plot } the creatures descend.

[synergismus]

Who: Everyone!
What: Creatures descend!
Where: All across the city, although attacks will be most fervent at its heart.
When: Friday/Veerdi evening and into the week.
Notes: Slow and back-tagging is, as always, permitted. If you are confused, look at these two posts for more information.
Warnings: Violence, creepiness, swearing knowing these characters.

On Veerdi, the presence of the creatures reaches a fever pitch. Something has provoked them into launching an all-out assault, though it is one that begins slowly. The pipe-crawlers, generally harmless though they may be, are seen across homes in Baedal, sneaking up through the pipes and into bathtub drains or sinks. They come by the dozens, and their keening makes most homeowners nauseated--but it's their appearance that leads to a number of distressed Network calls.

This is just the distraction for the rest.

The call of the crawlers draws in the armored, sickly creatures with the tiny primates carried inside of it. They are inelegantly lumbering, but much faster than one might expect, and certainly hostile. They trudge across the city, barreling over anyone who gets in their path and leaving them half-crushed in the street. They're certainly unsettling in their obvious unhealthiness, and the disease-ridden animals they carry are downright vicious, especially once they escape (messily, bloodily) from their fleshy cage.

It's the birds that are the worst, though; the cleverest, and the cruelest.

These strange black birds are resistant to typical attacks and flying in large groups. They descend on pedestrians, picking at their eyes and faces, ready to rapidly tear flesh from bone until there's nothing left but skeletal remains. They fly out of range when they can, only to divebomb anyone who might think they've escaped.

Comments

[tothelastbreath]

Despite catching Integra's expression earlier and knowing full well what it means, Allen's still stealing glances at her end of the street, even as smudges of black take shape around him. The combustion flare catches him completely off-guard ― he's seen her carrying them, but didn't know what they were until this moment ― and when the flames start to fade, she may glimpse him grinning to himself, looking relieved and oddly chastised. Only then does he turn his attention back to his own fight, and not a second too soon. The reformed, shrieking rabble has taken to the sky, some already launching themselves at him, encouraged by the physical nature of his more recent attacks. Others hang back, watchful, biding their time. Allen isn't about to let them make up their minds. Now that he knows what works better and what doesn't, he plans to end this quickly.

Lips forming two words too soft to catch, he slashes a cross in the air with one long talon, and all of sudden, the air directly above the intersection is filled with those shields from before, bathing buildings in pale green light. They flare in the next instant, almost blinding, thoroughly eradicating any of the crows close enough to be caught in the flash. The haphazard remnants of the mob decide he's not worth the trouble and take off in every direction, some swerving like they've been momentarily blinded, presumably to search for easier pickings elsewhere, or perhaps to warn. Who knows.

Allen stays where he is for a long moment, but when it doesn't look like any of the creatures are coming back, he whirls around and comes running at Integra.

"What's going on?" He half-pants, already speaking before he even reaches her. It's been a long and confusing morning. "You'd think they would've included this bit in the pamphlet." Carrying on, without so much as a pause for breath, "Are you alright?"

[suninhades]

By the time Allen gets to her, Integra is smoking a cigarette, having already assessed the damage to her arm - there's an angry red mark under her sleeve from the crow's talons, but it didn't quite manage to break the skin. It's lucky she's wearing such heavy wool. (Deliberate, rather.) She wordlessly holds a plastic water bottle out to him when he's near enough, having pulled it out of one of her saddle bags a moment before.

"This isn't regular enough to be included anywhere," she says. "I've not heard of any similar infestation or attack happening before my time." Yes, terrible things happen, but the climate has always been creative. Whatever this is, it's new. She just gives him a look - one quirked eyebrow - at his inquiry after her. Sweet, but unnecessary. "You're a very skilled man, Mr. Walker."

[tothelastbreath]

"Here's hoping they'll continue to go unmentioned, then," he says, conversational but clearly worried.

The water's received with a smile, a nod of thanks, then a look of blank surprise. Were bottles meant to be so... Thin? He can't fathom why anyone would trade good old glass for whatever material this is. Not that glass is all that durable, mind you, but at least it doesn't feel like it may melt away in his hand, or dent from an accidental squeeze. The cap proves to be another mystery in itself. Some awkward fumbling later, he decides it's probably meant to be twisted open, and since he can't very well do that with one hand still a giant claw, he stops Invocating altogether. The cowl winks out of existence, the claw is replaced by an inhuman hand the colour of dried blood, and Allen proceeds to tackle his first plastic bottle with the same single-minded determination he was just fighting with. The cap comes off all right. Could've managed it with less force, but at least he'll know what to expect next time (he doesn't like what that implies). The moment that's done, his left hand goes slipping very casually into a pocket.

"Skilled..." Gray eyes lift from the bottle with a bit of an embarrassed laugh, the kind someone makes when they need a moment to decide how they feel about an unexpected response. Or maybe he's just remembered he has an audience. "Thank you, but I was just reacting, really."

Sirens wail in the distance, and he flattens his lips, looking like he has half a mind to go running in that direction already.

