Few Too Many
| Few Too Many | |
|---|---|
"...Symbolic, like everything else." | |
| Players | Hyde Park A couple of mortals, changelings, and a wolf seek to resolve a nasty problem encouraging bursts of violence amongst the population of Hyde Park. |
At some point, one way or another, people have been roped into helping! With this very dangerous problem! And it's Javi taking point here, leading the way through Hyde Park to where he'd managed to step through to the Other Side. There's really nothing that stands out about the tiny red bridge spanning the man-made brook through this quaint little park. It's situated just enough that it can't easily be seen from the nearby strip of road and apartment buildings, further shrouded by reeds on either side of the steep, sandy bank. The water isn't all that deep, about two feet of clear water over bright river stone. "So," Darwin says, nerves obvious in his voice, "We just go under this thing...?" Sol has issued invites to those assembled to come and possibly get horribly killed in another world while fighting something literally made out of violence. He shows up in jeans, t-shirt, and a light leather jacket, with a bag slung casually over one shoulder. It's a nice leather bag, suitable for a laptop...or a whole bunch of monopoly money and other surprises. Including a cheap spiral notebook, the kind you can buy for less than a dollar at a big box store. From the outside's hideous lime-green cover, there's no clue that Solomon spent time in his office, telling the thin, lined pages about his worries for Javi and his fears that he might step into that other world and find that it rejects him as much as he often feels this world does. About the insecurity he feels in his precarious 'control' of the Hyde Park area, the mingled resentment and protectiveness he has for what he has claimed as 'his', even if most of the people who pass through there will never know. As he talked, those fears and doubts scuttled from his mouth in black ink and bloody flecks, landing on the paper, transmuting into lines and cryptic instructions that changed moment by moment, shifting before the eyes to take into account changing circumstances. The paper has yellowed, looking more like water-stained parchment now, but the plans within? Those are clear. To the assembled, he evenly passes out stacks of Monopoly money as soon as they're out of sight of casual onlookers, and a single hundred dollar bill. "The play money might hurt it if it's thrown at it. The hundred dollar bill, supposedly, will blind it for a moment if you tear it. Don't tear that fucker unless your life depends on it," he adds, grouchily. Javi is offered the notebook, in an abrupt motion of his hand. "Read this. You'll know when you'll need the advice in it." Gareth has turned up, for some reason, maybe he can be helpful if they need to find things! He's wearing his woolen overcoat, which is definitely over a kevlar jacket. He is not armed, except, now, with stacks of monopoly money, which he shoves into a pocket. "Gonna guess you want that back afterwards," he says, slightly mournfully when he more carefully stows the hundred dollar bill. "Swap you for large amounts of candy?" It's a hope. A forlorn one at that. "So, the bridge is... symbolic, like everything else," he says with a hum. "I guess that makes some kind of sense if you reorientate your entire way of thinking," he says, squinting at the bridge like it might reveal its secrets to him. Miel is also wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans are black. The T-shirt is bright pink with a cartoon cat splashed across it from a show that Miel has not actually even heard of. The newsboy he wears is a soft brown and it matches the brown and white sweater he has tugged on over the T-shirt. He keeps shifting from foot to foot, which could be a sign of nerves, but then again, it might not. "How much candy are we talking about here. What are you holding out on us?" Javi looks...well, okay. Maybe he looks slightly guilty that he knows the way to go so well. He doesn't really look at any of the others with him as they make their way toward the door to the other world that anyone can walk through at any time, as long as they know where it is. He doesn't even look at Solomon when the man passes him the notebook, though he grips it as tightly as if it was the only thing between him and certain destruction. Of course, it may be! Who knows. "Okay," he murmurs, his shoulders hunching a little as he pulls it toward him so that he can do as instructed, though he glances briefly at Darwin at the question. Or in Darwin's direction. He doesn't exactly meet his eyes. "Uh, yeah," he confirms. "That's it." He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, a glint of silver around his wrist poking out from beneath the arm of his jacket. