland, sorcerors and others-the vodyanoi most often-would entrap those poor sad souls, removing them from their cycle.

"So many puppets, one wonders which strings to pull to reveal the puppeteer."

Ten glanced over the crowd. He didn't know which of the Werlaara'ade the Monk was speaking of, never knowing too close Russian folk lore. About the time he'd decided to travel the world...well the non-Anglo parts of it, Russia had become too unwelcoming. He could pick out a few scents of a fresh springs and brooks and a couple of apparent young ladies had that cool, bluish appearance you'd expect of a water spirit.

"It's a mite drastic but you can always pull all the strings." He glanced back at the Monk. He'd given as an unsatisfactory answer as Ten himself had given to the Monk himself, but while Ten had frankly answered out of ignorance, Ten had the feeling the Monk wasn't ignorant. Ten let his eyes play back over the crowd. "Why would ya really care who the puppetmaster here is?"

And Ten supposed that also had a lot to do with what he was doing here after all. From the accounts Ten had read, it seemed that the Monk was something of a one trick pony in his success. He'd managed to latch onto the tsarina up until the very end. Before that most accounts were pretty sketchy and after were nonexistant. What the hell would a vampire possessing the mind, drive, and abilities of the Mad Monk want or do?

Vorn's little foray with Ama had ended abruptly with more work on his part. The boss wanted a recon report on something called the 'Circus of Blood', and Vorn was only too happy to oblige. He'd swung by his house and nabbed his sword for good measure, along with a few more specialty rounds for his hand-cannon. These little were-critter get-togethers were usually fraught with all sorts of exotic sorts of were-things, from cats to rats to hyenas and damn near everything in between. He'd made a point to invite Ama but he didn't think she'd make it.

The heavy metal, however, appealed to him immensely and he was soon head-banging and knocking smaller patrons aside in a mosh-pit and having a grand old time. Then the music quit, however, replaced by a sweet melody he'd never heard before. It wasn't anything close to metal but he couldn't seem to force himself to turn away. The large Argonian stood, transfixed, in the middle of the dance floor. His subconcious was screaming at him to snap out of it, but his body just wouldn't respond. All agents in his agency underwent specialized training to help combat such magical effects, but help was a relative term. He couldn't be cajoled into doing anything he didn't want to, but then again he couldn't make himself do anything either. It would take a bit before his subconcious would be able to break through and regain control of his body again...

"All at once?" Rasputin's eyebrows arched humorously. "My friend, for all we of the Society of Night liken our machinations to an elaborate chess game, in truth it is more like--poker?--yes, poker.

"One has one's cards, and the rest is bluff and counter-bluff. To win, one must read one's opponents, and for that, one must see their faces, their body language. To force every hand to be shown at once ends the current game-and we take our poker very seriously. I believe doing such in your era would have similar repercussions, with every gun aimed at the lout who performed so.

"Back in my living days-glory days, when I was the Boss--I entered Moskva with a legion of followers. The highest born would beg on bended knee for one night pressing my sacred flesh. Only rock stars enjoy that sort of celebrity today, and they do not parlay it into the sort of power I wielded. After my passing, my Rasputniks had wriggled into every niche of Russia's bureaucracy, well into the reign of Stalin still siphoning wealth from the country. They were all cunning in small ways, but lacked vision."

Rasputin sighed. "It was the dull transvestite Yusupov who laid me low-I knew he hated me, knew what he was capable of, and had no fear. I did not know others could play him as easily as I, and the rest-the rest is far too well known. I do not repeat my mistakes."

The werewolf looked up again from its meal. The scavengers were closing in again, apparently more confident now that others of their number had fled. A low, long growl came from Heathstepper, warning that if they came closer they’d face its wrath. It fell upon deaf ears. They obviously didn’t want to lose the bounty of loot provided to them by the werecats, as it would probably help feed them for the next couple of weeks. As could be imagined in such a city of debauchery and excess, few cared for those who had dropped to the bottom of the heap and had to scratch in the muck for whatever scraps fell from above or that the upper classes gave them in occasional moments of charity.

On the bottom rungs of society, people stuck together. Helping each other, and being helped in turn, was often the only way those ignored by the rest of city made it through the harder times, which came often to these human dregs. The werewolf had dragged down and eaten one of their own, which made them angry. If they couldn’t defend themselves, then no-one else would. They knew about the supernatural creatures that populated Carnival as they were regularly preyed upon by these beings of the night and now they had the opportunity to even the score, even if was only by a small amount.

One man ran towards Heathstepper and swung a short length of steel piping at the creature. The werewolf tore its attention away from the carcass in front of it too late and caught a heavy blow across its snout. The werewolf shook its head and dribbled blood and tooth shards. However, it recovered from the shock of the blow quickly and lashed out with a clawed hand and laid open the man’s throat, sending him sprawling to land in a crumpled heap.

Whilst the werewolf was distracted with the first man, others had got closer. Once the first scavenger fell to the floor and blood began to pool around him, the others closed in. They flailed at Heathstepper with anything they could get their hands on, lengths of chain and bits of broken window frame still studded with broken glass. Their attacks opened gashes on the hide of the werewolf, but the blows didn’t do much harm to the supernatural hunter. Until one of them, less drunk, stoned or panic-ridden as the rest, remembered stories about such creatures and fished out a piece of a silver blade he had dug out of one of the dead wererats. He took the fragment, wrapping the bottom of it in a rag to form a crude handle and jabbed it in to the arm of the werewolf.

Heathstepper yowled in pain as the silver burned its arm and lashed out again, missing the one who was clutching the makeshift silver knife, although the swipe all but decapitated another of the attackers. Slowly, the werewolf was being driven back by the enraged crowd, especially as the silver-armed scavenger was still cutting at it with the weapon, causing more animalistic screams of pain to ring out into the night.

"I did say it was a mite drastic." Ten said as his eyes traveled the crowd. "In my era? They ain't been allowin' hoglegs into casinos for a long durn time. Buddy, don't let the duds get to ya. My wife dresses me like this."

There was a good deal he wasn't going to give up to a fella like his new 'friend' next to him. Sure, he had western wear on and looked comfortably right in it, but so did any cowboy or John Ford extra. He spoke authentic frontier gibberish at times, but so did a goodly proportion the Gabby Hays throw-backs he'd met out West. He'd been very careful as he usually was about who he was or what he was or at least how old he was. He had the luck compared to his new 'friend' in that he wasn't a historically known figure eternally doomed to have the very same, iconic bird's nest beard. Ten had been able to sift and slide under most people's notice to little accliam, aplomb, or attention.

