a dog will bite if you bait it

[amourpropre]

Who: Barbara Gordon, Benevenuta Crispo, Lucius Malfoy (Sr), Severus Snape α
What: Because scavengers can be as bad as predators.
Where: Brock Marsh
When: Misdi
Notes: Info on thestrals for quick reference, although note that a) Hagrid and Luna are crazy people, and b) these ones aren't tame.
Warnings: Possibly some gore, combat against monsters, medical things.

They have one more block to go.

Barbara Gordon knows where they are, roughly. Benevenuta's text with its estimated time of arrival has no reason to be inaccurate, and the sun is starting to drag down, down to sink into the evening. They shuffle along, haunted and hollowed eyed, but relieved to be almost there as the little herd of lost Baedalites limp to follow the immortal herding them to safety. Some of them were found together, others simply joining the group as they moved through the city to the nearest safehouse, that being mastered by Barbara, and injury stains clothing and the emergency doctoring of bandages. A young man is supported on either side, only using his right leg on every second step. A girl trails behind everyone, her head wrapped tight just above the eyes. An older man carries his child on his hip, the latter fast asleep already.

The shadow that drops from the sky briefly flickers its wingspan over Barbara's windows before it lands almost daintily on the street, so fast and abruptly that despite its warning shadow, the only time given to react is truly when it's in immediate view, standing on the street between the injured and safety. The scent of blood, the scent of meat, causes the thestral to hiss and spread its bat-like wings to make itself look bigger. Spindly though it is, a wicked maw is designed for tearing flesh not unlike a predatory bird, and it stands tall, cresting seven feet.

Some react. The ones that have seen death seize and shrink back. The others continue to walk as if nothing had appeared, a couple conscious enough of the group to glance at their more concerned comrades, others too focused on safety to give up the even pace that carries them into the path of the thestral. The young man with the bad leg, and his two helpers, blindly limp on into harm's way.

When the thestral gives a shriek, almost bowing as it does so, the noise is more of an echo to those who don't know better; for those that do, it's starkly pitched.

Out the corner of Benevenuta's eye, a second shape of the same breed of monster lands on top a building, its tail whipping back and forth as it considers how much there is to share between itself and its companion.

Comments

[asklepios]

Fuck.

As parts of the group veer closer to one another, others helplessly blind, searching for what's alarmed the others-- Benevenuta, circling her charges like a guard dog, herds those she can with sharp and quiet words towards the other side of the street, where she can box them in and protect them in place. The doors and windows that aren't broken are shut tight, and she doesn't expect there to be any help from those behind them. Perhaps it's unkind of her to assume, but she doesn't dwell on that long enough to assess the thought - her skin crawls to be caught out here in the open with wounded and that is her first concern. It's not much of a plan, but there's only one of her, two of them, and far too many following her like lost ducks; her options are limited.

The palm knife goes back in her coat and god only knows where she draws the sword from when she jerks the three in front back and takes their place, utterly fearless - or simply aware that discomfort on her part could be mortal injury on someone else.

“Keep moving,” she says, her eyes on the thestrals, aware that this brief stand off will only last as long as it takes the animal to decide whether it's hungrier than she is inconvenient, “stay close to those walls, and do not stop.”

There is something fucking undignified about fighting a horse.

[bodilesswarrior]

It would be foolish to go out there.

Barbara knows this, as she watches through her window, hands tightening on her Eskrima sticks. She knows it as she watches the creature snarl with jagged teeth. She knows it as she watches Doctor Bernát step forward and pull out her sword.

She doesn't have any body armour. She doesn't have any firearms. She can't - oh, there's so much she can't do anymore.

At most, she should open the door as quietly as she can, and wait behind it.

Instead, she grabs the throwing stars stashed beneath her seat, and silently slips out of the house.

She's getting fucking tired of watching.

[amourpropre]

The ones under the protect of Benevenuta cast the woman a dubious glance, but her instructions prove sound enough for them to try, trickling single file and trying to move as fast as they dare. Those that don't know any better make some confused noises, muttered questions, but otherwise, they can only trust and listen and do. It would be foolish, at this point, to ask why Benevenuta is squaring off with thin air.

Just look at what the sky is doing.

By the time Barbara is slipping out of the house, three have made it - a metahuman carrying the man with the leg injury on her back, unloading him indelicately against the wall, and someone shadowing to follow. The fourth follows quickly, with a small cry - because the thestral, after some metaphorical hackle raising and mincing away and towards Benevenuta, the obvious challenge, suddenly veers, snapping at the air.

Meanwhile.

Shadows from above periodically darken the street. These things travel in herds, and two more are in the sky along with the one still watching from its perch, fixing to lunge. Except that one of those two is not making the same artful vulture spirals. One is being sporadic, giving a shriek that can be heard echoed across the block (by certain recipients).

Beyond the scuffle, this third thestral suddenly careens into view, but it tumbles into crash landing, slamming into the side of a red-brick building, landing in a heap, a wing broken beneath it. If it wasn't already dead by the time it fell out of the air, it sure is now from whatever curse disabled it. On cue enough that it can't merely be coincidence, two pillars of ethereal black smog make their own more straight forward flight pattern towards the open street, although not as fast as when that building-perching thestral suddenly leaps onto street level, landing closer to the safehouse with a hiss.

Quite wisely, the remaining thestral stays in the air as if to see how the dust settles below.

[inkdamage]

From out of the black smoke there are figures, foremost of all a young man with dark hair, carried forward with a gait that gives him the appearance of melting out of this.. transportation quirk. He moves with purpose, staring straight at that thestral in the street, right hand raised and pointing a slim black stick at it. How imposing.