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before he looks down to read with an expression of very intense concentration. It takes him a bit -- longer than it might take some other people, honestly -- but eventually he looks up again and squares his shoulders to start forward again toward the invisible door. Darwin stares at the offered play money in his hands for a long moment, then quietly sorts them by color and pockets them. "Sometimes the verges are keyed to something. I guess kinda' like those hedge doors--?" He tilts his head at Solomon. "They're usually temporary. Gonna' see if I can hurry it along." He tries to offer Javi an encouraging smile! But can't catch his gaze. When Javi leads the way through the verge, along the narrow strip of bank beneath the bridge, a soft, white-noise hum washes over the group. It's nothing like the strange, white-void pressure that Solomon remembers from crossing the Gauntlet. It simply looks as if they... continued walking along the bank, and now they're perched there on the other side. And there's Nacho! At Javi's side, with no state of twilight to fade into, looking pretty corporeal. The reality of the Shadow quickly becomes clear to anyone paying close attention. Noise travels strangely, a soft echo trailing each sound. The spots of saturation have faded somewhat, the bridge looking several years duller, the grass somewhat unwatered. The sharp air is threaded with a strange pulse, throbbing unnaturally with inhalation, and the sky is not so glitteringly beautiful tonight, shrouded by a roiling blanket of clouds. Every now and then, the gibbous moon peeks out, shedding a bit of light over the streets completely devoid of human life. "Depends on the candy," Solomon says to Gareth, raising his eyebrows. "Are we talking the good stuff? Truffles? Homemade peanut brittle? And yes, I absolutely want any money back that isn't sacrificed to the cause." He follows Javi's lead - although not without a thoughtful study of the other man's averted eyes. He glances up and over at Darwin, arches an eyebrow. But doesn't try to start any arguments. At this particular moment. Just nods and says, "Hedge gates have keys." Then shuts up so that Javi and Darwin can _do the thing_. He seems to be trying to take up the rear in the progression through the door, unless someone fights him over it. He can't help the subtle excitement that runs through him as they pass into the other world - fear, perhaps, but also a wealth of knowledge and new sources of power. When they're through, he stares at Nacho even as he gives the new address for where the spirit may be lurking. "Is travel here the same as the material world? Or are there rules?" Gareth tilts his head with a frown at Javi's bearing, but doesn't comment on it either. "Look I just have a very large jar of candy from a bank and it's still at *least* half full and I would prefer that no one asks any questions about how I got it," he says quickly. He follows after the others, letting Solomon take up the rear. He's shivering a little when he gets through the white-noise hum, his eyes resting on Nacho for a moment, giving him a small upnod of greeting before his eyes move restlessly on, scanning the streets like he's keeping an eye out for something or someone else, his shoulders tense. While Solomon tries to take up the rear, Miel has that Seeming instinct to angle towards the front of the group like he can stab forth into the darkness and protect them all. He was made to be a decoration but he chose to become a blade. The frown weighting Miel's brow as he walks is thoughtful, a crease writing its way across his forehead which, you know, may stick there if it lingers too long (ha ha, ha). The strangeness here, so different from other strangenesses he's tasted, leaves him more edgy than not, listening hard at the silence and the throb of the air. He's very curious and it shows; he also keeps glancing at Nacho because it is one thing to know //about// this and quite another to actually //observe// it. Yes, Nacho has appeared, in the flesh! Sort of, anyway. Whatever that means for a ghost, even a suddenly corporeal ghost. He looks a lot like Javi; it's easy to see they're related. Slightly younger, and yet a little taller -- which surely doesn't bother Javi at all -- with wavy hair rather than a riot of curls, and maybe a bit more serious. But definitely his brother. He looks around at the others once they're through, and lifts a hand to wave with a little smile, before he reaches out to bump Javi's shoulder gently with a fist. When he does it, Javi looks both comforted, and somehow //more// guilty, but despite the slightly more inconvenient emotion he steps a little closer to him as he turns to address Solomon. "Uh, yeah," he says, glancing briefly at Darwin to confirm it. "I mean, I think so. Seems like it. Right?" Darwin wobbles his hand. "Mostly. You can find shortcuts, Places-That-Aren't, when the emotional importance of, like, a building makes it bigger or smaller than it actually is. I