There was power in the knowledge he didn't want to grant certain types. Ten frowned as his eyes passed over and then focused on a newcomer in the door. The newcomer must be feeling some residual of the Siren's magic even though their act was over. It would be weak and should disapiate quickly.

But an Argonian? What the hell is he doin' here? Ten wondered.

Ama had pouted for a second when Vorn had left so abruptly once the fiery pain in his hand and the attendant contagation had been neutralized. Then she shrugged philosophically. Business usually came first.

She watched Bob drop the offending token in a crystal goblet filled with more holy water. Hissing and roiling the corrupt piece began to be eaten away as if with the most virulent of acids. "Find out Bob, and recheck those still in there if any of the taint transferred, or some one has decided that such things constitute amusement..." Ama kept her voice low. She knew that TPTB wouldn't appreciate such a joke.

While he was busy with that she matched the icon to one of the file folders in the case he pulled from beneath the desk. "Oh hot damn, I didn't think they put this one in the open file.

"Great Galloping Gnus, whats the bounty up to now"

"I'ts gone up a million a year" Bob commented as he began sorting through the other tokens with silk gloved hands.

Amasaratu whistled under her breath "I thought it was a myth, an Alan Smithee for a number of never identified..." Her voice trailed off for a moment and then she said almost to herself "Over one hundred and twenty million...from Hell"

"Nope, there's the original bounty on him as well plus the compound interest - if you take him alive and able to answer questions. The Tem." Bob broke off suddenly looking like he'd said too much. And he had...

"Yeah but how do you recognize him?" Her head jerked up as she mentally replayed his last comment "Tempora?" Her voice was more than just a question as both eyebrows rose. "You mean.."

"Uh uh"

"He wasn't...isn't...is..." Her eyebrows shot even higher as Bob nodded and hummed a bit

"And the devil's eyes...Time meant nothing never would again" Ama paraphrased under her breath "Catch me when you can, Mishter Lusk"

"Indeed, Many have tried all have failed." Bob nodded

"They have to have a tracker in him, they just have to."

Bob looked smug, all too innocent, and much like a great stone face all at once. An comical effect on his coke bottle glasses embraced pimply face. Then all smugness wiped from his face as he found suddenly he couldn't breath, and Ama met his terrified gaze with a bland one of her own.

But beneath that blandness something smoldered "Never make the mistake, Bob, of thinking that just because I Hunt that I am on the side of the angels. Just be a good boy and think that code"

"Thank you" Amasaratu thanked him as suddenly he could breathe again. "And lets not discuss this with any one else. I hate a crowded playing field." The look in her eyes was not a friendly one.

Heathstepper

The crowd of street dwellers was emboldened by the effect of the silver on the young werewolf, and pressed forward, eager to get back a little of their own. But they in their mob mentality forgot one major thing - only the silver was doing any real harm. The rest was healing quickly.

And there were others that had not made themselves known yet. Keen eyes, from whom the near total dark made no difference watched interestedly, though their intent was far less peaceful than the prior time he'd been observed.

They’d introduce themselves, if the besieged stranger survived.

Circus of Blood

Mari, dear, what are you doing here?”

Mari took Laar’a’s hand and with slight tugs led her to where David stood, face pressed against a small tear in the gaily painted canvas that covered the largest of the wheeled enclosures as he tried to get a view of what was inside The painting that looked fine if a bit gaudy at any distance proved to be well worn and poorly executed up close. The many roadies that crowded the back stage area to take no notice of the pair, though they always seemed to be not where Mari was leading Laar’a.

Charon

Wanda was very skilled. She slowly undressed him, making the act unexpectedly sensuous and once he was clean – by her own hands as he sat on a Japanese style stool – led him into the immense tub of steaming water. The heat was disconcerting then soothing, nearly lulling him to sleep. Then while she was obviously not a professional masseuse, she managed to kneed Charon’s muscles into pleasurable limpness. All the while she kept up a soft murmur of enjoyable conversation, singing, gentle joshing, small compliments that he could simply enjoy listening to or join in on as he chose. There were small refreshments if he so chose at each stage, though nothing was ever pressed on him, and the beverage options were wide ranging, with only some of them being alcoholic. Everything was designed to relax, enthuse, and make him feel comfortable, as if he were the only one in her world.

The more intimate entertainment proved that she was very skilled and afterward she cuddled with him allowing him to sleep if he so chose. The six hours passed most delightfully.

Rasputin followed Ten's gaze to the reptilean, who seemed to lack the usual chameleon ability of other reptilean predators. "He's armed." Rasputin cautioned his companion. "He doesn't have the scent of a beastborn, nor the lack of discipline of one cursed-should we call him over?"

"He's an Argonian, a species from my region. He ain't Strange Folk." Ten commented as he watched the reptiloid. The cowboy spotted the sword and reigned in his surprise or amusement by reminding himself that he did have a Barrett strapped to his back. "I figure on letting him be. He's got a look..well before he glazed over when the juju hit'im...that he's on business."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a allowed Mari to lead her through the darkened curtained catacomb behind the stage. The stagehands were giving them wide berth, not out of fear or disgust but like she was an immovable barrier like a set piece. The stagehands, men mostly, comment on her 'costume' they admired her prostetics and said that the makeup department had really out done themselves for the next acts.

The were ignored them as she was brought to the canvas covered box. She looked at David and then tapped him on the shoulder and motion for him to stand aside. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then gnarled her fingers of her free hand to extend her claws. She snagged one on the tear David had been looking through and dragged her claw down to widen the tear so they could all see.

The mob of scavengers had forced the werewolf back against the wall of the warehouse. They stood in a semi-circle around the creature, egging each other on but none daring to make the final move towards Heathstepper. The man armed with the silver sliver tossed it from one had to the other, grinning as he did so. They were going to enjoy killing this monster, taking out on it all the frustration that had amounted over the years, against the society that had trodden them down in to the level they were now and those who had preyed on them over the years, both humans and creatures like this.

The yellow eyes of the werewolf swivelled in their sockets, trying to find a way past the mob. It hadn’t given up trying to fight the scavengers, but fleeing was an option it was beginning to prefer over fighting the silver-armed man any more. Although all the wounds inflicted by the rest of the mob were rapidly healing, quickly going from open gashes to clotted scars to nothing as the minutes ticked by and the pack of scavengers bore in closer, the injuries on Heathstepper caused by the silver fragment were angry wounds, bleeding heavily and feeling like bars of white-hot metal were pressed against them.

“Now ya in the shit, eh, doggie?” the silver-armed man gloated, waving the weapon towards the werewolf, who flinched back from it. A few others edged closer to the werewolf, joining in their self-appointed leader’s gloating.