"Speaking of, that's all everyone seems to be doing. Does anyone―" Meaning Integra, her organisation, or whomever she may know, seeing as the Militia is being deeply disappointing. "―know where they're coming from and how to stop them?"

[suninhades]

Reacting. Sure. He was tidily aiming to minimize damage and herd civilians into a shelter, and orchestrating half a dozen specialized offensive techniques. Integra gives him a look that clearly telegraphs her wry disbelief of that - modesty is great, kid, but it's a bit late to try and hide. Perhaps kindly, she doesn't press the issue, and moves on.

"They're coming from beneath the earth." Of this she sounds sure, but there's a resigned tone to her voice. "What origin point, however, we've yet to discover. So far, it's been nearly overwhelming just to combat what things are here, making an active investigation into that origin extremely difficult. I'm canvasing the situation on the ground so that I can decide where to pull people from." A general must know here battlefield, after all, as well as her soldiers. Already she has her tactics sketched out in her mind; release Alucard, send the paranormal investigators underneath the ground, call the rest of the city's warriors to arms in the mean time. Shoddy, reckless - but such is life when the local police are useless.

[tothelastbreath]

That look's met with a sheepish but not entirely apologetic crack of a grin, allowing a hint of the teenager he still is to flicker through. Allen's pokerface is usually better than this, but she does so remind him of someone back home at times.

Then they're down to business, and he's all ears throughout her explanation. We, she said. So there is thankfully some kind of organised effort out there. One that's making significantly more progress than the Militia, but from the looks and sound of it, severely understaffed all the same. Well, Allen's accustomed to working with such circumstances, and it's always better to know what on earth's going on, know where you're actually needed than try to be everywhere at once. Besides, she has yet to ask him any questions.

"I'll help," He tells her, then corrects himself with perfunctory courtesy. "I'd like to, if you'd let me. I'm―" An Exorcist, he nearly says, because he can afford to give that away now, but remembers first Kanda, then the fact that no one here will know what it entails. "―experienced in combat. If you need to call people back for the underground mission, you can send me to replace them."

A smile curves his lips then, flawless in its reassurance; and his next words, while steady, are slightly rushed, like he's used to expecting and forestalling protests.

"I know there are a lot of them, but I'm used to fighting worse. I'll be fine on my own."

[suninhades]

"All right."

... Look, nobody ever said the good guys couldn't be completely mercenary. If Integra has to exploit some eighteen year old because he's gifted with the ability to disintegrate everything on the battlefield, she's going to do it. He put himself out here on his own, and she's hardly anybody's mother. A resource is a resource, no matter what it is. And while she isn't sure that she trusts Allen, she trusts in the naivety of his re-assurances; he wants to do good things, and to help.

Might as well.

"Direct these people to the safe houses in Mog Hill, or to the coastline. Buildings with minimal plumbing is key. The objective will be to clear this area so that an investigation can be run without worry of the whole district coming down on our heads."

[tothelastbreath]

Mercenary or not, Allen doesn't seem to have an issue with it. He simply nods with the professional promptness of someone used to receiving orders in the heat of things (though he's also prone to being selectively obedient, at his own discretion) and pulls up the city map on his CiD, turning the screen at her.

"Just tell me where these places are and I'll get started. Er, it'll help to know where we are too."

...He usually has his comrades around to point him the right way, okay. Being new doesn't help, but he'll be fine if he travels by rooftop, because the city will actually look the way it does on the map then. Fortunately, that's about the only real bit of trouble he'll have to handle. While he's nowhere near as powerful as Alucard and a bit of a wild card, none of the creatures plaguing Baedal are tough enough to slow him down, unless he somehow ends up taking a hit for someone else.

"Please keep me updated if anything changes. I'll let you know once the area's clear."

[suninhades]

Integra leans over and shows him how to use the GPS bit of his CiD (handy to locate oneself), and highlights a few problem areas. It doesn't bother her to do this - she is the commander for a reason, after all, and while Integra is fully competent and highly skilled in the field, her true purpose is to lead and weave strategy. It is merely that in this instance, she's better able to do that from out here.

"My agents are people with these badges," she tells him, and indicates her own. Except for Alucard, she thinks, but then, it's not like he's going to need any friendly fire help. "I'll let them know your name, and to work with you if you cross paths. Godspeed, Mr. Walker. And thank you."

[tothelastbreath]

Well, will you look at that. A handheld device that tells you where you are! And here Allen'd been under the impression that the 19th century is plenty modern. Baedal may be backwards about their water bottles, but this, this is excellent (now watch him get lost anyway).

The cowl unfurls out of thin air once he has drained the contents of his bottle and pocketed his CiD, still as pristine as ever, all traces of the previous fight gone.

"I'll keep an eye out for them," he replies after taking a good look at her badge. "And please don't mention it, I'm just doing what I can. Thank you for keeping some semblance of order in this place." Adding, with a sobriety usually reserved for promises, and maybe it is one, "I'm sure it'll help save a lot more lives."

Allen's not one to end his conversations so abruptly, but he's never been known to stay long when he's needed elsewhere either. The last word has barely left his tongue when he turns and takes off for the closest hotspot of infestations.