don't know of any here, though. I... would advise against taking the train. You might not be able to convince it to stop. It's safer on foot." Darwin crouches beside the bridge, drawing some kind of gleaming spool of thick thread. "I'm going to work on this and try to seal it up. Find me when you're finished and I can pull you back over through the Gauntlet. Sound good?" His gaze passes fondly over each face, but settles most meaningfully on Solomon's. "Don't get killed. That address is the Hyatt, right? Couple of blocks away, won't take long." Solomon notices the pull towards Nacho and his expression that had previously been the Sol-normal air of grouchy interest turns a bit darker. He eyes Nacho's now solid throat with perhaps more than usual interest. But that's hardly what they're here for, and there's a brief nod at Darwin's look - and a momentary blink at how he seems to be singled out. "Don't get caught in any flypaper," he mutters back to the werewolf, before moving away. "Please don't tell me you _also_ decided to steal candy from children on Halloween. It's a low habit, you know," Solomon says to Gareth, like he totally wasn't stalking the streets and making kids wet their costumes. "I was thinking that Miel and I will run interference for the two of you. Try to stay at a fucking distance - use the money, or guns if you brought them. If you have to go in, be careful, and let us take the brunt of the thing's powers and rage. Javi, that plan will only help you directly in defeating the spirit. It won't help with anything else...like running away or hiding. Be careful." "No, that literally was from a bank," Gareth retorts to Solomon, his voice low. His eyes track Javi's movement towards Nacho and still he Does Not Comment. He purposefully, very clearly does not comment right now. His eyes go back to scanning the empty streets with a small frown. "I really should get a gun," he murmurs, giving a wiggle of his fingers to Darwin as they start moving off. "Ick, I hate guns," Miel says. He doesn't comment on his own Halloween activities. He keeps scanning around them, eyes quick, darting here and there, and occasionally flicking up to track the way the gibbous moon stains the clouds where it peeks through. "Though I guess it's better than fists... against a lot of things." This time when Javi looks up at Darwin, it's actually //at// Darwin. And while his expression shifts unhappily at the notion of closing the door, he doesn't argue, just nods. "You be careful, too," he murmurs, watching him for a second or two longer before he turns away, this time to Gareth. He's missed that purposeful non-comment -- he just looks concerned as he eyes the other moral who's mortaling around with them, specifically his midsection where his ribs are. "You good?" he asks -- he doesn't make a //huge// deal about it, sure, but he does ask before there's a brief smile directed toward Miel at the front. He seems to be bolstered enough that he actually meets Sol's gaze, too, and nods again, shoulders squaring. "Got it." Nacho doesn't say anything at all. But he //does// catch that darker look from Solomon. His smile shifts, just a little -- it's the sort of smirk that would never be seen on his brother's face, an unexpected uncanny valley with how similar they are otherwise. However, he also doesn't follow up with it. Yet, anyway. They have other things to do. As they walk, the various inconsistencies around them become more focused and make less and less sense. Where the sidewalk is typically evenly segmented, there are long stretches and the odd wobble, where the path dips into the street like a winding river. A few trees along the street move with no wind, twisting to track the group with invisible eyes. The soft clicky-click sound of an old camera shutter reaches Javi, Miel and Solomon first, and trailing behind them is cat with a cable cord tail and giant camera lenses for eyes. It keeps its distance, but seems to be smiling. The Hyatt on Harper might've been inconspicuous were it not for the trail of blood leading through the glass doors. Immediately within the lobby are... things. Moving things. Probably spirits from the looks of it. Abstract creatures, animals with too many limbs or inanimate objects in some state of injury. They seem half devoured, shoved up against a wall. The spirits that look capable of bleeding, bleed. Everything else just... frays or steams or quietly melts. The "blood" of a spirit made entirely of iced coffee laps at Miel's shoes. The trail ends here, and beyond the lobby, the hallways are dark, save for the recreational wing, lit with stark white wall sconces. "You stole candy from a _bank_?" Even with what they're doing, Solomon has to stop and give Gareth an impressed look. "Weren't you a cop? Isn't that _illegal_?" Really, he should not sound as delighted as he does. "I had no idea you were so multi-talented. You should update your job offerings. There's a lot of shit I might need stolen." Lucky for Gareth, Nacho's little smirk _instantly_ gains Sol's attention. His eyes narrow and there's a sudden shift in the air around him, brief fox-fire sparks that would be almost invisible if not for the quality of the Shadow air. Even to eyes that can't see beneath the Mask, Solomon's fingertips grow notably more...pointy, the nails wicked sharp. It's possible he might have decided to deal with another ephemeral being _first_, but now they're at the Hyatt, and he reluctantly pulls his attention away as he hears that shutter click. He eyes the cat - gives it a nice middle finger to photo - then turns back to the hotel. His nostrils flare. "Well. At least I'm in the fucking mood for it." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his hundred dollar bill. It gets waved in the breeze. "Who wants to fight me for some cash?" It's not quiet. Miel scoots his lime green sneakers back just a pace to avoid getting too much blood on his shoes. He's instantly sympathetic to the weird - a cat made out of camera pieces? That just spells friend to a man made out of statuary. He sucks thoughtfully on his teeth as his gaze lingers on the gruesome aspect of a toaster lying half-dead in a pool of what may be burnt waffle batter. His hands are at his sides, his fingers curled in a claw-like readiness that makes more sense when you can see that they glitter like hard, black jet. When Solomon waves the money, he grins and rolls his shoulders. "Hey... is stuff here like... is any of it just stuff?" he wonders. Who is he asking? He's glancing in Javi's direction when he says it. Maybe Javi is the expert now. "I don't want to break a thing that turns out to be someone, y'know?" "I'm pretty sure I wasn't in my right mind when I did it and yes stealing things from a bank is illegal," Gareth replies lowly to Solomon, his eyes flicking back to Javi, entirely missing the interplay between Solomon and Nacho. It's probably for the best. "Yeah, I'm good," he says quietly, nodding to underscore the point. He's probably lying about it. But he's so focused on *that* that the cat isn't even in his sphere of notice. The blood trail and the bleeding spirits , on the other hand, that get his attention. "What the actual fuck?" he asks the air. He's not expecting an answer. Javi hears that old timey shutter-click, and he turns that way to find the cat creature, his smile softening a little bit when he catches sight of it. He lifts a hand to wave in its direction, before he turns back -- just in time to catch that //look// from his brother at Solomon, and a moment later, the response. Any good feeling about seeing his little cat friend is gone in an instant as his eyes widen. "No seas pendejo," he mutters under his breath as he reaches over to smack his brother's shoulder, a lot harder than Nacho had nudged him earlier. He doesn't dwell on it, though, focusing instead on Miel's question. "Um...don't //think// so," he replies. "Pretty sure they're all spirits. Spirits weren't people." Another pause. "Pretty sure." So, surely very comforting. He directs a smile to Gareth at the reply, even if he's not //totally// convinced, but he doesn't have time to say anything else before Solomon's taking on all comers. "Why don't you check your boy, too?" Nacho retorts, also in Spanish, before he turns back to Solomon, adopting an innocent expression and lifting his hands toward him, palms out, as he shuts up. The cat tilts its head, but definitely takes a photo of Solomon's middle finger. It perches near the glass lobby door and begins to lick its paw. Everything is starkly lit within the hotel. This definitely doesn't make anything /warmer/ or /cheery/. It just brings to attention how the paint curls down from the walls, revealing another gruesome layer of blood. The hallways seem to /throb/ with a heartbeat. The bill in Solomon's claws flutters briefly, as if caught in a sharp wind that fails to dislodge it. Just down the hallway, the glass walls of the gym and pool area are entirely fogged. From seemingly every direction, a sound rumbles, sharp gasps and bloody gurgles funneled into sibilant words that don't make sense. No one manages to escape the sudden grasp on their minds, though Javi can faintly recognize what's happening from past experience. Gareth finds himself beneath a grove of live oaks in what looks like a serene pasture. Only it's not all that serene, as the cold chill of muddy sand has locked his shins in place. He is steadily sinking in quicksand, and no amount of movement seems to help his situation. His senses are completely suffused in this scenario. Javi is alone, in a massive forest of towering, black trees. Well, they could be trees. They stretch so far up that Javi can't see the canopy. The ground is flat, nondescript, and a cool mist swirls around the trunks, so thick he can barely see his shoes. Strangely, he can still hear the sounds of the