A gap-toothed grin spread over the face of a man armed with a length of chain. “Yeah, doggie! We’re gonna have to put you down!” He lashed out with his weapon, smashing the werewolf’s head to one side and sending it stumbling.

The leader darted forward as Heathstepper stumbled and lunged with the silver shiv, aiming for the werewolf’s now-exposed throat. However, the werewolf’s heightened reflexes allowed it to recover from its near-fall quickly and it clamped its jaws around the arm holding the shiv. Heathstepper grabbed the man's shoulders with its hands, the claws digging deeply in to his back. Its powerful jaws closed and the werewolf jerked its head back, tearing the man’s forearm off. He screamed and fell backwards as the silver fragment hit the floor with a musical ring. The man holding the chain whipped out with it again, but the werewolf, now freed from the threat of the silver, caught it around its left forearm and jerked the man closer before laying open his throat with its right claw.

The scavengers ran, leaving behind their erstwhile leader in their haste to escape. None of them looked back to see if Heathstepper was following them, just running as hard as they could back to the shanty-towns that made up their homes, driven to extra speed by the idea of the supernatural hunter following them. The werewolf hadn’t bothered to give chase. It sank in to a sitting position and its tongue lolled out as it panted in air in huge gulps. This had been the first time Heathstepper had been in fear of its life since it got contracted lycanthropy.

A shuffling noise was picked up by its sensitive ears. The lupine head slowly turned round and the yellow eyes focused on the former leader of the scavengers. He was clutching his injured arm to his chest and slowly pulling himself towards the silver shiv. Heathstepper rose to its feet and stalked over to the injured man before reaching down and tearing his head off.

Look at me, Rasputin willed towards the Argonian, all the while seeming to be doing nothing more than chatting with Ten. "There is only a little business to be done here, my friend-either interactions with the Society of Night or the hunting of them. I think we should find out which. If he has come to treat, let us be first at the table, and if he has come to hunt-well, I've never entered a city where I couldn't better direct such energies..."

Ten glanced over at the Monk. "Better direct? Don't know if I like the sound of that, pard. Discourage, ask to try again when so many innocents ain't around, but direct? You'll have to pardon me..." He looked back towards the Argonian and away from the vampire. "...but I know enough about you to not entirely like the notion of 'direct.'"

"You are very wise." Rasputin nodded solemnly. "Divert, then-if he is hunting the Society of Night, better he perform a community service than willy-nilly fire on those he sees.

"Of course, it's rather a moot point until his objective is known." The monk considered summoning the Argonian-in his flustered state, he might not notice, but it would be best he came of his own free will. "Perhaps we should send him a drink-that indicates friendliness, does it not?"

The pair of Amur tigers crouched in the far corner of the cage were as thin and ragged looking as the pair children flanking Laa'ra. David had eased aside so that Laa'ra could tear the canvas and get a better look. The tigers within weren't more than half grown - and should have been close to three hundred pounds if not more. Their ears and whiskers were pricked forward though they did not shift from their wary stance.

"Hey! You! get away from there!"

And a hand fell hard on Laa'ra's shoulder. And the hand burned where it touched - or rather the siver rings adorning the hand did.

Heathstepper

Ponderous applause, the very sound of sardonic disapproval echoed though the blood splattered chamber. From the darkness of the deepest shadows stepped a tall slender man, dressed in fine black leathers - but the mantle of power he wore made him much larger than his mere physical dimentions.

"Well little wolf boy you managed to live though an attack by mere humans. Even one armed with silver. I guess that makes you big and bad." Then any amusement faded in to a curled lip sneer as pure power roiled off of the Wolf King - the Ulfric - in a tsunami wave that crashed over the senses of the younger werewolf

"But how are you in the presence of your betters?" His voice was coldly cutting as a pair of werewolves larger than ponies moved on silent paws up to flank the Ulfric.

The first sound Laar'a gave was a loud, agonizing yipe as the silver burned through her fur and through to her skin like acid. Her yipe deepened and gutterally transformed into ripping snarl. Her tail whipped up, the sheath of skin that was her tailbulb retracted to reveal her pointed tail barb, and the barb, the point of the whip, slashed towards her assailant's stomach. That was her vornskr's instinctual response, her human responded a spilt second later as her tail was striking with the speed and ferocity of a viper. She spun and brought her spear's coppery beskar buttcap up and around to her attacker's side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Monk, I don't even know if Argonians drink alco," Ten stopped abruptly as the shock of Laar'a pain flashed through their connection. He snarled and pushed himself off the bar. Without conscioius thought he ran straight for the low wall separating the bar and dining tables from the dance floor. He didn't slow, he didn't plant a hand on the wall, he gathered himself, coiling a few strides from the wall and leaped it. He drew his legs up to clear the wall and lowered then loose-kneed to take the landing.

It was instinctual, smooth, high, and the landing was low on the other side. It didn't phase him. If he might not be as physically strong as a werewolf, but his cougar made him an incredible jumper. If he wouldn't look so out of place with his old appearance, he might have considered professionial basketball...again. As it was, he did have a reputation as a half-court shark.

Ten straighted up, uncoiling smoothly. He drew his LeMat and shouldered into the crowd, quickest direct path to his wife. His eyes had taken on a yellowish hue to go with his narrow slitted pupils. His orders for the crowd to make way were twinged with growling and snarls. While he didn't identify himself as a police officer, Ten Starr's tin star in heart badge gleemed and reflected the flashing, wild lights of the dance floor.

Even when in werewolf form and fuelled by nothing more than an urge to kill and to shed blood, Heathstepper knew a sarcastic handclap when it heard one. The young lycanthrope brought up its bloody head from the corpse of the man who had wielded the silver shiv and fixed its yellow-eyed gaze on the source of the sound, which echoed from the pitch-black depths of the warehouse. A growl that was building in the werewolf died in its throat as the source of the ironic applause stepped from the shadows and in to Heathstepper’s field of vision.

“Well, little wolf boy, you managed to live though an attack by mere humans. Even one armed with silver. I guess that makes you big and bad.”

Ordinarily, Heathstepper would have met such a comment with a barrage of expletives, but there wolf-like jaws and throat made speaking normally virtually impossible. The aura of power that radiated off the man made it clear that such a move wouldn’t be tolerated, especially as the young werewolf had the nagging feeling that it had crossed the line in to behaviour that wasn’t tolerated. The man was obviously the local top dog, and Heathstepper had almost certainly overstepped its mark by attacking the humans within the other werewolf’s territory.

“But how are you in the presence of your betters?”

The sudden wave of power completely cowed Heathstepper. The idea of showing this smug bastard the colour of his own insides quickly flashed through the young werewolf’s mind before it was entirely quelled, primarily by a sense of self-preservation, but also by two massive werewolves that stalked silently to their pack leader’s side.

