fall in line or release the glitch

[gramarye]

Who: Wolfgang and Will, Shrieky, Olivia Dunham (prime), Stephanie Brown, open
What: Everyone's going to pick daisies and go on a picnic in the woods!
Where: Wherever is convenient! He's mostly in the southeast part of the city, but can be anywhere.
When: Various days over the second week of the siege.
Notes: If you want a thread starter ping me and I will make you one :3 or... idk just tag in somewhere random.
Warnings: Violence, mild horrors (like, relatively, yes), also some vague discussion of mental illness stuff in the OP.

After his Awakening, he sleeps.

When he wakes up, he's disoriented -- the room is unfamiliar, he's lying on a cot in a safehouse in Mog Hill, which someone explains to him when he asks. He has mercifully been left alone most of the time, except for someone who would come to check to make sure he hadn't actually died. That makes him pause and ask how long he was out.

Three days. He slept for three days. That's three days of being utterly useless and vulnerable, with no one knowing where he is, he doesn't know where he is -- three days of Baedal going to Hell.

Three days of dreamless sleep.

He wept. He's too embarrassed to ever admit it, and he thankfully held it together until he was alone, but he did. Whether it was out of frustration, or anger, or fear, or relief, he's still not sure. Too much emotion all at once when he's spent the last three years buried under the fog his medication produces in him -- blunted affect is a side effect of much of them. He doesn't typically feel much of anything, and he'll continue to not feel much of anything as soon as he can get back on them.

One of the women later finds him hunched over a table, making small, hysterical noises. There's a glass of wine and a jug of water on the table; she can't tell if he's laughing or crying. When she asks what happened, he glances at the glass and says in a voice like a dull razor, "Well, it's been done."

After that, they gently suggest he stay away from sharp objects.

Still, he refuses to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a citywide crisis -- if he's going to indulge (which he very well might) it will have to be at a more convenient time. Compartmentalization it is.

Wolfgang puts himself to work immediately. He can be useful. He has combat experience, specialized training. He has magic, apparently, although he hasn't really felt out the limits of what he can do (he is very afraid that the answer may be everything), there are a few things that come in immediately useful. It is very strange to think of himself as telepathic, but that's the word they use. He can listen for danger and hear people in need of help all without even stepping outside. He can imprint simple but strong impulses in the walls of the building itself, calm the hysterical, reduce the pain of the injured. Boil water, grow food, keep the light and heat on when the power occasionally goes out. So many useful little things. They don't always work the way he intends -- he finds, with great chagrin, that magic never quite wants to do what he wants it to do -- but it's serviceable.

Mostly, he looks after the children. They like him, especially the very young ones who aren't quite grown enough to understand what's going on -- he keeps them calm and entertained and out of their parents' hair for a while. He runs into a family he used to sit for in Bonetown and the little girl runs up, punches him in the leg, shouts "That's for missing my recital!" and stomps off to a corner to pout. He spends the next half hour sitting through an extremely dramatic reenactment of her big solo, interjecting with the appropriate amount of reverent awe for her skill and wit, while her mother finally gets a few private moments in the bathroom. Her eyes are red when she comes out; he doesn't mention it.

As the infestation goes on, though, it becomes clear to him that he can't stay here the entire time.

Or rather, that he won't.

Comments

[gramarye]

"I --"

He stops up short at that noise, turning immediately in that direction with his weapon hefted. When nothing happens, he lowers it, but he doesn't relax at all.

"Yeah, okay, no. We're going. This way." Wolfgang heads northwest, towards Mog Hill -- they'll just have to walk, and he'll have to get what he came down here for some other way. He's moving quickly but cautiously, very aware of their surroundings and the route they're taking. No shortcuts down narrow alleyways, nothing where if they get caught, they'll be boxed in. "Do you have your CiD? Can you check if there is anything closer to us?"

He is certain that something is following them, but listening for it with his mind, trying to know where and what it is, is only giving him a terrible headache. He doesn't know what else to do; he has a lot of raw power at his disposal but no focus.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky isn't going to try and talk Wolfgang out of it again. He starts after the other man, still stealing furtive glances over his shoulder as he does so.

"Right, yes. I do have it, one moment--" He stumbles briefly, torn between trying to keep an eye on Wolfgang, trying to watch his back, and trying to get out the CiD, but he manages to keep his feet. This is the worst possible time for him to forget how to multitask, stupid, stupid legs! And stupid walking! Why is he so bad at it, and why does it have to be so complicated, and-- oh, god, no, don't overthink it, just keep walking...