hotel. Solomon finds himself... in class! In the middle of a lecture. A lecture that he is apparently giving, as undergrads watch him with varying levels of attention. Everything is as it would be at the university-- except the smell. The first thing Miel endures is the frigid whip of wind against his face as he stands on the extremely narrow, frozen ledge of a mountain peak. A massive valley yawns below, all snow and ice, and the fingers that cling to the woefully smooth rock face behind him are already going numb. "Anything that doesn't wanna get used as ammo can get out of the way," Solomon tells Miel. He just gives Gareth a look that Darwin would recognize - the look that says the whole 'bank robbery' thing is getting entered in his 'tease about forever' database. "Listen to your brother, young man," he says cheerfully to Nacho. In perfectly serviceable Spanish. And as if that mocking 'young man' was enough to conjure something, he is plunged back into a familiar environment. But one that wasn't _there_ a moment ago. Solomon's cocky demeanor shifts, becomes confusion. He stares at the students, who are staring back at him. What had he been saying? Had his mind wandered? He sways in place. "...what is that smell?" Is what finally comes out. At least the smell feels...real? Gareth does not speak Spanish, so he just looks in confusion between Solomon and Nacho, apparently finally realizing that there's something going on there. His face twists at the look from Solomon, but he doesn't have a chance to answer him - verbally or otherwise - because suddenly he's... somewhere else. He struggles, unable to break free, his face going white as he realizes he's stuck and is probably going to die here like this. He screams. Miel looks down into the frigid depths beneath him in consternation and confusion. But the next feeling, predictably, is rage. He looks around, at the isolation, and stares at the jet fingers curling against the blank face of the mountain before him. His nostrils flare. He says, "Yeah, no." Moments ago, his friends were around him, but he was angled at the front of the pack, so he thinks none of them are probably in danger from this ... /probably/. Throwing back his head, he bellows in an unleashing of raw, autumn-hued rage: "You want a piece of this, huh? You want to see what I can do to a //fucking mountain//?" Solomon will never know Nacho's answer. Or at least, he won't know it right now. Neither will Javi, as it turns out, which might be a good thing, considering what's just happened. "//Fuck//!" He stumbles a half-step back when he's suddenly slammed into a misty forest, his eyes wide as his head jerks from side to side to try and get his bearings. It's only a moment or two later when he realizes he can still hear the hotel, though, and it seems to calm him somewhat. Enough not to panic, anyway. "Okay, okay," he murmurs, "you're fine. Hello?!" The last word is shouted -- maybe if he can hear the hotel, someone else will be able to hear //him//. "Sol? Gareth? Miel!" He pushes up the sleeve of his jacket, passing fingers across the eyes of the silver snake armband around his forearm, and his fingers wrap around it when it suddenly straightens out into a spear. "Nacho!" Solomon takes significant bashing and is now noticeably bruised. Javi takes significant bashing and is now noticeably bruised. Gareth takes significant bashing and is now noticeably bruised. The scent Solomon catches is the ambient scent of the hotel, which begins to make the illusion flicker. He begins to hear Javi's voice shouting for him, but it's Miel's thunderous quake that jars all of them out of it. The fancy tile of the hotel splits as Miel's fury lashes out in a shockwave, and while it knocks his friends clear off their feet, it completely frees them from their hallucinations. The glass walls of the gym shatter from the attack, shards digging into the far wall and bursting a few wall sconces. Miel draws aggro from the creature that emerges from the shattered gym. Few-too-many has obviously gorged itself on rage-flavored essence, and while it's not all that /bigger/ than when Javi and Gareth had seen it last, it's certainly... different. Roughly the size of an elephant, it keeps its shape as some kind of raccoon-possum hybrid, its body made up of paper bills that have gone a bit shredded, its chin and belly soaked in what looks like blood. The layers of coins that made up its scaled tail are sharp and jagged now, rather than rounded, and it walks on a set of long, spindly claws, coated in copper. Set in its skull are massive, glassy eyes with a sort of eerie amber glow at the center, one cracked. Gold, jagged fangs line the length of his massive jaws. It's on Miel in an instant, jerking to sling its coin-bladed tail into the changeling's middle and tearing into that cat shirt. Javi takes some bashing and is now noticeably bruised. Solomon takes some bashing and is now noticeably bruised. "Son