Heathstepper knew it would be torn apart if it even so much as breathed at the wrong time now. Any thought of defiance was pushed to the back of its mind. The pack leader alone would have been able to twist the young werewolf’s head through 360 degrees without much effort, but the two huge new arrivals stacked the odds entirely against the lone werewolf.

Slowly, the trespasser sunk in to a submissive pose on the floor of the warehouse, amidst the carnage of both the wererats that had been annihilated by the werecats and the human scavengers that had been torn apart by Heathstepper.

Despite the speed of his companion, Rasputin could follow, and decided he should, removing his firearm from it's hollow and crossing himself: "By the Father, the Mother, and the Son!" before kissing the weapon, he hurried swiftly after Ten.

The Mad Monk was well aware of the psychic connection permitted by True Love, and knew he was about to meet Ten's wife, albeit under less-than-pleasant circumstances. The versispellis were strange creatures, but had strong ties and held to their obligations, whether indebted or vengeance...

The hand, fat but hard muscled underneath and bulky with the several rings adorning plump fingers gripped painfully tighter for just a moment then fell away as Laar'a spun from out beneath it. But neither the tail barb nor the butt cap managed to touch flesh, though both struck small showers of sparks as the landed hard against the arcane shield that shimmered between Laar'a and her assailant. He was tall, over seven and a half foot tall and built bigger than a well fed bear. His layers of adipose tissue however merely overlain real muscle – though the voluminous purple satin robe, and white turban with a matching egret feather he wore made him look even more imposing

Sovrain might have been not even a fourth rate practitioner of the Arcane but he was no fool either. And to capture such an unique specimen was not an opportunity to pass up. He'd prepared quickly, practically trembling in his eager haste, but well. Some of his limited repertory were all but second nature to him, and he’d set them to trigger with but the most minimal of cues.

As his latest acquisition faced him an insubstantial web of sparkling lights, a myriad of shifting cues and patterns, descended over her, The mind maze would, as it caught her eyes, trap and trick her mind, her self becoming lost within the treacherous currents, leaving her dazed and malleable to his wishes. Few were every able to escape it’s sublte but most potent magic.

Once that was done then the next twisting would activate, binding her physical self to his wishes and end with his prize safely caged within a Sigil, removed from Reality until he could obtain a proper cage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowd was thick and self involved as they danced to the ear defeaning music the dj was spinhning during the intermission. The stage curtain was down as the crew moved to set up the next entertainment and the lights were pulsing weirdly over the crowd.

It would take some hard shoving by Ten to get through, but it was not impossible, just slow going. His badge meant little to the locals.

Though it may have been a height thing, as Rasputin found them giving way for him a bit easier, or perhaps it was the wake effect?

Though it may have been a height thing, as Rasputin found them giving way for him a bit easier, or perhaps it was the wake effect?

(OOC:Actually, it's an old Ventrue trick to use low levels of Presence to clear the path for expeditious traversing of a crowded room-apply the Discipline, and people just don't want to be in your way. Having contaminated this thread with gamespeak, I now apologise and continue: )

The crowd was in Ten's way, and while Rasputin was an estimable detective, discerning the location of Ten's mate would be difficult without the man's lead.

Hating himself for the lack of subtlety as he did this, he extended an aura of unease to clear Ten's path-the spell of the gravedancers hung yet on them, so most would not realise they were clearing a path, but if Ten was this upset, it would be best to hurry.

As the crowd parted without exactly realising why, Ten made his way relentlessly to his goal. Rasputin sighed and raced to keep up-fortunately, his youth as a serf had granted him both his iron constitution and hard, strong muscles that protested but little as he urged them in pursuit...

The still burning pain in her shoulder from the man’s touch and the shocking tingle jittering her tail from the man’s shields muddled her reaction and her own mental shielding slipped. The blaze of lights flicked over her for a moment, misleading, misdirecting, leading her down, down, isolated, alone.

But she wasn’t alone. She never was. The same protection that Laar’a had called upon earlier from Mira, her Matron goddess, snapped back in place. A hauberk of scales, reptilian scales, flashed over her where the mage’s spell came in contact with her. For a moment a visceral mask of a prehistoric creature, a dinosaur’s nightmare with a split lower jaw bared rows of hooked teeth like tines of the spear the shewere held.

Mother Mira was not happy. She would not allow one of her alor, one of her speakers, one of her beloved to fall under the sway of an aruetii, a stranger.

Laar’a wasn’t happy either when her eyes and mind cleared. She’d spun away again, letting her kavikak and tail sweep a wide circle about her as she gained room between them. All the while her shoulder still burned and all she could do at the moment was shut that bit of her mind away.

She lowered himself into a deep stance and brought up her wicked headed spear. It wasn’t the best fighting implement. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was a fishing tool and a symbol of her position as an alor. She had though wielded it in fishing and the rudimentary Taung style of martial arts for over forty-five years. As she crouched, her tail whipped dangerously behind her and in her hands the rune that spiraled up the kavikak began to glow one by one running up their spiral script like heat spreading along a bar of metal in a forge.

As she gathered herself, she was sickened by the avarice, the dull hungry greed that rolled off the jatii…the mage. She knew all that was directed at her, she could feel it all boring in on her. He wanted to possess her, own her, bend her to his will and use. It sickened her, disgusted her, but not only her.

Others would feel it as well.

Heathstepper

The Ulfric crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the submissive posture with a jaundiced eye. His face was closed, stern, unreadable as he took in all of Heathstepper’s reactions. The Freki and Geri - the official second and third in command of the local pack - curled up their lips exposing briefly massive, lethal fangs.

"Now why should I trust that posturing..." The Wolf king eyed Heathstepper, an uninvited, unintroduced stranger a moment longer then huffed a brief and mostly mirthless laugh.

"Oh get up you've made it clear that some bit of common sense remains to you." He sighed gustily as he frowned. "And obviously no one has taught you any manners, or any of our ways, have they?"

Circus of Blood

The crowd seemed to melt from in front of the frustrated Ten, letting him move far faster than he had been able to before. The tall bearded figure that followed hard on his fleet heels got many a double take from those sensitive to such manipulations, and no few nods of respect and acknowledgement.

Behind the scenes in their canvas covered cage the tigers snarled as they sensed the presence of their abusive owner, but hey calmed as gentle hands stroked them. Mari crouched by their sides. She had sent David to find Ten and guide him through the bewildering chaos that was the backstage area.

Clad in his paper clothes, their raggedness a sharp contrast with his still slightly damp but very clean hair, David raced out on the stage from the wings looking frantically about for Ten. He knew that he and Mari would have no chance against the avaricious Sovrein.

