Icon of Coil: runs-with-spirits [kaj'sha-sickboy-malcom]

August 12, 2002

runs-with-spirits [kaj'sha-sickboy-malcom]

[on the hunt, towards new brunswick, nj | kaj'sha npc]

**leads his two compatriots to the darkened parking lot of a closed store, smashing out the drivers side window of a car, he unlocks the car and starts it with practiced ease.**
"Alright boys, Climb in." he chuckles reving the engine

He is unusually quiet. Perhaps it is their target. He fears no Gaian, but he does hold respect for one tribe. The Fianna. His eyes betray the fanatism burning within him. To capture one of the more then hated, would indeed show that none can stand before this pack. but to fail...

He doesnt even allow himself to think it. For the first time that his packmates have seen, he carries more then just his clothes. before leaving the pit, he pulled a box from a damp corner, and pulled a large automatic .45 from it, checking the clip, to see the satisfying glint of silver. A backup, in case things go sour.

they wont, go sour.

that cant.

Snapping out of it, he climbs into the passanger seat next to the driver, the car quickly filling up with the sweet honey scent of the wyrm, inspiring his packmates, waking their hunger, their lusts.

they watched, as Malcom turned the trick to steal and start the car, mimicry in his smile when the engine revs...... Kaj'sha comfortable in the back (chauffered) and Asher beside, the stone tight in his fist

"Northeast....... head towards New Brunswick....."

the whip is coiled across his lap (seething, waiting, the pit viper in ambush) silvered knives tucked away...... just in case......

[Runs-With-Spirits] She was often chided from slipping away from the others, remaining alone to comune with the mother as the Druids of old, but it is a good thing that she did so now, isn't it? For now.. without pack, without kin, she is truely on her own.
Richly vibrant red hair spills over her shoulders, the fringe of bangs dangling before fathomless blue eyes as she crouches near a tree, her hand resting agianst the bark. Slender, beautiful even at her young (...tender...) age... she is at home here, among the rich greens and golds and browns of the Forests (cannot see the forest for the trees, child. Look at the big picture..) Unhurried, unworried, the lithe young one merely... is.

**begins driving, fast, but carefully. Meticulausly following Asher's instructions**

A glance cast back at the two in the back seat (Alpha and Contender) before he starts to scan the surroundings, eyes slightly narrowed. his hat pulled down low, his breathing slow. He sits tense, rotted teeth slightly bared.

with the stone still wrapped in fist (flesh) he leans, pointing between the seats...... they've left Atlantic city far behind......

"There."

a sideroad, just off the two-lane highway

"Not far now"

she can't be more than a few miles, he feels it, Kaj'sha feels it, he knows they all feel her (want her) close

**the tires skid and the car rides up on two wheels, as they slide around the corner onto the sideroad, kicking up dust as they go**
"Hey Asher, if we can get her to shift should I just hit her with the car?" he asks with honest curiosity

A slight snarl of anticipation, as they slide into the road. It begins already. his jaw strengthens, widens, as does his shoulders. his hair elongates, slowly curling out in its tufts from his head. Knuckles growing wider, harder. The trench now tighter around his frame then a second before. his head slightly bowed against the roof.

Soon..

He can taste her already, a low growl beginning in his throat.

Fianna Blood!

He resists the urge to howl, instead breathing deeply in that growl, senses searching, window open to pull in the scents of the surrounding area as they move.

She smiles, and something unseen titters in reply as slender form unfolds (...wings unfurled...) and fingers push back that shock of red curls. Her voice soft, silken, as she begins to move, words of ancient Gaelic power and grace falling easily from such young lips.. (...you could have gone far...) sturdy boots, bring her past the line of trees, flecks of blue and red and gold between leaves of green

while he grabs the handle for balance, their Alpha (unshaken, unshakable) remains quiet and still, but when the car ceases fishtailing a low chuckle rolls forth

"A good plan to stun her..... but I doubt she's so close to the road...... stop."

mismatched gaze peering (searing) into the treeline when the dustcloud eddies past, a slow smile at Sickboy's anticipation (as if he could hear the howl beginning already)

"This way....."

the door opened to spill Galliard to the ground, bones crackling beneath skin at the wanton urge of his own shift (not until within the trees) door closed (tight) behind Kaj'sha and they head towards the woods

Fishetailed, the sounds of tires, the skid to a stop. Curious (ears swivel?) she hesitates a moment, (..could be her last..) and glances behind her. a glint of light off crome, then gone. She shrugs, and turns again to walk, though her song.. her song has ceased. The soft gaelic question, the shimmershake of leaves blessed by spirit's pass to find out what is behind her...

he hops out of the car, leaving the car running. his movements silent, he calls upon the blessings of the father to help hide him from sight
[5D8 Dice Roll: 7; 4; 3; 6; 8 ]

He glides from the car, the growl stiffled within his throat (Do not warn the prey!) Silently diving into the forest. Within, it shifts again, and the giant hispo is suddenly glancing around. The heightened senses turning the world into bright colors and sounds.