of a bitch!" Which is an exclamation that would get Solomon in QUITE a lot of trouble if he were actually in a classroom. Luckily, he's not; he's just thrown to the ground with bruising force as the illusion shatters around him. He briefly seems to manifest extra limbs to flip himself back up on to his feet and takes in the situation with a glance. He stares at Few-too-many as it attacks Miel. Then the professor's face breaks into a snarl and he launches himself at the spirit while it's distracted with trying to tail-slice Miel. Miel's shirt shreds, but he's not too concerned about that. He's borne back instantly by the creature and as the hallucination shatters around him he realizes in alarm the level of hazard that he has inflicted not just on the monstrosity but on his own friends, and it's a cold wash of that realization the slakes the environmental wrath of autumn, reducing the shuddering quake that is smashing the living hell out of the building. "Rrf--" he growls-- And he begins to swell, growing in size as his muscles shift and expand, his height increasing, his shoulders broadening, even his head elongating and growing more ogrish and monstrous. This thing wants to play with him, he'll play. The real question is how his pants survive this expansion of self but the answer is probably just magic. "//FUCK!//" It's half-freaked out, half-pained, as Javi is jolted back to reality -- such as it is -- by the sudden earthquake. He comes to just as one of those sconces shatters above him and the mount is ripped free, crashing down and knocking him form his feet onto the floor. He grunts as the breath leaves him, but somehow he manages to hang onto that silver spear. Sure, maybe he'll never actually be able to let go of it now because his hand is forever clenched into a fist, but at least he still has a weapon. He manages to scramble to his feet just as Solomon springs for that horrifying creature that's now attacking Miel. He doesn't spend time thinking -- the only thing he does is take one moment to get his bearings before he's lunging toward, too, heaving the spear toward the giant possum-creature. Of course, that's right about when Miel starts //growing// right in front of his eyes, and he gasps, nearly losing his nerve. Gareth manages to summon enough wherewithal to take cover as the world seems to rain shrapnel. He even gets company! The camera cat shimmies over to join him beside toppled service cart. "This is exciting!" it says. Solomon's claws catch in the bills of Few-too-many's flesh, and this is not the kind of pain it's familiar with. It /screams/, a deafening, warped sound as Solomon rends and shreds and-- makes it bleed molten nickel. As Miel moves to bring some brutish might, it manages to twist out of the way, hissing and slamming into the walls. This hallway really isn't meant for elephant-sized spirits. Javi's silver spear flashes with an unnatural light and grows warm in his hand as he hurls it towards the thrashing spirit. It's caught in the neck, the spear sinking about halfway before completely shattering from the force, the small explosion ripping bills away. It's not looking too hot! But it's super pissed! And it's going straight for Solomon now, lunging to try and rake its massive claws from throat to hip. Solomon takes significant lethal and is now severely bruised and bleeding. Solomon lets out a sound. It's not a howl or any sort of mammal's call - it's a high-pitched, insectile _buzz_ of pain and rage as the spirit rakes him from collarbone to his thigh, only his twisting keeping it from opening up the soft flesh of his stomach. Blood spills, the Lost's vital fluids mingling with the blood of what spirits have already bled here. Solomon bares his teeth and falls into a defensive posture. "You want some, you ridiculous, penurious excuse for emotional dregs? Come get it! I'm right fucking here and I'm not dead yet!" Miel bellows in ogrish outrage as he loses the attention of the monster and it moves for Solomon. No!! "Hey!" he yells. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size," he //literally says this out loud// as he lunges after the creature, trying to slam one giant foot down on its tail to impede its movement. At least however brutish the grotesquerie of Miel is that he has become in these moments, he reassuringly sounds like Miel: i.e., kind of lame. He's definitely going to take notes on Sol's trash talk game later. Javi grunts as the spear leaves his hand and shatters in the thing's neck, and he falls back, wincing as he struggles to catch his breath. He looks frantically around for something else to use -- there's plenty of rubble to choose from -- but before he can that thing is making its way to Solomon and attempting to rend him in two. "NO!" he screams, shoving himself to his feet and lunging forward to do...well, something. What he thinks he's going to do is not apparent, and actually he isn't able to do