The Arcanist chuckled, “Oh so you have some small powers do you? Well my dear so much the better” Aand he triggered his third prepared twisting and grinned. The sigil would warp itself about her, trapping her and sliding her just outside Reality so that he had plenty of time to prepare a proper enclosure for her. He was glad she was showing all her abilities now, so he would know what he needed to counter in the future.

The human part of the werewolf’s mind was struggling for dominance over the more bestial side. Both parts knew that it was best to keep quiet and listen to what the alpha wolf had to say. Heathstepper was still fawning on the floor of the warehouse, all too aware of the fact that the other three werewolves were significantly stronger than it, and were probably well within their rights summarily kill the trespasser. Although Heathstepper hadn’t been brought within a pack before or ever had much contact with other werewolves or supernatural creatures, it knew that preying at will on humans was probably going to cause upset with those who considered themselves rulers of the areas the young werewolf passed through.

“Now, why should I trust that posturing...?”

Heathstepper baulked at those words and flinched even more as the alpha’s two lieutenants exposed their huge fangs. Half-formed thoughts of being quickly torn to shreds ricocheted through the young werewolf’s mind and it cowered lower on the floor.

“Oh, get up. You've made it clear that some bit of common sense remains to you.”

The young werewolf slowly and cautiously pulled itself up from the floor and onto its feet. It still had a submissive pose, with its tail tucked firmly between its legs and ears drawn back against its skull. The tone of the man’s voice and his demeanour spoke of one who was irritated with Heathstepper’s actions, but still tolerant, at least for now.

“And obviously no one has taught you any manners, or any of our ways, have they?”

In a surprisingly human gesture for such a creature, Heathstepper shook its head. It knew little of the specifics of life in a pack, having forcibly rejected the one that given it lycanthropy and ever since travelled, allowing the bloodlust to take over whenever the full moon had forced a change.

OOC: And yes he sounds like him too

The Ulfric (http://www.banderas-mall.com/info/latina604a.jpg) waved his two subordinates to hold their places and stepped close to Heathstepper, going into a squat, his wrists resting lightly on his knees.

"Ignorance of the laws and especially the Traditions is no excuse...mostly" One hand last out with cobra strike speed and wrapped it in Heathstepper’s scruff. But all he did was shake Heathstepper lightly, as an adult chastised a cub then let him go. “Even our cubs know more than you”

"What am I to do with you?...I should kill you for your trespass, that is what many of the Pack would advocate. But I dislike needless killing. You have not learned to control you blood lust and that makes you a danger - maybe it is needful to kill you, and act to keep the Pack safe." He mused aloud.

He snapped his fingers without warning, a rifle shot crack that echoed unsettlingly. Out of the deep shadows with quick jerky movements crabbed a twisted figure, a malevolent faced dwarf. He came as speedily as his hunched figure and stunted legs would allow – and that was surprisingly speedily and silently in heavy thick soled shoes affixed to heavy metal braces. “This is the Bolverk. You will not see him, you will not hear him, you will not sense his presence. But he will be watching you, you won’t be able to lose him, that I promise you. He will observe you and be your witness. Go, kill no more tonight unless your very life is in danger. When you are human again find the Lupanar, and I will pass judgment on you then”

The Ulfric stood and turned his back on Heathstepper moving away with feral grace, his power still roiling off him. The stunted figure turned to look at his master go then turned back to the young were wolf, his lips writing in a fearful grin

“Oh fresh meat, and just remember the night has a thousand eyes” He laughed at his own humor and then melted back into the shadows.

Leaving Heathstepper alone with the dead.

Rasputin hurried, but he did not possess the Dark Gift of Speed that originated the quote "The Dead travel fast", nor was he a desperate mate. Ten outdistanced him in his haste, and the vampire scanned the area, trying to find some trace...

A young man in paper clothing with damp hair smiled at the Mad Monk, and pointed. Rasputin stared amazed, briefly. A ghost-and not bound to this place. Odd...

His curiousity was piqued-the spirits of the dead were usually not involved in the doings of the living, but this one was indicating direction. Making a mental note to return, Rasputin headed in the direction the spirit indicated. Ten's mate was endangered and alive, while the poor, ragged ghost could wait-the Dead were often patient to a degree, and this one seemed as interested in Ten's wife's well-being as any of it's own affairs.

[OOC:Ordo...thanks for dropping the twist about the David and Mari.]

Laar'a braced herself raising her kavikak against the sigil. It did not strike. The sigil warped around her as it should, but it hovered, ground, and sparked inches from her body. The scales of the mantle Mira laid around her shown under the sigil as it struggled against the reality warping effects. Laar'a grit her teeth. The shield was powered through the conduit from Mira to this realm. Concievably she was safe from the sigil's effects while under Mira's protection.

But she could feel and discern the tug of the spell. She knew that eventually her shield would collapse, and either some small part of Mira's power would be sealed away with her alor or, more frightening, Mira herself might interpose herself for her alor.

Laar'a could not allow that.

She could feel Ten approaching, scared, angry, desparate. She sent apologies to her mate and to her Matron. She gathered her strength into her kavikak, the glowing red script on the staff and the head fully lit and filled with her power. She shed Mira's mantle and burst forward into the sigil but not before thrusting the kavikak down at the mage's ankle. The side tines would slip past the man's ankle at first, but the middle point would bury deep into his flesh as any spear point would. Just before the sigil finally slipped her away, she jerked the kavkiak back, and the side tines, their points sweeping back like snake fangs, would dig in. The kavikak was a fishing spear like a trident, meant to pierce and trap fish so they could be killed by other means. In battle, a Taung warrior would use it to immobilize a foe a distance and finish him off with his kad, the Taung sword.

Laar'a trusted Ten to finish the mage off. She sent one more wave of heartbroken apology before she disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grateful to be moving, Ten was then horrified when he felt the waves of apologies from his mate. He didn't remember yelling no, but he did. He just remembered running and as he neared the stage, he gathered himself, coiling and then jumping from floor to stage with effortlessly grace of his cougar.

He landed and was entirely stunned for he no longer felt his mate. She wasn't dead. She wasn't unconscious. She was simply, horrifyingly gone.

Ten shook in place, trying to keep himself centered. He had to find out what happened he couldn't let himself rage. The boy from the park, the one Laar'a had taken in, saved him, helped him focus. The boy was beckoning to him. He had to know where Laar'a had been, and hopefully he'd lead her straight to where the bastard who'd messed with his mate was. Ten followed with haste, cocking his LeMat as he did.

