multiversallogs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"As near as I can tell. I've already lost my lunch - " Hence the more unpleasant stains, which she will appreciate if he doesn't point out.

She scans the sky quickly - her own run-in with the birds was equally unpleasant. "I haven't come across many people - uh, well, the survivors - for awhile. Where you headed?"

"Gross. Sorry."

He nods. "I was moving some survivors earlier today, from train stations. Not many people through here--I heard this area was where it was the worst. That's why I came. Figured I'd make sure there wasn't anyone stranded, and then start ganking these sons of bitches."

"Well." She shoulders the bat and gives him her best grin. It's not the brightest she could manage, but he'll have to deal. "Want some help?"

Dean grins. "I would love some help."

He's used to working with someone at his side. It's always been that way. He does all right on his own but it always feels like something's missing.

He shoulders the shotgun and holds out his hand. "I'm Dean."

"Dean... Winchester?" It was a long shot, but she didn't run into the name 'Dean' very often. "You wouldn't happen to work for Hellsing, would you?"

This would be a lovely conversation to continue, if not for a gang of a dozen shrieking monkeys (some in wetsuits) that turned the corner and started barreling down on them.

"Yeah." Dean looks surprised. "That's me, how did you--"

...Monkeys. Actual fucking monkeys. In wetsuits. What. The. Fuck.

Dean drops the shotgun with a murmured, "Excuse me." Look, it's rude to interrupt a conversation and he's going to teach these monkeys that. Out comes his handgun; he fires off three shots in quick succession, dropping two monkeys and wounding a third as they come rushing in.

Mabel's quick to whip out her knife, muttering to herself about needing a handgun too. She doesn't normally use them (besides her unlicensed shotgun, left behind in her car), but her normal line of work didn't involve monkeys in wetsuits.

Her resume was going to be impressive after today, at least.

The monkeys aren't fond of the knife or the bat, and she aims at the ones who get through Dean's line of defense. A few of them get close enough to try to bite her, but then they back off, hissing. That was just as well; they were easier to pick off that way.

"Okay, this is starting to get ridiculous!"

"No kidding."

Dean empties his clip. Man. What he wouldn't give for a Molotov cocktail right now. He reloads, fast as he can, dodging incoming monkeys long enough for Mabel to get her weapons into them. One gets close as he levels his gun; Dean punts it back into the street, back into range, and then he shoots it.

He keeps firing. He's a good shot but it feels like they're coming faster than he can cut them down. He's glad he's not facing them alone.

"I am definitely putting in for a - son of a - !" The monkeys, though strangely not inclined to bite her, have figured out that launching themselves at her is a far more effective tactic. Her attempt to cover Dean's back is hindered by the creature trying to pull her face off.

She skewers it with the knife, using the body as a furry mallet to wallop the others clinging to her, reduced to trying to hit the things with the bat like it's a golf club.

"I take back ridiculous, this is just stupid!"

"Stupid's a good word." One gets as far as Dean's leg, clawing at him. Again he puts the boot to it. This is getting out of hand. They need to deal with all of them, at once.

"Here." He holds out his gun, free hand reaching into his coat. "Take this, cover me for a minute."

Mabel has far more experience with a shotgun, but she's made a point of familiarizing herself with other types. The handgun has a different kickback and is a lot harder to aim, but the monkeys scatter whether or not the shots hit their intended targets.

"Getting one of these," she mutters to herself.

Dean comes out with a can of lighter fluid--yes, this is something he tends to keep on his person. He gives the monkeys a good dousing, as best he can with them scrambling all over.

Then he fetches out his lighter, snaps the ignition to get a flame, and tosses it right into the crowd. There's a second or two where nothing happens, and he worries that maybe he didn't use enough fluid or get any of them.

And then a knot of the monkeys, near the center of this little crowd, bursts into flames. They go shrieking around, ablaze, collapsing here and there. This takes care of a good amount of the little monsters, but there are still a couple left unharmed, hanging back from their flaming comrades for the moment.

"Holy shit!" Mabel stumbles back away from the fire, surprised even though she saw it coming. There's something about fire that has a certain appeal to her; she's used it herself to sometimes disastrous effects (in Baedal no one ever sees your rap sheet). It's a strange sort of appeal, evoking at things in her head that turn to shadows whenever she tries to grasp them.

It passes quickly, especially when she realizes the fight's not over, and she offers Dean the gun again. "That was the most fucking awesome thing I have ever seen."

"Thanks," Dean murmurs. He's trying not to smile as he takes the gun back--this is business, these are serious circumstances--but there may be the barest hint of one anyway, tugging the corners of his mouth.

"It's effective. Worked for me the last time I got jumped by more sons of bitches than I could handle." Eels. On that boat trip. He'd hoped it was the last time he had an experience like that, but this was starting to become a little too regular for his liking here.

He snaps off a shot, dropping a monkey that comes charging from behind his flaming compatriots.

plot } the creatures descend.

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