A silent snarl to its packmates, the trail found through scent as well. (Within reach now!) He waits for his comrades to join before moving further.

With a shimmering, the Hispo is gone, into the umbra, knowing his packmate keeps them all in contact through the power of his mind.

~I will destroy any spirits, and cut of her escape through the umbra... She is theurge... be wary of her...~

his voice a soft croonin in the heads of his packmates.

Kaj'sha's smooth voice works into murmured chant (spirits summoned guide them, spirits summoned to aide them) even as beyond the trees as if in tandem bodies shift, skin forsaken, fur embraced, black and silver stalking the night

mule ears catch the branches hanging low into the path, the whip coiled in gnarled paw, the stone in the other, heeding the silent (crooned) commands of their Alpha and even SickBoy beyond the barrier, deep breaths fill his lungs with her scent (close now)

and as if on command, he splits off to the side, beginning to flank the (silent) form ahead

**a length of piano wire, dangles between the fingers of his hands, 3ft, ready to strangle their foe**

Something is wrong.
Spirits titter and silence suddenly, and fingers slide into her pack, blade found and palmed, as she pauses (.....run!.....) listening intently to the unnatural calm... and having been on her own for a while now... she knows - she knows the feeling (..impending sense of doom)... and without further ado she turns, and takes off running down the nearest trail...*

There! The sent Spirit is spotted. with a howl, screaming through the umbra, sickboy charges the pure creature. aided by the banes summoned by their Alpha, claws and fangs rend and tear into te spirits essence, as it is drained from all directions. Destroyed, it will give no warning to its mistress.

"Take her down now... She had sent a spy... its Death will not long go unnoticed...~

But longer then if it had been allowed to warn. With those silent thoughts, the metis is off again, followed by the summoned banes. Following the etheral trail, of the Garou, slavering froth behind it, following the chase from the mirror world.

**he creeps quietly from tree to tree, his body swelling to the near man form, his movements dexterous and powerful, he's ready for her**

(Remember, I want her alive.)

a reminder to them all

but as the girl (creature..... prey) begins charging down the trail, the predator's do what is only natural.... and chase..... speed a burst to bring him near her (the stride of a chrinos with that of a human) and it is then his song begins

the song of the abyss

unnerving, deafening, disorienting...... the galliard's beautiful voice turned into terror, wrapping against her flesh as an insect plague, driving her back towards the others

That sound (the song) the (CHAOS) voice sends her realing and a sharp cry brings hands to ears, hair flying as she whips gaze around to see where it's coming from, her fear naked in her face (....so young....) as she crashes through underbrush (awayawayAWAY) with a terrorfilled wail

**steps quickly to the side behind a tree, planning on letting her get two steps or so ahead of him, trapping her between asher and himself**

as her back turns from him (never turn your back on a predator) the whip sings it's own tune (her wail music to mule ears) it's tail coiling around her (bare, open) throat..... the whip's mad laughter as the tip tastes her blood adding to the chaos in her mind (whips cannot laugh!) leaving her open for Malcom to take down as chrinos weight alone halts her tracks

as now Kaj'sha watches his pack (team) work

Choking suddenly, fingers caught as she pulls hands from ears, others dfree to turn and bring the blade in hand upwards (whips cannot laugh!) as the scream rises in pitch (...terror...) and she is snapped to a halt.... rage boils in gentle-souled girl, and with a snarl that belies the strength within she snaps into shift, her body arching as fur leaks through skin, muscles reform and bones/joints elongate - reaching for (just as pretty, a lovely girl, you'll go far you will) Crinos...

**as she passes, he lunges out from behind the tree trying to loop it around a wrist, twisting the wire to a clamp around her wrist, and locking the arm behind her back**

underhinged smile only grows (mockery in his song) devil's whip tightening around expanding neck, choking the Chrinos where she struggles, pitting his weight and strength against hers to keep her (trapped) between them

her arm snapping from Malcom's twist, shoulder pulled free of it's joint in her shift

Agony joings terror filled wail as her wrist is caught, and shoulder screams from socket, tightening (noose) whip cutting off the scream into strangled squalk as she twists, all her strength (not much) thrown into pull away from the two - fear (rage) fueling the struggle*

**his body swells to crinos form as now taloned feet stomps savagely at the elbow of her free arm**

The banes eating at her Gnosis and Willpower from the umbra, SickBoy can do nothing but watch, and look around. The presence of the Black spiral Dancer, and the smallg roup of banes enough to keep the pure spirits at bay, that would otherwise fight with the Theurge against the Dancers in the real world.

Bloodlust...
Frenzy...

they come hand in hand, and it is with only pure willpower that the Ragabash stands his ground. The Pack (Team) has to be able to work together, but how he hates beeing the one to be in the umbra, even if it is necessary.

talons dig into the ground, her struggle dragging him across the dirt - but the fanatacism to not fail their Alpha fuels this (cruel) rage - breath filling his lungs to produce yet another sound, tones pitched for her ears to bleed as devil's whip continues to tighten and steal the breath that fuels her muscles - a distraction from her thrashes against Malcom as effective as his own talons joining the frey

Choked wail (painedhowl) as pitch changes and ear(drums rend) bleed and the stomp against elbow splintering joint and eyes wide she curls fetally in attempt to protect vital organs as sound is muted (forced away) by ragged attempts to catch single breath...