“Ignorance of the laws and especially the Traditions is no excuse...mostly. Even our cubs know more than you”

Heathstepper could do nothing in the vice-like grip but allow itself to be picked up and shaken. Not that resisting would have been a bright idea and probably evaporated any feelings of mercy that the Ulfric had towards the transgressing intruder. Once dropped, Heathstepper sank back on to the floor, cowering before the alpha werewolf. The young werewolf stayed low on the ground as the Ulfric continued his musings.

“What am I to do with you? ...I should kill you for your trespass; that is what many of the Pack would advocate. But I dislike needless killing. You have not learned to control you blood lust and that makes you a danger - maybe it is needful to kill you, and act to keep the Pack safe.”

The Ulfric made a decision and snapped his fingers. Sudden noise made Heathstepper jump, almost in to a flight position.

“This is the Bolverk. You will not see him, you will not hear him, you will not sense his presence. But he will be watching you, you won’t be able to lose him, that I promise you. He will observe you and be your witness. Go, kill no more tonight unless your very life is in danger. When you are human again find the Lupanar, and I will pass judgment on you then”

The malignant dwarf introduced by the Ulfric gave the young werewolf a sinister grin, one which hinted at a pleasure taken in his role as the pack’s enforcer. The remark given by the man as he followed his leader also gave the impression the stunted creature enjoyed his allotted roll.

Heathstepper reached up and scratched the back of its neck with its hind leg, rearranging the fur there which had been messed uncomfortably by the hand of the Ulfric. The young werewolf knew it had got off lightly, at least so far. Going before the pack that considered Carnival their territory might well end badly for Heathstepper. A single feral werewolf, especially one that was nowhere near the peak of its powers wouldn’t be able to threaten an entire pack, but it could certainly upset the balance of power between the pack and the other factions that had a home within Carnival. The execution of Heathstepper way well send a message that the pack had everything under their control, whilst allowing the feral werewolf to live may well enable others to paint the pack as weak and easily targeted.

Of course, little of this went through the young werewolf’s mind. It was too clouded by residual feelings of bloodlust, as well as the overwhelming power of the Ulfric and the knowledge that if it was to kill again without any justification, the deformed enforcer of the local pack would bring swift, brutal and entirely final retribution down on Heathstepper. The werewolf picked itself up and weaved through the carnage that remained in the warehouse, trying to close its nostrils to the enticing scent of blood.

Once outside of the warehouse, the werewolf’s head swung from side to side, trying to pick up its own spoor in order to follow it back to the hotel that it had booked in human form. Heathstepper felt somewhat subdued and apprehensive of what the new dawn would bring.

Rasputin saw the dark place where a shifting, amorphous she-scorpion(?) (OOC:It's dark, so forgive me) warred in a Duel Arcane with a slaver mage.

Ompalom. He thought, remembering the name used by the bhut who'd taught him about the Shroud separating Life and Death he straddled as a vampire, and how to manipulate it.

Mages were tricky-not powerful, in the way of the Society of Night, but versatile-while Rasputin had explored his undead nature in the century since his death, the mage could do a great deal more than he. His Faith and expertise in obscure areas of the Blood had him reckoned as dangerous by many, but mages could warp the World in ways only they could envision.

Fortunately, such major changes required concentration-and Rasputin knew how to break that. Though he was not fast, he held eight little friends in his hand who were swift enough. Taking careful aim at the meaty part of the thigh just above the mage's kneecap, he let one fly...

I do hope Ten isn't the mage's mate. Rasputin thought as he fired, amending: I think I'm safe-what self-respecting homosexual would dress like that?

Heathstepper

The entrancing music that had flowed from the party site was no longer in evidence. As he paused searching, the dwarf's voice came to him low, seemingly hearable only by Heathstepper, though it seemed to echo and reverberate

"Look stupid, he didn't mean animals. If you hunt animals and eat what you kill, thats okay. Especially feral dogs and wharf rats. Even such as you don't have to go hungry. Besides if you don't eat enough changing back will be a misery that might keep you from paying your respects at the Lupinar. And while I might seriously hope that you do muck up, I'm fair enough to tell you what’s allowed.

Circus of Blood

The exotic vanished as Sovrein felt his Sigil snap into places, sealing the female safely ( for him) into the alternate Realm it created. He'd made dozens of the tiny spaces and it took only the easiest bit of effort to activate them. He'd exhausted himself during the marathon session when he'd created them - and at no little expense in both time, blood and money- but it was proving to be worth the effort. He never realized that there had been one tiny flaw.

The kavikak struck, powering past the Arcane shield, though it expended the entirety of it's energies to ram past the barrier, and Laar'a's drawback set it well into the thick ankle. Sovrein screamed, immediately taking all weight off the leg, holding the foot up, hands clutching at the wicked barb set in his tender flesh. Blood dripped immediately as he hopped about holding his injured foot in one hand, the other flailing about in windmill like circles.

The first of Rasputin’s rounds struck against the shield precisely where it had been aimed, detonating in a last flare of coruscating energies that back lashed along the trajectory of the 44 round back to the Black Hawk and up it to the vampire that held it.

That made Sovrein scream again,

The scream empowered Rasputin-the fear of the mage was palpable, and about to be increased. Wrapping the emotional response about him he liked to call Dei Potestas in Terra, he hurled himself at the mage, his leg protesting but compliant-the dead feel little but regret.

"Tell me, little fool-how does it feel to know you are prey?" he howled. "The woman was MINE-and you have transgressed-deeply.

"You know the wages of sin, tiny one-consider me Hell's quartermaster, here with your check."

Ten...who had been in the lead and generally faster than Rasputin at least in a sprint...must have shied away when the Monk's Blackhawk roared. Old instincts acting in the isolated tunnel created around him and his target. He moved to the side and turned to give only his profile to what he precieved as an attack on his flank. That must have been the reason the vampire had overtaken and reached the mage who'd assaulted Ten's wife and mate.

He allowed the ring of the gunshot and the rush of the vampire slow him down, ebb away his rage for a moment. He needed focus. He forced himself to slow his walk, so his boots ring deliberately on the wood. He glanced and saw the girl near a cage and through ripped canvas a pair of tigers. In fact he saw a little menegerie, and it smelled of poor upkeep, worse care, death, and abuse.

He stopped short of the mage and the vampire. He beckoned to the boy and pointed him over towards the girl and moved to put himself near her. Laar'a had wanted them safe and for all he knew, sacrificed herself for them. He would protect them because they were children and disabled at that, but more because Laar'a cared for them.

