Car
| Car | |
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| Players |
Cleon brings Alex along to begin negotiations for use of a murderous Locus. |
It's dark now. The city's cooled off a bit with the recession of the sun, but it's still a steamy night, especially close to the L like this. Cleon had led Alex along a path in an alleyway hidden behind a half-finished wall, one that led through the back end of California Station to a sort of wind-tower, enclosed on all sides by steel rebar with one big, flat slab of concrete, covered with Las Aguilas' spray-paint art. After the ritual painting of car 5616 within the skeletal jaws of a wolf, the two emerged carrying the mandate of the Hunt on their shoulders. "So here's how it's gonna go down vato," Cleon said quietly to Alex as he walked him into California station, toward the downtown-bound side. "You'll be able to see the car, these other civvies won't...so when it comes, you go ahead and get on, wait for me. I'm going to bring the gathra running in, and when the door closes, we'll give them to the Demons - ah, spirits...and don't worry, these ones are toxic waste. Santos poison the streets, we protect 'em." Amateur Ghost Wolf hunting plan... Alex is here to help out Cleon to claim this locus. Dressed for the activity in a light black retro-style leather jacket with no shirt, jeans, and combat boots, he makes sure to adorn himself in occult trinkets and various trophies from past hunts. The whole thing adds to the Ithaeur's overall occult vibe. Following along with the ghost wolf he gives a nod of his head and goes to wait for the train, focused on the task at hand. It's night in Logan Square, so unsurprisingly there's a decent crowd of people gathering for the L on this side - folks rich enough to live in the nicer high rises heading closer to the lake to play and drink and consume and rut, others less fortunate transfering to lines scattered around the windy city. It stinks in here...all the compacted humanity, the rotting, rusting steel and concrete heated by the sun and slowly cooling...oh look, some nice man peeing over the side of the tracks. Chitown. Outside, underneath the tracks where the L train ran and near the entrance, Cleon glanced around...this was where Santos passed through, coming out of the station or cruising along in their decidedly inferior rides, so they'd be sure to notice. Pulling a trio of spraycans from a canvas bag, he began to do some art. Slowly but surely, a surprisingly detailed image of a cholo hanging from a cross appeared in red, white and green, the word 'SANTOS' crossed out and replaced by 'MARTYRS'. -That- would piss them off. Sure enough, passing along outside was one of the aforementioned 'inferior rides' - a PT Cruiser, chopped up and modded with hydraulics, a retractable hood and painted white with gold crosses along the side, stopped in an illegal spot, and two rather large fellows climbed out. "The fuck?! Yo what the FUCK mothafucka?! Chingaaaaara you think you big shit with your doodles Cleon?" Barked Big Richy - they called him that on the account he was big, and his name was Ricardo - with his oversized white-t, his baggy jean-shorts and black mohawk. "Voy a matar esta perrita," rasped the tall, droopy-eyed gangster coming out the passenger side - Whisper, on account of that voice of his. Nobody called the Santos creative...violent? Oh yeah. The two of them chased Cleon, who'd hurled a spray-can at them with a Spanish slur, into California station; shoving past passengers, pissing off attendents who dealt with too much shit to even bother, Cleon raced up the stairs just as the train-car was pulling in; Alex would see him, grinning that bloodthirsty grin as he hooked left down the platform and made for the open door, followed by a -big- cholo and his skinny, droopy-eyed compatriot who looked like they wanted to kill the young Ghost Wolf. Alex was waiting as they discussed, watching as people pass before that train car they're waiting on arrived. With one last look at his surroundings the Crescent Moon steps in and waits, hands flexing into fists and relaxing as he takes a deep breath in to test the scents he can pick up within the train car. It's not until he hears Cleon running that he gets ready by shifting his stance with a soft rumbling sound coming from low in his chest. Cleon flew through the door, spotting Alex with a grin already growing on his face as he ran toward the other end of the car, stopping there and breathing heavily - shortly after, as the doors were closing, the pair of Santos squeezed through. Alex might recognize the clear gang affiliations between them expressed in colors; the blue bandana tied around Cleon's arm versus the white and gold they wore...their clothes were nicer, bought in stores and boutiques instead of from thrift stores. "Ohhh ho ho ho this is rich. Lil' Killer, all alone now...we're gonna send you to meet your brothers and your mama, you know?" Richie sneered and mocked as he pulled a set of brass knuckles from his pocket. Whisper had a switchblade in his hand, a sickly smile on his face as he passed it back and forth between his hands. Cleon watched the doors closing, felt the train shift, and looked at Alex with a devious smile before he spoke. "5616...5616...you're whom they're for," he whispered as he walked toward them, his flesh starting to crackle. "5616...5616...A gift of gore." Knowing that a fight is coming and seeing what Cleon is up to with his form shifting, Alex gives the ghost wolf a nod as his own form shifts, his muscles growing larger as claws form from the tips of his fingers and his face takes on a more feral cast. Shifting into dalu form he growls along with his companion, "5616, a gift of gore..." Unsurprisingly, the Santos didn't stand a chance. Martyrs indeed, but not for their own cause. Cleon's gauru form, with its white chest and ruddy arms and back, the impressive plumage of his tail, almost had slightly vulpine suggestions. It whipped about as he tackled the screaming, terrified Ricardo and proceeded to smash his body around the train car like a rag doll, leaving gory splatters of brain and skull before ultimately tearing the corpse in half with an exultant roar, covering