A Shadowy Cabal (Mod Acct) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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multiversallogs2011-05-27 08:05 pm
synergismus) wrote in multiversallogs2011-05-27 08:05 pm
Entry tags:
- # operation: bio,
- @ brock marsh,
- @ mog hill,
- @ mog hill: valhalla inn,
- @ sobek croix,
- @ ~ gross tar river,
- alucard,
- anna demirovna,
- dean winchester,
- hellboy,
- ilde decima,
- integra hellsing,
- jones,
- marie-sixtine st. vincent,
- martel,
- rachel conway,
- raylan givens,
- sonja garin,
- { boromir,
- { nazca barsavi,
- } adrian veidt,
- } allen walker,
- } balthier,
- } cassandra of troy,
- } clark kent,
- } edward nigma,
- } gabriel gray,
- } ianto jones,
- } jo harvelle,
- } jysiri,
- } katherine pierce,
- } kriv scorpion-tongue,
- } lex luthor,
- } mabel albans,
- } max guevara,
- } michael anders,
- } mina barrett
plot } the creatures descend.
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.
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.
Dean and Integra
...He hopes. So far, however, so good.
But the flock of crows is growing darker. He knows that means they're growing in number. He's held them off with a few warning shots from his handgun but something seems to have shifted in the way they're circling the station. Dean has the decided sense they're plotting.
A knot of them slowly breaks off from the rest of the group. Dean swiftly switches out for his sawed-off shotgun and blasts them as they divebomb as one, trying to get in the door. He gets a few and the rest scatter, but he knows it's just a matter of time before they try again.
Integra's on her way. Maybe between the two of them they can make a bigger dent in these crows, get these people to better shelter.
no subject
Unstable, she thinks. Not suited to being blasted with that which ties them together; perhaps it overloads them, or mixes poorly. Either way, it's going to be a headache extracting Dean and his cadre of civilians - Integra doesn't think that the bindings on her soul or the seals etched into her gloves will be enough to frighten the birds away like the presence of an elder fae being would, but perhaps in concert with silver bullets, it'll get their attention.
She comes over the bridge on horseback at a full gallop, stopping only when the station is in sight. For a moment she just assess the situation, and then, completely calm, takes out her modified SIG P226, and shoots the current flock leader in the head - from many yards away - causing it to instantly dematerialize. Then she shoots another. And another. She empties her 14 round magazine in short order, and as the whole shrieking murder of them explode into a frenzy, she ejects the spent magazine, reloads, and puts her side-arm away. The crows, thoroughly distracted from Dean and the civilians, begin to converge on Integra.
She merely waits.
no subject
He scans the area around the station. There's a low, small structure about a hundred yards away, perhaps a storage shed of some sort. It's possibly not the sturdiest thing but it has no windows. If the people are inside and the door is closed the birds can't get them. Good enough, for now.
Dean ducks back inside and rounds the dozen or so people up, giving them quick instructions. He's the last one out of the building, covering the rest of the group amidst an intermittent hail of... what the hell is this, black marbles?
The firing stops and the birds change course, gathering and heading straight at Integra. Dean wants to rush in, to do something, but he's got to get these people to safety first. He reaches the door to the shed and he busts the lock with the butt of his gun handle. "Keep this door closed," he orders as he herds everyone inside.
no subject
- Over her head, the flare combusts in a loud, blinding explosion that seems too light and too far-reaching to be the work of something as mundane as gunpowder. The crows shriek, burning, panicked, apparently melting into nothingness right before their eyes. That trick didn't get all of them, though, and the remaining ones dart up, uneven and shell shocked.
"Take a note," she calls out to Dean, pulling out her side-arm once more as the surviving birds begin to collect themselves. "They don't like magic."
no subject
...Too bad he hasn't got shit for magic.
But what he does have is rock salt. He loads up the shotgun, fires, reloads, fires again. The birds that had started to regroup scatter again, giving him time to start sprinting toward Integra. They start to follow, a handful, as he runs.
And then they begin to speak.
"See you in hell."