Charon

Wanda was very skilled. She slowly undressed him, making the act unexpectedly sensuous and once he was clean – by her own hands as he sat on a Japanese style stool – led him into the immense tub of steaming water. The heat was disconcerting then soothing, nearly lulling him to sleep. Then while she was obviously not a professional masseuse, she managed to kneed Charon’s muscles into pleasurable limpness. All the while she kept up a soft murmur of enjoyable conversation, singing, gentle joshing, small compliments that he could simply enjoy listening to or join in on as he chose. There were small refreshments if he so chose at each stage, though nothing was ever pressed on him, and the beverage options were wide ranging, with only some of them being alcoholic. Everything was designed to relax, enthuse, and make him feel comfortable, as if he were the only one in her world.

The more intimate entertainment proved that she was very skilled and afterward she cuddled with him allowing him to sleep if he so chose. The six hours passed most delightfully.

Even the Master Butcher could not resist partaking in the sensual delights that often came with women such as Wanda who he allowed to show him the full extent of her talent. It seemed to him that Wanda must have done this sort of stuff prior to him knowing about her but that was irrelevent. It didn't matter how many guys slept with her but how she had been serving him that did. The irony of this statement reflected upon Charon's love for respecting women but although he'd be supporting women's rights often at the end of a bullet, there had been no reason for him to reject partaking in the sultry women you'd find in your local brothel.

Charon talked whenever he felt like talking but that was usually only when he felt he had something to say about some aspect of the harlot's life. He would take his sips of wine and take a snack here and there and soon, the carnal urge within him began to blossom. He took hold of Wanda, fiercely but not hurtfully, and proceeded to ravish her with all his energy focused on the sole act of pleasuring her well. A man, Charon knew, could keep a woman in line if he did good in bed. After all was moaned and done, Charon looked upon the woman he had slept with and smiled. "You were quite good, Wanda. I think I'll need to get a second serving of you sometime."

Charon smiled. He was beginning to enjoy this woman's presence in his life.

Elsewhere...

Laar'a found herself suddenly chilled to the bone and beyond, to her soul for the reality she knew was gone, instead she found herself feeling half again as light, but not comfortably so. No, her stomach twisted with more than just emotional unease.

The densely billowing mist about her did not feel damp like fog, but it refracted light as fog does. And there were sounds, conversation perhaps but in that 'nudder budder peanut butter 'type of churrus such as extra on a movie set provided. Despite her preternaturally keen hearing she just couldn't quite make out the words.

Laa'ra couldn't even see the ground, the vapors swirling about her feet, though she could feel she stood on something firm but yielding..

Circus of Blood

The Shield had vanished under the last assault, and Sovrein was simply too busy, distracted, and pained to enact another. His wails of pain mingled with Rasputin’s howl, and he never heard what the Mad Monk roared.

But his self absorbed hopping and flailing did not take him out of range of the charge and the two collided with an reverberation that was audible over all the other cacophony.

David ran over to Mari, passing though the canvas and bars as if they did not exist - and for him they did not...

Ten held still as his hackle rose. He turned to see the boy pass through bars and finally over the stinking roil of dark magic he felt them for what they were. He'd been so distracted when he'd first met them by the Moon and the young wolf he hadn't noticed. Spirits...had Laar'a known?

That was a question he'd have to ask her.

Laar'a.

The pain hit him fresh. He could smell her, the last trace of her. He could feel her here and then gone. He snarled and waded into the confused melee between the vampire and mage. He took hold of the shaft of Laar'a's kavikak. He took a hold of Rasputin's robes and gave a sharp tug. "She's MY mate, Monk, and this is MY interrogation, so off'em."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laar'a clutched her arms around her. Her stomach knotted and rolled at the odd and discomforting sensations. Everything was so unsure, so insecure. She couldn't discern anything, barely see beyond her nose. She couldn't see and couldn't her except for the indistinguishable white nose about her. No matter how she strained she couldn't make out a word enough to reassure her. She walked, trying to find her way, find anything. She curled her tail around her waist and looked about.

Where was she? What realm?

The mist gave her no clues.

But that was what it was supposed to do. The slaver held his new aquistions here for 'safekeeping' but also to break them down. Even so short a time and she could recognize the effect it had. After being incarcerated in this mindlessly vague and discomforting a place any future, any respite not matter how bleak would be welcome.