Expression impassive, he calls out - to the creature. Whatever he says is either muddled or in some unknown older-form language, half-warning. For a tense moment those who can see the great leather-winged thing might observe a strange event, man and beast looking at each other frankly and with awareness; it lasts only a heartbeat, and then the horse seems to dismiss whatever happened entirely, and turn away, just as feral as a moment before.

As for the sorcerer -

Oh well, he seems to say.

He flicks his wand and something magical lashes out from it, severing and brutal.

[asklepios]

Taking its attention from Benevenuta proves a fatal mistake for the thestral closest to her, though given what's happening to its fellow it can't be blamed; the instant it's diverted, she moves with terrifying suddenness and downright surgical precision, shoving her sword through the animal's throat and shoving down and through. It's over in the space of time it takes her to pull free again, indifferent to the splatter of blood and letting her own momentum carry her back a few steps, oddly elegant - it's not a fight, it's an execution, as swift and unfeeling as the word suggests.

She doesn't dwell on it, either, dismissing the dead thestral as now-irrelevant and assessing the rest of the damage and-- well, she's not prepared to assume that the enemy of her enemy is her friend. It's rarely as safe an assumption as it sounds, and she hasn't quite seen who it is that just (probably) came to her aid.

[bodilesswarrior]

She gently but efficiently ushers the people inside, keeping on eye on the battle unfolding on the street. It's definitely a sight, but this is no time to be awed; they're still coming, and still in danger. The newest creature is pretty damn close, and she has no idea how many of them travel in a pack, or what the magic user's intentions are.

Slowly, she makes her way down the line; she'll cover them as best she can.

She can't help but smile in grim admiration as Bernát dispatches her snarling foe.

[amourpropre]

The black smoke clears with snakeish swiftness by the time both men are corporeal; Severus first, and Lucius next, turning to regard the broken corpse of the one that had been cursed during its descent. Quite dead, considering the angle of its neck and the battered broken umbrella mess of its wings, and Lucius dismisses it by the time Severus is attempting to command the creature and someone with a sword is--

Hey.

Lucius barely follows the collapse of the executed first thestral, its tail giving a last thrash before stilling, wondering why Vanessza Bernát, the Muggle doctor, is holding a sword and apparently has some idea of how to use it. There isn't much time to question it, however; Snape's curse lands and sends an arc of blood splatter into the air.

The second thestral rears immediately in a pained, injured reaction, all bony bristle and something critical disabled where wing meets its body, opening like a grin for its throat. It staggers, more accidental than malicious, in the direction of the refugees; one launches herself out of the way, almost slamming into Barbara as a result.

The last one in the air finally drops down with its wings spread wide enough that it seems like it could touch the opposite facing buildings with its tips. Lucius launches his own curse, a flash of silvery-blue that seems to knock the wind out of its sails and send it in for a messy, break-leg landing. Lucius Disapparates out of the way in a hurry as the thestral goes skidding across the cobblestone and directly into Benevenuta's path.

[asklepios]

Nimble and easy on her feet, she reacts quickly and expertly and it's going too fast to get out of the way-- so she doesn't, she jumps and her balance is good, very good as she essentially rides the thestral to a stop, putting one booted foot down on its throat.

The animal is still living. This time, given the opportunity - she'd acted on instinct when she killed the first, reacting before Severus had spoken to the other one, before she'd given herself a moment to realize that there might have been alternatives - she doesn't immediately sink a blade in, but rather tilts her head, very slightly, and raises an eyebrow at Severus and Lucius.

“You're familiar with them?”

Smooth.

[inkdamage]

Severus doesn't look impressed, but he's Severus, what can anyone say. (Everyone in this goddamn city is crazy, what does he care.)

"Thestrals," he answers. "They can understand, but killing their brothers tends to put a damper on their desire to back down."

Pissed off, the demonic-looking horse thrashes as best it can, illustrating both of Severus' points in a futile attempt to make a last stand. The younger wizard gives it an almost-blank look... and then just turns away, because it's not as if that woman is going to let it live. And he doesn't suspect there's anything else for him to do around here. He looks at Lucius, raises one eyebrow partway.

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara's at the end of the line now, gently ushering the people inside and murmuring assurances that are, really, far from certain. She's good at sounding confident, though.

She keeps her eye on the strange tableau before them, before finally raising her voice above the background noise of destruction.

"I hate to interrupt, but we should probably hurry it up. There's no telling what else is coming."

[amourpropre]

It's a good thing that Severus answers, because Lucius-- when he Apparates barely several feet from where he'd disappeared-- isn't quite done simply staring at her, a mark of incomprehension as a line between his brows. It's the glance from the younger man and then the other woman's call for order that has him cutting it out, and indicating with a mute (and spell-less) sweep of his wand that Benevenuta may dispatch the creature at will.

"If everything is quite in order--"

He will go, probably, and catch up with "Vanessza" on his own terms. Of course, some lingering token of acquaintance with the woman has him waiting for dismissal rather than simply turning and going. He doesn't, particularly, have much concern for Barbara and her safehouse for injured Muggles and non-humans.

[asklepios]

Barbara makes a good point and Benevenuta, with only a hint of fleeting regret, gives the thestral below her a quick death from the throat before she comes down from its body, wiping blood from her sword before she sheathes it (where does it go then--) with the easy instinct of practise, of knowing not to put a weapon away wet. Fighting is not what she came here to do; she needs a word with the woman running this particular safe house, to figure out a few things, to make any necessary rounds...

None of which will get done out here on the street.

“Inasmuch as it is getting,” --as far as order is concerned, and she makes her way toward Barbara and the house.

[inkdamage]

The looks don't go unnoticed, and Severus - thoroughly unconcerned with any potential danger in the area - turns as he's walking away, so that Lucius can see his goading expression. "She's fit." You miserable bastard, you.

And then he Apparates away, off to wizard-god-knows-where.