Dean is sure he's only hearing things, until the other birds take up the cry.
"See you in hell... see you in hell... see you in hell..."
He stops, turning toward them, tossing the shotgun down in favor of his pearl-handled nickel-plated Colt 1911 A1 .45 caliber semi-automatic--it's a pretty gun, sure, with the engraving down the barrel but it still gets the job done.
"See you in hell..."
He slams in a clip of silver bullets and starts firing up at the birds, nailing one, then another, then another, forcing himself to ignore what they're calling down at him. They can't know, they can't possibly know...
no subject
Though the material is charmed not to stick to human or fae, the detonation is still hot and forceful - Integra's horse all but screams in shock beneath the explosion, rearing back, though she holds her ground, only twisting away from the flash of fire and throwing up one arm to cover her face. Dean is next to her, she thinks, as she blinks away ash and burned not-feathers. Her intervention should have shielded him from anything legitimately harmful, but she really does hope he ducked.
From her other side, something flaps, dogged, and she hears a broken-voiced cackle, "Babylon! Whore of Babylon!"
Integra rips her sword up from her side and swings, slicing through the creature before it can get to her, sending its head sailing away. "LOUDER, YOU ABOMINATIONS! OR DON'T YOU TRULY WISH ME TO SEND YOU TO HELL?!"
The crow that she bisected reforms a little ways away, and the only two remaining survivors of the recent blast circle for a moment, then bray at each other before beginning to fly in the other direction. She notes that the ones Dean shot are reforming but not creeping back over, either - Dean. She snaps her head around, still half-shouting in irritation, even though she's genuinely concerned: "Are you all right?"
no subject
Dean rises from a crouch beside her, gun lowered. He's oddly quiet, a bit shell-shocked from the explosion but those birds... what they said got under his skin. His gaze drifts up to Integra, and a faint echo of his usual cocky grin turns his lips.
"Nicely done. Badass, in fact. I didn't have anything magical on me but they didn't seem to like rock salt or silver either."
He tucks away his gun and goes to pick up his shotgun, reloading it with another pair of rock salt shells as he comes back. He also pauses long enough to scoop up a couple of the things that had fallen as they'd shot the crows. He can see now they're like small, black pearls.
"What do you make of these?" he says, holding them up. "Every time I shot one of those sons of bitches, one of these came down."
no subject
"Hellboy brought those back as well," she says. "His samples are in a containment unit in the subterra. There doesn't seem to be anything malicious about them, but further testing will be done." So, keeping them? Looks like it. She nods towards where he had the civilians hole up. "We need to get them moving north. It's not as bad further out towards the borders."
no subject
He nods. More testing. So until these pearls can be in the containment unit in the subterra, they'll be in the containment unit known as Dean's coat pocket. He drops them in and shoulders his shotgun.
"You got it. We should be able to make good time without the damn birds."
For a moment, he considers saying something about what the birds had to say. They were rude to Integra but she doesn't strike him as the type of woman who needs a guy to say look, it's not true or anything like that. The bird mouthed off and she cut the son of a bitch in half.
He supposes he was trying to do the same. They unnerved him, he can't lie. He's so far past his expiration date he'd almost forgotten--or maybe he just hoped, a little--that the contract was null and void. That had been a nasty little reminder.
Time and place, though, and this didn't feel like the right one of either to open that can of worms. "What's the best route for getting those people out of here, quickly?" he asks, pulling out his CiD.
no subject
"If the train is still running, up to one of the northmost dead ends. Don't cross any of the rivers, I suspect they'll be unstable. Tar Wedge, there's older buildings out there. The less indoor plumbing, the better. Those pipe crawlers seem to be the first sign of infestation - avoiding giving them the opportunity seems prudent."
Integra pulls three of the flares out of a pack on her saddle - it looks like there's something sewn into the sides of them, inexplicably - and hands them to Dean. "Princess Nuala was kind enough to do an emergency hack job on a rather insistent 'go away' spell," she tells him. "Are you escorting these people to the central train station, or can I give you a lift somewhere?"