himself in blood as he threw the bodyparts aside. Alex's prey wasn't much better off - a single, weeping, feeble swipe with that knife was countered by claws and fangs across the throat, red gushing across the floor as the Prey fell, choking on his own life. Cleon's deadly gauru melted away, leaving him in his bloody, amber-eyed Urhan shape. "5616...5616...I call you to appear before me," he growled in the language of spirits, bending down before the puddle of organs and blood and meat, as if in offer. Alex gives a howl as he attacks his prey and swats that knife aside. The bite makes the man scream in pain and terror as he's finished off and tossed aside. With blood coating them both as they shift back into their hishu forms there is a look around as blood pools on the floor of the train car. The reek of blood and dying human flesh settles upon Car #5616, now streaked with the gore of the hapless humans lured here to their deaths. Fifteen seconds after the death of the Martyrs, two spirits step across the rail-thin Gauntlet and into this world, materializing in all of their horrible glory. As large as bears and with twice as many limbs, their tortured forms appear as skinless, bleeding flesh, marked with First Tongue cuneiform brands, spelling screeds of hatred and rage. Spiky fur bristles on their bodies around their necks, running up their six arms and down their chests and legs. Instead of hands, bronze buzzsaws, blades and mace-heads menace. Headless, their upper torsos bear toothy maws, vertically slit halfway down their chests. Ten seconds later, a third appears behind the two, larger and bearing an indeterminate number of limbs, which seem to appear and retract as the being desires. It opens its mouth and speaks in the First Tongue, in the pure accent of the Shadow, seething with hatred. ~Disgusting half-flesh. You bring gathra to us, here in our home, as if we do not have enough? Do you think we did not hear your hunting howls? Explain yourselves before we do what we so long to do to you.~ Alex eyes the spirits as they appear before them with his baleful gaze. Taking in the brands of the spirits and the words they speak he gives a slight nod of his head and then looks to Cleon. Nothing is said as he studies the ghost wolf for a long moment before turning to address the spirits. "You are a spirit of hostility and want enemies and blood. This is something we can give to you as we did here. Blood, spilled in offering from this rival gang, enemies to claim." Cleon stared in a combination of horror and awe. His urhan mouth hung open as he laid eyes on creatures far larger than either of them, but he wasn't quite sure how powerful they were; nonetheless, he was a creature of charm and persuasion, and so he showed no fear as he gazed up at the greatest of them, puffing his chest out slightly as his tail whipped back and forth. "Know this," he began to growl in the language of the Shadow, accented by that chicano-American upbringing, "I am called Killer by those who Kill - my progenitor was a Killer, my brothers were Killers, and so am I!" he howled with that Cahalith gusto. "Look into my eyes, see the tears inked into my flesh and know the many who have fallen before my teeth and bullets - know that many, many more will die in the nights to come!" he growl-pronounced, fierce and strong, falling easily into his auspice role. "Tonight I gave you a taste of Santos blood - give me leave to claim this Locus at your side, and I will KILL more Santos, I will KILL 89th! Crips, Blood, Kings, the Northside Boys, and so will my Eagles. Give me leave to claim this Locus, and not only will I dedicate their DEATHS unto you, but you may even join me to witness the slaughter in their own dens!" The Hostility-spirits quiver with fury as Killer speaks, their innate anger manifesting as sickly heat that fogs the windows of Car #5616. They listen, but when Killer stops speaking, the one to the greater spirit's right strangles out a snarl that sounds like a cross between ululation and choking. ~No!~ it cries. ~Never! We want your blood next, give it to us no-~ The other two round on that spirit, buzzsaws spinning, mace-heads cracking as they fall upon their broodmate, tearing it to pieces and swallowing them down, unholy words of the First Tongue echoing in the car. The greater spirit rises, spirit corpus dangling from its needle-sharp teeth. ~That one broke consensus,~ it says. ~It has become part of the greater whole. We see a glimmer of glory in you, though muddied by filthy meat. You will offer to us six kills, each grander than the last, before we deign to make room for you in this place. This is our sanctuary, our holy bed of life, and we will never abandon it. But if you prove that you are our kindred, you will bring about six death-events.~ Alex watches the interactions between Cleon and the spirits. There is a slight smile that is flashed to the ghost wolf at his response to the spirits before the bone shadow turns to see the response from the spirits. He catches the subtle shift in their demeanor and can be heard offering a soft rumbling sound like a growl in warning before that angry response is given. Ready to fight he watches as they turn on each other before relaxing, nodding in approval of the deal. It was a lot to take on...it would prove more and more difficult to make a theatrical, wild kill each time, but he could do it. Six more killings in this car, each one had to be more extravagant than the last. He gazed around the gore-strewn, bloody car and was already finding himself in the process of wondering how he could top this kill...who to bring, how to slay them...surprising how easily his mind fell into this inhumanity. Cleon then settled his gaze upon the spirits and through his wolven head back, giving a bark of mirth, joy, wild and violent anticipation of The Killer - nothing felt better than to rip and tear and rend in that Gauru form of his. "You ask much! Seven is a number that can shake the world...but you will see." Cleon puffed his chest out and drew his talons across the fur, bleeding as he rent his flesh deeply. "YOU WILL SEE WHAT I AM! YOU WILL SEE GLORY AND BLOOD AND -FANTASTIC- DEATH!" he roars enthusiastically. | |