Shrieky's pace picks up slightly as he glances down at the CiD, and he's distantly aware that this is partly because he's now leaning forward a little too far, and if he doesn't keep up with his body weight then he's going to fall over.

"There are some places inside of Mafaton, and someone in Brock Marsh if offering... nothing closer than Mog Hill though, I don't think."

[gramarye]

"Okay... well, it should be --" He's cut off when something launches itself on top of him, on his back. He lets out a noise that's half-shriek, half-yelp as he goes down, dropping his weapon -- it rolls towards Shrieky -- as he tries to dislodge something with extremely sharp claws from his head and shoulders.

The giant cats -- "giant" being a relative term, they're about the size of a large dog, but look like housecats with enormous tusks and strangely-patterned fur -- are pack animals, evidently, given that there are suddenly four of them where there had been none before. That leaves three of them stalking Shrieky, trying to back him up against a wall.

The fate threads Wolfgang tangled in when he fell caused the thing to miss severing his jugular or sinking its claws into his spine, but the fall knocks all the wind out of him and disorients him. A bolt of lightning comes where there are no clouds in the sky and strikes the cat on top of him, which is less useful than it ought to be considering it's still attached to him and oh, God, that was a terrible idea. Never fuck with electricity.

[wontturntofoam]

It happens faster than he can follow, the cat hits Wolfgang squarely in the back, and Shrieky twists towards him fast enough that his already somewhat forlorn balance is thrown right out and he comes crashing down, landing hard on his shoulder.

Then, Wolfgang gets struck by lightning! And even though there is a small garrison of cats which are currently above his eye level separating them, so he can't actually see the damage right now, Shrieky is fairly certain that struck by lightning is not something that Wolfgang will comfortably be walking away from. He suddenly feels breathless and panicked and furious at the giant, furry lightning rods currently surrounding him.

A normal, intelligent person would probably grab the weapon, work on getting to his feet, and getting close enough to Wolfgang to check if he's actually alive. Shrieky does none of these things.

Instead, he rolls up onto his knees, tenses his muscles, squares his shoulders, bares his teeth into an snarl and shrieks like a banshee. Loud and continual and utterly inhuman. He is saying words, as far as he's concerned, but they somehow get lost between his throat and his teeth and what comes out is like nails being dragged across a chalkboard or a fork being dragged across a plate, just amplified and played over and over.

[gramarye]

Wolfgang lies there dazed as the creature on top of him releases him and lets out a yowling shriek of its own, turning towards that horrible sound. Then he winces, realises no, fuck, he has to get to his feet, he --

-- pushes himself up to his elbows through sheer stubborn will. He's fine. Minor scratches instead of losing an eye or his throat like he should have, dazed and weirdly numb, heart pounding arrhythmically, but fine. That right there is so outside the realm of probability that it ought not be possible, but it's only improbable, not impossible.

Improbable is easy to work with.

The creature that attacked him is in worse condition, with third degree burns along its back, its heart starting to fail and disoriented by that screaming sound. It staggers to the left and collapses, but he can see three more, which are clearly confused, not sure whether to attack the shrieking human or flee from it. He can see one of them gathering itself as if to leap.

He thinks -- if he could concentrate, he could do the same to all of them. Lightning is easy to summon. So is fire, most things die if you burn them enough. He can't see the threads he uses to manipulate probability, they keep blurring in and out of his vision. He can't think with that noise and he claps his hands over his ears to try and block it out, crying out once.

(Now is a terrible time to realise he doesn't actually know Shrieky's name.)

[wontturntofoam]

It's actually that one cat poising itself to leap, which saves Wolfgang from the nightmare of the ongoing shriek. Shrieky's lips are wet with saliva, and his eyes are wide, staring and unblinking to the point that they're beginning to water, blurring his vision enough that when the cat lands on him, it catches him entirely unaware. It takes him down, claws and tusks and the full weight of it slamming into the square of his back, and expelling the air from his lungs with the force of it.

For a moment, he can't move, his body won't take commands from him anymore, and it's ignoring his mental Get it off, shove it off! in favor of just gasping for breath. He can feel the cat's claws digging deep into the flesh of his back and he's reminded, briefly, of fish hooks and wire and the first time he felt stones under freshly sprouted bare feet. For all of the unhappiness and rage of his life, he has rarely felt his skin broken, and the feeling of it still shocks and scares him.

With the noise died down, the remaining cats seem intent on assuring themselves that there is no repeat performance, and Shrieky finds himself grasping for the weapon that Wolfgang had dropped, trying to twist his shoulders around enough to strike at the intruding feline.

