Monster Mash - Pack Dynamics Part III
Oct. 31st, 2021 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsAmerica Fights Werewolves.
Backdated to October 31st, 2021. The long-awaited climax to the Werewolf Story started here: https://xp-logs.dreamwidth.org/4169670.html#cutid1.
The shadows under the trees were still impenetrable as an owl screeched in a tree, before flapping away, briefly outlined against the night sky.
The school's Back to School clubs and society's stands had been largely packed down and the crowds from earlier in the evening were gone. The field was eerily empty.
America strolled through the field, on the edge of whistling a jaunty tune.
There was movement in the woods surrounding the field and crouched figures entered, moving unnaturally, hunched. Werewolves, all halfway between wolf and human.They moved slower now than they had earlier in the night, having eaten and run already.
She stopped to do some stretches, did a quick Sun Salutation to limber up. Then America smacked her right fist into her left hand with a wholly satisfied grin. "You ready yet?"
The field returned no noise to her - not a howl, not a snuffle, not the slithering sound of wet grass on fur. It was deathly silent, the moon casting strange shadows on the tall grass. The hunched figures stood unmoving, silent and satiated by flesh and blood, and one by one they dropped into the shadows.
America's shout echoed back to her "Ready yet... yet... yet" and then the field was a flood of noises. Snarls and snapping teeth and growls and high pitched yelps and more than anything the sound of wolves howling a battle cry. At the head of the pack, one lone half-man half-wolf stood, face still smeared red and black with blood and bared his teeth. "You are one of them, aren't you?" He growled, barely understandable. "You have always hated us, and always hunted us, and you are alone tonight." Kyle shook his furry head, and dropped to all fours, shifting to leap at America, claws and teeth bared.
"Ahh, m'ijo, hate is such a strong word." She spread her hands. "You can always come with me peacefully, we have a rehabilitation camp. It'll be fun!"
Artie ran at the girl, dodging past his pack leader and the rest of the pack, teeth bared. He lept and struck, landing hard.
America redirected him straight into the ground. "Lesson time, once you're airborne, you've committed, and I can change your direction quite easily." He landed hard, skidding across the ground and lying stunned.
A bush ruffled in the wind just beyond the treeline.
Kyle let momentum take him past America, and skidded around to charge again, teeth snapping at her legs. His growl was deep bass, and then he howled, and the pack was upon America as a whole, snarling and howling and all bright teeth and slashing claws.
Silver flashed, a dark, wet scent filled the air. America spun around, knives in each hand.
She had knives. Artie attacked again, newly cautious. He could smell the silver in the knives.
She twisted her body out of the way, hands flashed up to slash at the femoral and brachial arteries. She turned the twist into a roll and popped to her feet to face the other one.
How could any one woman... Kyle bit back another howl to summon anymore of his pack, and leapt upon her, tearing with teeth and claw and somehow always missing. He snarled in pain every time the flashing knife cut into his flanks, and eventually fell, blood oozing out of countless wounds.
America hammered her knife down into the leader's chest, under the diaphragm and up into the heart. Then she twisted and jerked to the right, shredding it to be sure. Magic burst from the corpse, slamming into the rest of the pack. America waited cautiously.
And then finally, after all of that, the night was silent once again. It could almost be mistaken for peaceful, in that moment, if it wasn't for the noxious smell of coppery blood that cloyed heavily on the air.
Everything was silent and preternaturally still.
Then there was a ruffling of leaves and the moon ducked behind clouds, if only for a moment. And then there was once again a second person on the field. One hand hanging off the pocket of a pair of yellow short shorts, the other tucked into the center pocket of a grey school hoodie, she just stood, looking over the field of bodies impassively.
America pulled a pack of baby wipes out of her pocket and started cleaning her hands. "That was a good tip, thanks, m'ija."
The figure in the hoodie tilted their head to one side. "You doubted me and yet came anyway?" she asked, confusion evident.
America shrugged. "People were getting hurt, dying. I had to take every chance to end it."
"Noble of you," the girl said, although she didn't sound sarcastic. She just sounded... sad.
"It's a dirty job," she said. She flopped on a clean spot on the ground, patted the spot next to her. "Pull up some dirt."
The figure did. A shock of strawberry blonde hair fell out the shadowed-over hood. "Thanks," she said, so quiet it was almost immediately lost to the night.
"Feel any better?" America asked softly.
"I thought I would," the figure said, honestly. "I thought... I don't know what I thought, I guess."
America let the silence fall over them, taking comfort in the cool-down.
The silence was nice, and the two just enjoyed the sound of quiet breathing. But nothing could last forever, and the silence was no different.
"Are you not going to ask me why I did it?" the figure asked, eventually.
"Nah, but if you need to tell someone, go ahead." America stared up at the stars, gently waiting.
A very wolf-like growl erupted from the back of the hooded person's throat. She pounded a fist on the ground. "I hate them. I hate them I hate them IhatethemIhatethemI HATE THEM!"
"They took EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The figure roared, fists clenching at the earth. In one smooth motion, she threw back her hood, and the blue eyes of Alison Blaire stared back. Well, blue eye, at any rate.