Laar'a huddled down. There was no point to movement. She allowed herself to shift all the way to her vornskr form. She didn't think so highly in this form. Her beast didn't think in circles; it was more driven and instinctual. She would have to wait. It was all she could do and hope.

~~~~~~~~~

In a realm warmer and filled with undying trees, an terrible reptile rose to her feet and howled out her heartache. One of her children had been taken, stolen from her. The foolish child, the good, stupid, brave child had been spirited away. Mira in her mythosaur appearance stalked away from her nest in a realm undying. She raised her snout into the air and snorted in great volumes of the aether and licked at energies, tasting them.

She set off at a loping run. She had to find her brood. She could not allow her to be taken

He took a hold of Rasputin's robes and gave a sharp tug. "She's MY mate, Monk, and this is MY interrogation, so off' em."

Rasputin calmed immediately, and smiled, one hand opening like a flower in the direction of the slaver. "Certainly-just leave enough of him to call her back before his unfortunate accident."

Feral dogs and wharf rats…

Heathstepper had come to Carnival because the werewolf had assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that the odd human amongst the teeming population of the city wouldn’t be missed. The lycanthrope had acquired a taste for humans soon after been infected by its sire, and without any guidance from older members of its kind, it had allowed that taste to run rampant over the past few years. A life of travelling had taken over, moving from one place to another in order to avoid suspicion for these crimes. Stray dogs and sewer rats were poor food in comparison.

However, the young werewolf wanted to avoid bringing the Bolverk down on its head, as well as keeping the Ulfric’s clemency. Besides, the mocking tone of the little shite rankled at the werewolf, and proving the enforcer wrong was slowly becoming a driving force. Heathstepper found the hunting of low animals somewhat demeaning, but after the energies expended throughout the night, it was beginning to need for whatever it was allowed to catch, even if it was just vermin.

The werewolf found itself back in a nest of alleys, some way from the Circus of Blood. It cocked its head to listen to the sounds of the night. The 24 hour party that was Carnival was still in full swing and the sound of music, laughter and other sounds drifted across the city. Heathstepper turned its head away from them and began to listen for closer noises, ones which would alert it to the position of potential prey. The werewolf sunk low behind a pile of garbage sacks as a pair of drunks passed by the mouth of the alley. It wasn’t so that it would be seen, but so that its bloodlust wouldn’t lock on to them. For the moment, humans were well and truly off the menu.

Feral dogs and wharf rats…

Ten scowled at the vampire. “That ain’t how I do things, Monk. If yer the type that can lick wounds to stop the bleedin’, go ahead and enjoy yerself. I don’t want him dyin’ on me.”

An outside observer might see the humor in the scene. Two men fancifully dressed in robes and mystical garb and one dressed as cowboy. Ten didn’t see the humor in that image, but he did see the odd image of a five foot cowboy standing over and intimidating the giant Great Karnak; he was living it. He jerked the kavikak up roughly and then thrust it forward sharply and twisted it. The middle point would stab through the man’s ankle and the side fangs would slide out of the man’s flesh for a moment. When Ten jerked the spear back again, he did it with a further twist so that the fangs set themselves in the gap between the man’s fibula and tibia and crossed close.

With a secure grip on the haft and the secure grip of the fangs in the man’s leg, Ten painfully pulled the mage towards him. “Do. I. Have. Your. Attention?”

Rsputin stepped back, and looked about. While Ten's torture was certainly less than Rasputin had done on himself during penance, it was quite unneccesary-judicious applicaton of his mental prowess could have the slaver performing all sorts of acts, including freeing the woman. Of course, this was righteous wrath, and as long as the slaver lived long enough to free Ten's mate, Rasputin really didn't care one way or the other.

With a jaundiced eye, he watched Ten work-clumsy and vicious as a Bulgar. He saw the small girl crouched between the tigers, and smiled pleasantly, nodding at her, but she was locked onto the interrogation.

Domovoi he considered, referring to the "Master of the House", a protective ghost that tied itself to various households. Well, if the wraith should grow upset, Rasputin would do his best to resolve things. The spirits of the Dead needed to be eased from this world to the one they belonged in. The Kingdom of Heaven needed soldiers as much as the Dukes of Hell, but the Celestial Crusade was a volunteer army.

To supply some clandestine aid, Rasputin bent his will on the slaver. His fear was a tiny thing, sparked by his pain, but it was enough-Rasputin fanned it larger, letting the slaver's mind run rampant with thoughts of what Ten would do to him, based entirely on the slaver's knowledge of what he would do, were the situation reversed.

The lovely thing about an evil man who despised Virtue was the way his imagination would fill his prospects with the same Vice he indulged in, never considering Mercy or Leniency...

Charon

You were quite good, Wanda. I think I'll need to get a second serving of you sometime."

Wanda's (http://www.atddm.com/wanda1.jpg) very genuine smile brought out her dimples."Why thank you Charon. It really was my pleasure" Wanda was a little too young to be top tier yet, but she was firmly on the way up- even though she was only twenty seven. Most courtesans didn't make second tier, ever, but under that mop of silky golden hair lay a college educated mind. Not too far in the future a day of her time would command several thousand dollars - if she'd agree to see you. And that did not necessarily mean she'd end up in bed with you either.

"I'd be delighted to be a second helping." She stroked a hand down his arm. She'd enjoyed his fierce passion, and his intent to make sure she enjoyed herself. Wanda liked sex, alot, but many of her patrons did not think to see past their own pleasures. A parton like Charon was a gift to be appreciated.

She looked up at him from under thick lashes and her voice was just a little shy. "Charon, might I" and she moved close to his ear and whispered "might I kiss you" And he should know she meant on the lips - earlier she had laid many a passionate kiss across the hard muscled planes of his body, but not on the lips...

Heathstepper

Feral dogs and wharf rats. The pickings were plentiful, and easy prey for a werewolf. Heathstepper could feed his craving for meat, if not so much assuage the hunting drive,

He never saw the Bolverk but he felt an almost constant pressure of eyes upon him.

Circus of Blood

“Do. I. Have. Your. Attention?”

“What? Who..oh gods below that hurts, stop! STOP!!!” The big man whined – and he was weighing in at fully three hundred pounds, but not much of a load for a werecougar who in half form could lift small cars with relative ease.

“Oh ouch, OUCh, oh ohoh” Sovrein babbled. He was to busy wiggling and writhing to get a good look at his assailants “My clothes, my turban, you’re getting them all filthy!” Another important matter, if only to him.

Untill the effects of Rasputin's efforts began to course through him, turning his attention whole towards the men assaulting him.

He looked around frantic for help, and relaxed slightly when he saw some of the stage hands taking note that this was not likely practise for a new act.

"Help! Help!" The growing fear lent a truly authentic tone to his cries and a double hand full of the burly men - and a female or two where heading their way.

Ten gave the kavikak another terrible jerk and followed the man's eyes to the stage hands. He turned open to them. His large steely LeMat rested on his thigh, hammer still ominiously cocked back. He spent a moment to look the all in the eyes with the full meaning of his dominance unveiled. Humans weren't ever as sensitive to it, didn't know the meaning, but staring contests and eye contact still meant something.

He gave each of them that look and then spoke, "Y'all can just go about your business. I'm Captain Tenadore Starr of Catawaban Rural Rangers, and this pile of shit has assaulted and kidnapped a Catawaban peace officer."

Vorn tore his mind free of whatever trance had been cast over him. He hated magic, simply hated it. Hot rage manifested itself in his gut, and he yanked the sword from its resting place on his back, his large hand closing around the well-worn grip stained as it was with faded crimson.

When the cowboy and the monk-looking guy blew past him, he'd taken little notice until he'd seen that same cowboy vault the bar with about as much effort as Vorn would use to remove his boots. The shit was impressive, and this was about to get interesting. The guy wasn't human, and when Vorn caught the sound of intense human agony floating into his reptillian ears, he quickened his pace and reversed his grip on the blade in his hand, powering his way through the gathering crowd on curious on-lookers...

"Do I have your attention?"

The voice was thick with an accent that matched the garb, and that didn't surprise Vorn a bit. The fact that the man was toting around a full-sized Barrett was a different story, however. The Agency had a few in stock for distance purposes, but it didn't quite match the close-range stopping power of his Weatherby .700 Nitro Express, nor was it any more portable. It did, however, pose a serious threat if things got ugly...

"You've got mine, Ranger... There an issue here?"

His large frame almost hid the blade from view, but that wasn't his intention. It came up and returned to the sheath, his hand hovering instead around the grip of his two-shot monster-masher...

Ten looked from the crowd to the Argonian. He turned, shifting again to keep the newcomer in sight. He looked him over and decided that he was the next worse thing in the room after the mage and Rasputin. He also decided the Argonian was some kind of soldier or LEO because only one of them would try to interject his authority into the situation with a dumb question like that.

Ten glared at him. "Pard, you heard every word outa my mouth, and then ya know the 'issue'. You local LEO? Because if you ain't, ya best go about your business. Which means in the kindest of terms..." He glanced pointedly at the gathered crowd. "Git yerselves the Hell out."