Now that his face is mashed into the floor, he can see Wolfgang, through the gaps between the cats legs. More importantly, he can see that Wolfgang is alive through the cat legs, and that makes him smile, even if a moment later his field of vision is filled by threatening, cattish tusks...

[gramarye]

Wolfgang's head clears at the sudden relative silence, but the thing is on top of Shrieky and he can see blood and he can't set it on fire or electrocute it while it's so close to him, he could very easily kill him, too. Helplessness is foreign to him, he has the power to change reality itself to suit his whims -- has always had that power, even if for a time it was out of his reach -- and he rejects it as soon as it manifests. He is not helpless. He has a vision: a charred plastic doll, a little boy with his fists tangled in his shirt screaming at him that he has to do something, and empty, staring brown eyes. He is struck by a sudden surge of terror and fierce anger and he's not sure if it's him or the boy that he used to be. I will not let another friend die.

A gesture of his hands is all it takes; the creature curls into itself as if it were punched in the gut as something inside it starts churning, boiling. Then it explodes from the inside out.

He splatters it all over the street.

He can feel rapidly approaching from the south something that feels like the spiritual equivalent of a forest fire, and he hesitates even while screaming at himself mentally how fucking stupid that is, idiot, if you focus on the enemy that hasn't even approached yet -- and then he's scrambling to his feet and throwing himself at the remaining creatures even though he's unarmed. They're still outnumbered but they need to get out of here now, he's not sure if Shrieky even can get up, but whatever is coming closer, he can't tell if it's friendly or not, human or not.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky's not entirely certain what just happened behind him, but the moment the weight on his back relieves he rolls to the side fast, away from the heavy paw swiping down from one of the remaining cats, landing where moments ago his face had been. The wounds on his back leave a bloody trail across the pavement, but between the coating of cat gore that's layered over them and the hunks of flesh and fur which have splattered the surrounding area, it's hard to distinguish the severity of the injury from only that.

Once he's out of range from the risk of any immediate eye removal via cat, he shifts up onto his knees. The pain in his back is cloaked under a layer of shock and rushing endorphins, and with his suffering reduced, the idea that all of this vibrant redness has come from him (although t isn't actually so), seems oddly appealing.

But there's no time to be intrigued by bright colours. He sees Wolfgang hurtling towards one of the catbeasts, and thoughtlessly, he pushes himself to his feet and lurches at the remaining healthy specimen, purloined weapon raised with a fearsome intent. The one beast which was struck by lightning is still making noises and staggering around, but Shrieky feels that killing it would be a mismanagement of their resources.

[gramarye]

Without a weapon, all he can manage to do is keep these things separated and prevent it from killing either of them. He's got the creature's attention, which he's pretty sure he doesn't actually want; he backs up until he hits a wall, dodging it while it attempts to disembowel him with a mixture of luck and luck -- the kind he actively manipulates. Cursing himself for a thrice-damned idiot because what the hell is he going to do in a fight with this thing, punch it in the face?

He can see Shrieky getting up and his relief washes away the last of his anger. That's not doing him any favours -- strong emotion makes casting magic easier. His Avatar is angry enough for both of them. Kill it! a voice is screaming in his ear and it's not his, but it is, and he's momentarily confused -- "Kill it!" he shouts.

He barely manages to dodge getting a chunk taken out of his leg when he feels it again, that rush of spiritual presence that feels familiar but he's not sure why -- until a body hurtles out of a nearby alley and bodyslams into the cat-creature he was trying to dodge, knocking it over and sinking its teeth deeply into its flesh. Teeth firmly embedded, it shakes its head until it snaps the creature's neck, then turns around.

Body of a lion, tail of a scorpion, bat wings -- and a man's head with a distinctly reptilian cast, with a mouth that splits it ear from ear.

And a lot of teeth.

It is easily thrice the size of any of the creatures here. Its poison stinger lolls somewhere over its head menacingly, and Wolfgang raises a hand preparing to defend himself, but it isn't attacking him. It turns around and bells a challenge in an oddly musical voice at the injured creature, which makes a pointless attempt to flee before it's on it, tearing its throat out and sinking its stinger deep into its flesh.

Wolfgang flinches and presses himself into the wall.

[wontturntofoam]

Kill it.

Shrieky can hear Wolfgang yelling, and yes, obviously that's good advice and exactly what he should do, and it's probably really terrible that he's wondering if doing things like killing things that are a bit like cats is at all something that might seem impressive to the other man...

Shrieky draws back the weapon and slams it down hard against the cat's head, catching it at an awkward angle. There's a click, and Shrieky feels a sudden, weird stab of guilt going through him, as the cat monstrosities head rocks back in an ugly twist and there's a little click, of bone snapping away from bone.