anything, because the benefit of his brother being corporeal is that he can catch his arm to hold him back. "Don't!" Look, it's not because he doesn't really mind if Solomon bites it. He just has his ghostly priorities. However, he doesn't look //gleeful// about the man's injuries or anything. Actually, he's looking pretty determined, and he turns quickly toward Watcher-with-claws. "You helping or what?!" he exclaims at the little photo-taking spirit. "Matter of time," Few-too-many snaps. "Are the wolves recruiting the witch-twisted creatures now?" Solomon's injuries don't help with his threat, but it's enough to draw the spirit's attention. "Are you so different, fear-eater?" Miel tries to STOMP its tail, but it's alert enough to move it, lift it, and leave it poised like a viper. "Are /you/?" it asks Miel, marble eyes shining. Just in case anyone was ever charmed by this damn cat, Watcher-with-claws shakes his head. It is a selfish spirit, after all. "No. It's more fun to watch," it says to Nacho. Javi can feel warmth in his palm again, and finds the spear rematerialized and whole, just as Few-too-many lurches forth to bring its jaws down upon Solomon's shoulder. Solomon takes some lethal and is now severely bruised and bleeding. Those teeth sink down into Solomon's shoulder despite the way the Lost _blurs_ to try and avoid them, and tear pieces of flesh away. Solomon makes that insectile keen of pain again, and tears himself free, panting and bleeding. "Don't. Care," he says, spitting each word. "You're fucking with what is MINE." And then the professor transforms. It is not a pretty transformation but it is mercifully brief. His torso bulges out and new, horribly serrated limbs burst from his ribcage as it elongates into a bulbous, monstrous abdomen and thorax. His arms wither, exposing bone that turns to exoskeleton as he grows in size - not quite to the proportions of Few-Too-Many, closer to a bear. He is a twisted and gargantuan spider thing - except for his head, which is a misshapen mix of man and tiger, with a multitude of pale blue eyes and horrifically sharp teeth. Now, he rears back on his back four legs and waggles the front four at the spirit, despite the ichor dripping from him. "Bring it, asshole." "Nah," Miel says, closing one hand in a huge, ogrish fist. He smiles with teeth that shine like pearl. "We're both monsters," he tells Few-too-many with a little loft of his head. "But I'm a monster with //friends//." If at first you don't succeed-- --Miel lunges forward to thrust his ogrish arms for the center mass of the creature, teeth bared in the rictus of a grin that has more to do with mania than triumph. Power of friendship indeed; he moves to wrestle the monstrosity into his arms in hopes of rendering it more vulnerable to the others. Javi is not particularly happy to find himself being stymied by his perpetual hanger-on, and his mouth twists as he wrenches himself out of his brother's grip just as that spear materializes in his hand again. "Shut the FUCK UP!" he exclaims at the thing when it decides to say //horrible things// to his //friends//, and he throws himself forward so he can take a running start to heave the spear toward it again. Few-too-many cannot emote very well with its jagged maw and wide, unblinking eyes, but it sure seems startled by the sudden shift of Solomon's body, and the way its teeth are being forced apart by carapace. It draws back with a sharp hiss as legs flare before it, and the odd amber glow of its gaze shifts towards the lobby door, like it's contemplating flight. Not that it can go anywhere with Miel's hulking arms wrapped around it's neck. It begins to thrash, and that terrible bolt of silver flashes, driving into its skull with such an impact that part of its head gets blown off, a bill-covered ear and eye socket twisting away, marble shattering. A horrible splatter of nickel blood lashes Miel, the molten metal searing his skin. It doesn't move, failing to contest Miel's grip, entirely focused on trying to regenerate. Solomon can see its otherworldly flesh beginning to knit together. It curses all the while, frayed and panicked, and some of the spirits of the hotel have come out to watch, peering around corners or through the lamps or from within the nearby pool. Miel takes significant lethal and is now noticeably bleeding. Regenerate? Solomon's teeth (and there are SO MANY TEETH) show as his mouth gapes wide. He lunges forward and begins to rip and tear with teeth and serrated leg, trying to rend the spirit into pieces. Things may get eaten. But he manages enough present of mind to hiss, "Bury it in false money!" Then it's nom-nom-nom time for giant spider thing. Miel makes a noise best transcribed as "Gnyaar," as the searing pain rockets through his body. He can feel the marble of his skin threatening to scorch and melt under the extreme heat, and the seep of blood and cracking stone is distracting, but it's not enough to stop him from trying to control the grapple and wrestle the creature down. Under the crushing weight of Miel's arms, he saps strength from the very creature he is fighting. The muscles bulge and twist, rippling unnaturally in his shoulders and back as he surges against the monster, gripping it and holding it steady like a large stone corn on the cob holder for Solomon's convenience. Javi stumbles forward as the spear leaves his hand, and there's a triumphant flash of a grin as it strikes exactly where he'd intended it to. But then it's //regenerating//, and //still// hurting Miel, and this time the sound from him is strangled outrage. "You //asshole!