City of Shadows Mux City of Shadows Mux

John Survives Frenzy Tillo
Players John and Lilith as ST	31 May, 2022
Tillo makes John nervous. There's no hiding that, no disputing that. That aura of wrongness, of *hunger* about him, gets the young Rahu's hackles up. Still, he knew someone would have to face the music, so he arranged the meet. Even now, as he makes his way through the Undercity, he doesn't regret that. He comes dressed for the meeting in slacks and a button-up shirt, carrying a pair of leather dress boots in a small drawstring gym bag. Just outside the Oubliette, he stops to remove the hip-waders he recently ordered for this purpose, and exchange them for footwear that better matches his attire. Boots and bag hidden as best he can in a small alcove in the wall (and a resigned look given them, as he knows full well they may disappear during this meeting), he presents himself at the hatch. "Aziha Zuu," he announces himself, "To see Prince Tillo Protz. I am expected." The Fetcher is there, the shrouded woman in the layered cloth that conceals a body twisted by Embrace. Quiet and neutral, she inclines her head to John, then slips into the Oubliette, the thinking place, and after a moment, she returns to beckon John into the darkness within. Tillo is there, of course, thoughtful upon his moldering throne built from the ruin of what once was. The cloak/cape made from the skin of the fire-touched it draped casually over one corner of the throne, the scythe leaning against the other. There are no words, but the beast seethes beneath the surface and those undead, flat eyes follow every motion. John closes his eyes, centers himself, and feels the Moon's blessing flow through him. He manages a polite nod for Tillo's minion on her return, then steps inside. He was expecting the tanned skin this time, the scythe, and schools himself to look instead at Tillo. "Prince," he greets, with a deferential dip of his head. "I expected you might want to speak to someone, after the debacle with the ~Demon~, and the conflagration," he offers, "And so I set this date as fast as I could, to answer such questions as I could and to discuss how we might avoid similar problems in the future." Silence is allowed to reign, Tillo as still as a statue until he rises and starts to move towards where John is. Overly long limbs and that skeletal thinness, that gauntness, giving the movements an unsettling slant. Unnatural. "You know, *John*. You are proving very good at fucking things up, aren't you?" "You kill one of the wolves helping me protect the city." "No one can speak to me of your strength or leadership." "The whole eastern side of the Undercity has been smoldering for days." "And *now* there is a dead kindred, killed by wolven claws, that no one bothered to inform me of." John manages not to flinch as Tillo stands, as the monster starts toward him. He wants to remain impassive, to look past the prince, but he can't keep his eyes from following the Nosferatu's approach. "That's one way of looking at it," John manages, perhaps even steadily, "But I think that point of view is..." He takes in a breath, lets it out slowly, "Purposeful." He turns his head slightly to continue following Tillo's progress, and goes on: "It seems to me that you may have found yourself at cross-purposes with those 'wolves helping you protect the city' recently, as..." He steels himself, glancing at the skin, "I warned you that you eventually would. I think much of this could have been avoided if you and I had a working agreement. An arrangement between us -- you and my pack." "An arrangement? We HAD one, John." Tillo snarls, stepping forward to close that last distance. His fangs are sizeable, bestial - fitting to him, but still dangerous and displayed. "You step up or replace the Pure I was working with. Prove you can do it." "And the only thing I get is fire and.... *bullshit*." So rare to see any expression him and here he is, spluttering in his rage. Long fingered hands wrap themselves around the wolf's shoulders and stalking steps try to drive him back towards the wall of the Oubliette. "Give me a *reason*, John." One way or the other. John's heels scrape in the mud, unable to find purchase on the stone of the Oubliette as he is lifted and driven back against the wall. His eyes, for a split second, are wild, hands flinch toward Tillo's forearms as a reaction, but he steels himself, and in the end he reaches up very intentionally to hold onto the Crone as he is driven back toward the wall. "We did *not* reach an agreement," he counters, through clenched teeth, "Because you held the ~Anshega~ too close, Prince. I'm sure you'll recall," he grunts as his back hits the wall, "I insisted you cut ties with them before my Pack could enter into such an arrangement." His toes stretch, scrabbling to find purchase, but he quickly realizes he is going to be held just above the ground, and will not be seen to squirm. "We can be your allies in this, and help Chicago see that you paid a price for all of our safety. Or..." He meets Tillo's eyes again, finally, "...Not." The grip tightens, fingertips digging into shoulders painfully before they seem to lock there - bruising and painful, but not display the full, inhuman strength of the vigored Prince. There's so much of the monster on his face, in his eyes and that display of temper... There's no doubt his best is in control - likely in frenzy since the Allthing. Riding the waves. "You do not want me as an enemy." "*FIX* it." a hard shove against the wall and Tillo releases him to turn back towards the throne. "Or join the Fire-Touched." The skin. John sees that shove coming in time to empty his lungs before he hits the wall, and manages to land steady on his feet when he is released. Once Tillo's back is turned, he takes a moment, breathing steadily, straightening his jacket, his tie. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out. "And your protection of the Pure has ended? We will coordinate -- the Undercity and the Steelmaws -- to keep the spirits that spill out of the Wound from threatening the city?" He does his best to keep an even tone, though there fear and rage claw at one another beneath the surface. Tillo is a monster, and perhaps the greatest John has faced. He is Full Moon, though, and one day seeks to die in glorious battle against just such an enemy. "The only thing you need to concern yourself with, John, is digging your way out of the sizeable hole you have landed yourself and your pack in." "You want me to put my faith in you? Show me you can clean up this mess. SHOW ME you are worth my trust." "The 'mess' is a concern for both of us," John counters. "A concern and an opportunity. I saw what happened at the Allthing. I know there are those who need a reminder of what you do for Chicago." He's not comfortable, now, but he's finding his feet. "My packmate, Midnight, will sing the song of the death of the ~Demon~; you have not been recognized for your role in that death. Your contribution was ignored. You were slighted." "We can fix that, but..." Aziha Zuu takes another deep breath, steeling himself, "I am not your errand boy. I will work with you -- in this *and* in tending the Wound, but not while you shelter my enemies." "I don't care if my contribution is known." "I care that an abundance of anything down here brings that thing through. Too much water? Too much blood? Hate? You'll never hear me complain about a spirit of happiness. But we never get those." "They're a tool. A means to an end. If you want me to get rid them, then you need to step up and replace them. Make them unnecessary to my work down here. Show me they are old and redundant and have no purpose. I -cannot- afford a lapse in care for the Undercity. I don't have that luxury." "SHOW ME you CAN do it. Without making a bigger mess." "They're a poor tool," John counters, "And I offered you a better." He pauses a moment, turns on his heel, and starts for the door. "The Steelmaws will see to the Wound as well, in our way. If we should come across your tool in that capacity, we will break it. As for the rest..." He sighs, "...It's not my job to tell you what's going on in the rest of the city. I'll try to minimize collateral damage here, to the degree that I can, but my first concern is the Wound -- just like yours." "Mmm." The sound low, a back of the throat growl as the nosferatu resumes his thoughtful pose upon his throne, settling back and looking like he should be creaking. "We will see."