It flops sideways, and Shrieky doesn't feel as though what he's just done is very impressive. Normally, at least if he'd killed something he'd feel his hunger, or his curiosity, or his drive for vengeance sated, but in this instance his rage and pain had all died down, and he'd just really been acting out of necessity, and... it feels a little disgusting to him. He feels unhappy, in ways difficult to articulate.

Then there's that strange, tolling voice, and he turns on his heel to just... stare because outside of strange drawings in the book that Everett had flicked through at the riverside, it was unlike anything that Shrieky had ever seen before. He's uncertain what to do, instinct suggests he run, but it's leaped between himself and Wolfgang, and abandonning Wolfgang is not an acceptable option.

Perhaps it's only here to eat? And they can slink away, without drawing too much of it's attention?

He takes a few steps back from his recently slain cat. The Manticore can have it. Swallowing, he glances up at Wolfgang, trying to make eye contact, and figure out what he wants to do.

[gramarye]

Wolfgang shakes his head, wide-eyed. He has no idea what to do here -- he could probably take the thing if he had to, he remembers them from the Umbra, they don't have any magic of their own, they're just... large. Plus, they've got six pointy ends. What's holding him back is that if the manticore wanted either of them dead, it should have attacked by now. It could have easily gone after Wolfgang instead of the injured cat-creature it killed; he was closer, in plain sight, and he wouldn't have been fast enough to stop it.

But it doesn't attack. It creeps up closer to Shrieky, its tail curling over its back until it's wrapped in a tight ball -- which, with its body language, body close to the ground as if it could make itself any smaller, makes it look like it's deliberately trying to be less threatening.

That doesn't make Wolfgang feel any better; he has one hand raised as if he's ready to do something, it makes sense to kill it before it has a chance to change its mind and attack, but... His hesitation is plain. He can feel the edges of its alien thoughts, and what he feels...

It's not angry. It's lost.

The manticore makes another weird musical sound and bares its shark-like teeth, but it's staring at the weapon in Shrieky's hand.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky glances from Wolfgang to the manticore and back again, before carefully reaching out with one foot, to roll the large, recently killed cat towards the manticore.

It's a gift. A kindly gift for a terrifying beast.

Over the years and years of watching, Shrieky has managed to pick up on (and in some cases, subconsciously adopt) a fairly wide range of animal behaviors, and despite the vast, toothy hugeness of the manticore? The sight of it sinking down and curling in on itself doesn't come across to him as threatening.

After a moment of hesitation, he lowers the weapon slightly, and - because it seems like the kind of thing that might help put a manticore at ease - he echoes an imitation of the strange, musical sound that it made, back at it.

The Mimicry isn't perfect. His sound isn't tolling, or as full as the one Shrieky is trying to replicate, but the notes and rhythm of it are eerily precise. This is probably what a baby manticore would sound like.

[gramarye]

The manticore makes another noise -- different in tone, but no less musical, it sounds wondering and pleased, and a little longing. It can't speak even with its nearly-human mouth -- that probably has something to do with how its tongue appears to be forked -- but the cadence of its voice has nearly the same rhythm as speech as it calls back to him.

Ignoring the dead creature, it circles warily, its eyes still on that weapon, before it comes up to his side furthest from it and butts its head against Shrieky's leg, making a noise that sounds like thunder that takes a moment for Wolfgang to realise is purring.

Evidently, it's decided that it likes Shrieky.

The look on Wolfgang's face is something along the lines of "what the fuck is going on right now." Because seriously what the fuck is going on right now. He does lower his hand because it's pretty clear that it's not going to be attacking anyone.

[wontturntofoam]

Perhaps in the same instance that the manticore decides to like Shrieky, Shrieky decides that he likes the manticore. It has after all, saved them from at least one of a pretty unpleasant bunch of cattish beasts, and it has a particularly nice way of making noises, and perhaps most importantly, it hasn't decided to try and kill either of them.

So he responds to the little headbutt into his leg, with another happy, musical imitation of manticore speak, before reaching down to give it a fond (and extremely careful) little pat on the head.

"Are you all alone here?" He adds, in English now, "Poor Manticore."

The manticore may not understand, but in the worst case scenario, they can just go back to making noises at each other. He glances up to Wolfgang, still lavishing little pats on the purring beast, "What should we do? Could he come with us, do you think?"

[gramarye]

No you can't keep it, not even if you promise to feed it and take it for walks every day.