//" His head jerks toward Solomon at the reminder -- he'll freak out about the man's current form later, maybe -- and since his spear is gone for the moment he shoves a hand into his pocket and digs out that monopoly money, dumping it on the thing. And then grabbing one of the fake bills and rubbing it into whatever bleeding wound he can on it for good measure. Solomon's serrated legs and fangs dig into the corn on the cob, fast and deep and relentless. It wasn't lasting much longer after that string of devastating blows. Few-too-many shrieks, it's silvery blood spilling from its maw as Solomon just carves away at the spirit-stuff that makes up its flesh. All it takes is for Javi to shove that lone monopoly bill into the scalding wound for Few-too-many to burst. It dies in a vicious explosion of bills and coins and molten metal, dashing the walls and slinging change at dangerous speeds. Watcher-with-claws takes a photo. Click-click. Miel takes some lethal and is now noticeably bleeding. Javi takes some lethal and is now noticeably bruised and bleeding. Solomon takes some lethal and is now severely bruised and bleeding. Solomon attempts to leap back on all eight legs when the spirit explodes, but not fast enough - molten metal hisses and eats through exoskeleton and skin, and hideous black ichor bubbles out from the wounds as he's pelted with high speed coin to boot. "Fuck you," he mutters, but it lacks his usual devil-may-care venom. Instead, all his legs tremble, and with a sound that's very much like a whimper, Sol collapses back into his regular form, bleeding and smoking. Miel - wrapped around the creature as he is - falls back on his ass with a heavy impact as molten metal and whistling shrapnel of coin explode in all directions. He sits there for a moment, huge and dazed, his lips parted and working for a beat. His gaze rolls to the side as he looks around. As the danger seems to be fading, the elemental might that infused his body and muscles dwindles, leaving him melting down into his slim limbs and weary bones. He sits there, a little toppled and hazy looking. Javi is thrown back when the thing explodes, and his back hits the floor as the wind is knocked out of him for the second time tonight. He lies there dazed for a second or two, blinking up at the weird-looking ceiling, before he shakes his head quickly and pushes himself up to sit. "Sol! Miel, you okay?!" He winces, moving as quickly as he can to check the man that's just collapsed, snapping his fingers quickly at the very corporeal ghost. "Help," he directs at Nacho as he starts to assess Solomon's damage first since he looks immediately worse off. His brother, mercifully, doesn't argue -- he might not actually know anything about emergency medicine, but he's at least solid enough to offer Miel some support to get up, or do any very basic things. "I'm okay," Miel mumbles, regardless of the actual state of affairs. Assurance seems more important than reality somehow, as though by willing it, he can make it so. //I'm okay. We're okay.// Between gashes and burns, he's not looking great, but he's by far not the worst off among them, since he was the one who created the earthquake problem in the first place. He reaches for Javi to clasp his arm, fingers questing for human contact as he lifts wide dark eyes towards him, panting a little as he goes, "Are you okay? Javi?" "Alive," Sol tells Javi. He's not even going to try for 'fine'. Nor does he push Javi away from fussing like he might otherwise. "Everybody alive?" There's a look around as he tries to wobble his way to his feet. "We...shouldn't linger. I'm sure weakness draws predators. Someone grab Mr. Evans." He's sore wounded - but not wounded enough not to carefully kick a piece of Few-Too-Many and say, "Beat you. Asshole." Watcher-with-claws zips off through the lobby doors. Javi can only stem so much bleeding. He certainly can't stop Solomon from /getting up/. But man, he has been getting some great hands-on experience lately! He better ace that exam! The lingering spirit-stuff evaporates when Solomon kicks at it. Not a trace. Watcher-with-claws returns with Darwin, who is predictably dramatic about everything, but eventually pulls himself together enough to pull folk back through the Gauntlet. | |