**after hearing the crunch of one elbow, his heel lands hard on a knee. He's not interested in vital organs, just crippling strikes. he's grinning savagely and giggling quietly**

He watches from the umbra, howling with twisted joy as the little girl Fianna is caught, hook, line and sinker. a perfect, textbook example.

The banes, filled, having drained as much Gnosis and Willpower from the Pure one as she had, slowly flows backwards, and vanishes, their call of duty completed as ordered. There will be no umbral escape for the drained Theurge, so SickBoy focuses, and shifts slowly, to return back to the physical world, standing next to Asher, shifting from Hispo, to Homid once again, licking his lips.

"HeeHeeHee... The whore.. is ours.... knock the sense from her HeeHee.. so she will be easier to carry.. HeeHeeHeee..."

it is when she curls beneath Malcom that Kaj'sha steps foreward (the ghost in the darkness - the devil that never walks alone) carefully stepping around the blood splattered from shattered limbs, the whip strung taught as a tripwire - one (perfect) hand balls into furry fist, pulled back as a spring to crack knuckles against the base of her skull, sending precious (soft) brain into concussive bounce

timed with that strike (the brain shocked, unconsciousness drawing nearer) the Galliard's weight shifts and whip tightens further, forcing her body from the protective curl, multiplying her need for the oxygen visciously restrained from her reach

**twists the wire savagely snapping the wrist, he drops the wire and grabs the other wrist, which snaps with hands, he then binds her hands, folded backwards at a useless angle, the piano wire garrote**

broken.. bleeding (...watch for the splash zone...) a final (grunted) whimper as consciousness fades with the gasping struggle for breath.. a final kickstrugglewrithe and vision dims... unconsciousness beckons...

He watches with raptured fascination as the Crinos shifts, shrinks and reverts to her breed form in the depths of unconsciousness. With an insane giggling, he kneels by her, and pulls thick rope from his trench, quickly tying off her arms and legs, with a slide knot up around her throat. (Wake, shift and strangle yourself into unconsciousness again!)
He looks to Asher and Malcolm, grinning.

"One Fianna ready for transport Gentlemen..."

but his gaze is drawn to Kaj'sha, waiting for the command to pull back as he stands slowly, grinning with his rotted teeth.

uneven (unnatural) eyes lower to watch the pull to birth form - homid - a smile growing (she will be easy to return to the lab) the whip released as she's bound (broken)

but it's the lingering gaze of the voids in Kaj'sha's skull that finally send them back towards the car

quickly now

the Galliard circling, picking up the struggle spilled contents of her pack (no. loose. ends.) and dropped blade

**runns happily through the woods, his tattered cloths fluttering around him as he races to get to the car first, hopping into the front seat, to prepair for the evacuation, no need to bring any extra foes down on us..***

With a grunt, he shifts to Glabro. (smallest of the pack) And lifts the limp girl up on his shoulders. Fingers moving over to graze against her neck as he walks, staining his fingers slightly red with her blood. he licks them off, slowly.

I can taste you...
(Wanna taste me?)

But the girl is deposited, untouched into the trunk of the car. Reaching into his inside pocket of the trenchcoat as he once again shifts down, he pulls out a small, hard plastic box. opening it, he pulls out a syringe.

Nightmare in a needle...
(Dream of your Dance into the spiral!)

The contents quickly injected into the unconscious form, guaranteeing sleep for another 3 hours. He nods to his pack, before closing the trunk, and sliding into the passanger seat again, silent all this time, so unlike him, isnt it?

by the time the car is reached, both alpha and beta are in homid's tattered clothes, returning to their places in the car.... Kaj'sha cleaning the blood from his hands with a (pure) white hankerchief "Take us home, Malcom."

the Galliard, now, just as quiet as the diseased Ragabash, searching stone idly rolled between his fingers - he's seen Sickboy strangely quiet before, and knows to be wary of it

**the tires spin on gravel kicking up dirt and dust as the car spins around and heads
back towards the lab**

From time to time, mubmlings erupt from almost dry lips in the front seat, eyes unfocused.

The father delves into us all...
(Can you see his blessing?)

He is either unaware, or doesnt care of the silence of his comrades. The taste of victory on his tounge still fresh, but not as fresh, as the blood of the Fianna.
(Not blood of my blood, just blood!)

What runs through his mind, is anyones guess, but his loyalty is where it always has been. With the pack, for the good of the pack.

For the good of the pack...
For the good of the Dark Lord...
For their mistress of Change...

Blood, to the Blood god!

in silence, one can observe..... one can hear what others say, and attention raptly focuses on the words dribbling from flaking lips - though now, Malcom knows the way to the Lab, he does not include his directions

**the driving is much more careful this time...no need to draw attention...**
Posted by asher at August 12, 2002 12:00 AM

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