Wolfgang is frowning at it, watching as it flops down at Shrieky's feet and rubs its face against his leg. It continues making those odd noises in between the deep rumble of its purr, but whether it's answering him or not is hard to say. Cautiously stepping forward, Wolfgang freezes when the manticore looks up at him and only moves again when it looks away. Honestly he's a little more worried about whether having a giant aggressive cat thing trying to eat his face off has injured Shrieky, but he's upright and seems fine, so...

"I..." He blinks, bewildered. "Well, they're not tame." In spite of the way it's behaving now. He'd rather not find out how selective its preferences are by having it try to eat someone else.

Something's not right with it, he can tell that much. It shouldn't be here, moreso than most of the other creatures brought in by the storms -- feeling it there is the spiritual equivalent of watching someone try to shove a round peg into a square hole. "I think it's sick." Hard to tell just by looking at it, but it feels that way.

Worryingly, he can feel it pushing back at him, trying to read him in turn. He's not sure if it can tell what Shrieky is, or if it doesn't mind humans.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky bends over, so that he can keep patting the Manticore, and keep making happy little noises with it, where it's flopped onto the floor. When he does decide to use human words again, he is still pretty clearly still in the 'keep the manticore' camp, "He may not be tame, but that doesn't mean that he's bad. He could peacefully coexist with us, and establish himself some territory, like the things in the river do!"

His fingers knead fondly through human hair and lions fur, and he glances back down to the manticore with a concerned frown. Now that the adrenaline has begun to die down, his back is beginning to throb once again, but it's not as if they have bandages with them, and Shrieky does not often get to play with mythological creatures, so he's going to keep himself distracted and not think about the pain until he absolutely has too.

"Is that true? Are you sick?" This directed at the manticore, before he glances back up at Wolfgang, "How can you tell? Do you think we could do anything for him?"

[gramarye]

"It's all spirit," he explains, gesturing vaguely and uselessly with his hands. "It shouldn't be here, in the material plane, it's -- it's like..." He throws up his hands. "Turning memory to matter. No, not even, because that isn't very hard. It's like squeezing blood from a stone." It feels like it hurts it that much, anyway.

He frowns deeply as he watches Shrieky petting the manticore and failing to have his hand removed by it. It is awfully friendly...

No, they cannot have a manticore following them around like a stray cat. Even if it's not dangerous, other people aren't necessarily going to know that by looking at it. He has no idea if something is going to set it off, or if it's going to object to normal people who aren't mermaids and (fucking) wizards (or whatever).

Unfortunately Wolfgang is the least qualified person to put his foot down about anything; he's too soft-hearted.

"Shit," he says under his breath, running a hand through his sticky hair and looking harried. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. "Someone might know how to put him back, I guess..." Either way, he doesn't want to hang out in the open after they just got attacked, even if he suspects most things will think twice before taking on a manticore.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky tries to conceal his disappointment. If being in Baedal at all is what's harming the manticore, then that probably means that it can't stay indefinitely, and be his manticore pal forever.

"Do you know anyone who might be able to do this? Perhaps we could take him to one of the temples here?"

He scruffles his fingers once more through the fur of the manticore one last time, before straightening up somewhat, "Or back to the house in Mog Hill? Do you think bringing him with us would be safe?"

[gramarye]

There is a long pause as Wolfgang appears to be looking intently at something that isn't visible, listening to something that isn't audible. He's consulting his Avatar, remembering this time that speaking out loud to something no one else can see or hear makes him look super fucking crazy and keeping it in his head.

Ten years ago, he would have known, would have been able to take the manticore back safely where it belonged. But that power is out of his reach anymore for reasons he's unsure of and when he asks his Avatar, all he gets from it is its typical vague, nearly-delirious confusion.

He is afraid to push too hard. He doesn't know if trying to make it remember things is only going to warp it further.

His head finally moves back. "I don't know... the temples might, yes. I don't -- Shada, probably. Maybe Haneul." The Dreaming is not the Middle Umbra but it's sort of the same idea, and he's not sure which of them has more influence over the spirit world, or if there's any understanding of the spirit world as he knows it, here -- but this thing came from somewhere accessible to Baedal, so someone has to know something.

But returning one lost creature back to the realm it belongs in is likely very low on their list of priorities. They're just going to have to hope the manticore holds up until someone can spare the time.

He eyes the manticore as it imitates Shrieky's movements, straightening up with him, its tail raised high above itself. Wolfgang knows fuck-all about cat body language, but that seems good.

"Let's... try Mog Hill. I am not sure anyone will have time for it until... whatever this is is over." And if it attacks anyone else while there, he is reasonably confident he can put it down before it hurts anyone.

Reasonably.