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.
no subject
She sets the pot in the sink and begins to fill it with water. "I'm sorry," she says, looking at him. "That's a good a welcome as I can offer anyone."
As Integra pulls the half-full thing from the sink and walks with it back into the main room, she realizes just how jaded she's become of this phenomenon. Boromir is dressed like something out of a fairy tale, and she hasn't even considered telling him what a refrigerator is - not because she doesn't care, or that she'd rather take the lead in all things, but because she has so utterly given up assuming anything about anyone. For all she knows he's a LARPer from Mars* in the year 3012. She sets the pot on the nearest table, and then goes to unbuckle her horse's cinch while he drinks.
* If this is the case, he is an extremely fucking badass Martian LARPer.
no subject
"It's still good to know," he says, although it doesn't completely reassure him. His thoughts have become somewhat existentialist in the past few days, given everything he's been through. In the end it's something he has to get through himself. This too shall pass.
He looks around and finds a glass (he's...not going to chug from the kettle just in case Integra wants some, and he is mindful of other people) and takes a good, long drink, which chases away any lingering queasiness.
Changing the subject, he turns to admire the horse. "It's a fine creature." And then, a thought occurs. "Is there someone to buy from in the city?"
no subject
And now, food. (She barely holds still, even when drinking; as restful as she might seem in brief moments, she is never off guard, and the immediacy of this crisis is never lost on her. She will have to move on, soon.) Integra pulls open the industrial refrigerator and starts pulling out what looks cooked already. "I imagine we're pressing our luck with running the water," she says, thinking of the pipe crawlers.
no subject
He stores that knowledge away for a time when he can actually think about buying a horse. "I don't have a pack, so I don't intend to take anything with me. I'll stop off in places as I go along."
no subject
"You might be able to get by sticking it in your shirt," she says, sliding one over. She isn't motherly, not by far, just efficient, like there's some kind of deep-ingrained compulsion inside of her that cannot abide not addressing whatever problem gets in her line of sight. "Do you have companions here? Any contacts that you've made?"
no subject
"No. None of my companions are here. And as far as I can tell, no one from my world." Or at least that's what he thinks, because that's quite an underestimation of this city. Somewhere there will be the trace of a Silvan elf or another familiar being. Lurking. "I've not had much of a chance to make new ones. Nothing so far has extended beyond introductions."
Well. Except this. "But for the most part people have been helpful."
no subject
"Do you know how to use your CiD?" If not, she aims to show him, apparently, for some purpose she will get to shortly.
no subject
Ha ha, the answer is no. Boromir fishes it out of some fold in his clothing. "If I press this button, pictures appear." Shut up, that's impressive where he's from. "It does more than that?"
no subject
"It's a communication device," she tells him, and if he'll let her, she'll show him how to operate it. "A very tiny machine - people made little clockwork bits smaller and smaller until they became absurd like this."
... History of the world, with Professor Integra. She demonstrates how to pull up the map of the city, and find the cohort network. (Doing it all wearing her gloves, still, with the sort of easy dexterity that suggests she all but lives in them.) "You can use it to address your peers if there's an emergency, or speak to a single person."
no subject
He watches her fingers move, the pictures changing on the screen. "It's more efficient than our methods," he says, thoroughly amused with the device. Boys and their toys. "Does this mean other people can contact me?"
no subject
"It does." She gives him his back, and takes her own out of her pocket, and then sends him a quick message: Hello. (Beep?) "There's different buttons - there - for showing pictures of people meanwhile, or just hearing them. If you end up wounded, or cornered somewhere, you can contact me, and I'll make sure one of my people knows to catch you while they're out. If you see anyone in the city fighting wearing this-" she indicates the red and black badge on her shoulder, "They're one of mine."
no subject
"I may have seen, and met, a few of them already. But thank you. If there's anything I can do to repay the favour, my sword is ready."
no subject
"Hopefully they've made a decent impression." Now that she's got a plastic bag with a few sandwiches for herself, Integra nicks a few apples and heads back out to the front. "And I hope that your sword, as well as your integrity, weathers this storm, Captain. I feel we'll meet again."
no subject
"May a brighter star shine upon that meeting," he says, still keeping watch. "For now, I wish you well Sir Integra, and that the wind rides with you."
no subject
Food packed away in a saddlebag, Integra swings easily up onto her horse and seats herself. She nods at Boromir. "Fight well, Captain."
And she's off, seeking out more civilians, making the rounds with her agents, and working to uncover the source of this hellish infestation.