While her left eye was the same shining sapphire that America saw daily, the right was changed. Instead of a matching blue, it was a brilliant, smouldering amber yellow. A silvery rope of scar ran from above the right eye across her face and down, past her lips and around her chin to disappear under the neck of the hoodie trending towards the left. It looked healed, but fresh, as the edges still had a hint of angry red dusting the unmarred flesh. It was a dramatic injury that would be impossible to hide and would likely never fade, had she still been normal. As it was, even wolf regeneration might not be enough for it.
"Half my face was hanging off, when they finally climbed off me, you know that? One of my legs had all been torn off, too." She gestured to her thigh. Just above the knee was another rope of silvery flesh, looking at a glance like an argent garter.
"One of them..." Alison took a deep breath, gasping and ragged. "One of them said I 'deserved' to join them. That I was a 'survivor'." she spat the word like it tasted foul. "A predator, like them." There was a long pause. "Like now I was 'worth something'." she swallowed heavily. Twice. Three times. "I-- Sorry. They take the only thing I've got going for me, and then act like they've done me a favor. What a joke."
America continued to listen, letting the girl go on. She sounded like she needed to get it out.
"I'm not stupid, you know. Not deaf, either." Alison sat up, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I hear what people say, when they think I'm not listening. 'Bimbo' is my favorite. Some of the others are partial to airhead, as if that's somehow better." There was a bitter snort. "I've had more than one person explain blonde jokes to me. I'm not even a natural blonde," she laugh-cried, venom in every intonation. "but apparently 'redhead jokes' aren't a thing."
"I'm not smart . Not enough for an academic scholarship. Daddy doesn't make enough to pay for college. Maybe, maybe, if I was lucky I could have gotten something through cheer, but in a backwoods town like this even that was unlikely. I've seen the statistics." Her shoulders slumped, and all the tension she'd carried since her outburst left her between moments. "Realistically I only had maybe ten to fifteen more years anyway, but, well..." she ghosted a hand over the scars, flinching at their touch. "...I guess plans change."
There was a very long pause. At last, her voice was very quiet, and very small. "...they should have just finished it the first time." She buried her face in her knees and cried.
America hesitantly reached out to awkwardly pat Alison's back. "Being average isn't that bad?" But her comforting skills definitely were.
Somehow, that seemed like the wrong thing to say, as Alison just cried harder. It was a nasty, ugly cry that sent wracking shudders all up and down her frame, and she trembled like a leaf in a storm.
Eventually, the silence of the night overtook them both and the wracking sobs trailed off. Alison just... felt exhausted. Like the part of her that didn't die in the attack was ready to just lay down and not get up again. She was just so tired. Honestly, maybe it was better this way.
"Funny you don't realize what you've got until it's gone, huh?" Alison asked, drying an eye with the back of her hand. "Thank you," Alison said, and she never meant anything more in her life. "For being so kind to me. I think I'm ready now."
America stood and clapped her hands. "Great, my van is parked at the school. I'm sure Dr. Voigt will yell at me for not getting you to her sooner, so don't be surprised. She's just grouchy in general."
Something in Alison's brain popped. It was the only thing that made sense, because whatever it was that America just said absolutely didn't.
"...what? I don't..." ...understand, she tried to bring herself to say, but couldn't, because somehow despite everything, she did. America wasn't about to kill her. She was... going to live?
She just couldn't let herself believe it. Not yet.
"Yeah you do. Now come on. There are some people you should meet." And with that, she turned and walked away from the chaos of the night.
Alison stood, brushed herself off, and slowly followed.
Backdated to October 31st, 2021. The long-awaited climax to the Werewolf Story started here: https://xp-logs.dreamwidth.org/4169670.html#cutid1.
The shadows under the trees were still impenetrable as an owl screeched in a tree, before flapping away, briefly outlined against the night sky.
The school's Back to School clubs and society's stands had been largely packed down and the crowds from earlier in the evening were gone. The field was eerily empty.
America strolled through the field, on the edge of whistling a jaunty tune.
There was movement in the woods surrounding the field and crouched figures entered, moving unnaturally, hunched. Werewolves, all halfway between wolf and human.They moved slower now than they had earlier in the night, having eaten and run already.
She stopped to do some stretches, did a quick Sun Salutation to limber up. Then America smacked her right fist into her left hand with a wholly satisfied grin. "You ready yet?"
The field returned no noise to her - not a howl, not a snuffle, not the slithering sound of wet grass on fur. It was deathly silent, the moon casting strange shadows on the tall grass. The hunched figures stood unmoving, silent and satiated by flesh and blood, and one by one they dropped into the shadows.
America's shout echoed back to her "Ready yet... yet... yet" and then the field was a flood of noises. Snarls and snapping teeth and growls and high pitched yelps and more than anything the sound of wolves howling a battle cry. At the head of the pack, one lone half-man half-wolf stood, face still smeared red and black with blood and bared his teeth. "You are one of them, aren't you?" He growled, barely understandable. "You have always hated us, and always hunted us, and you are alone tonight." Kyle shook his furry head, and dropped to all fours, shifting to leap at America, claws and teeth bared.
"Ahh, m'ijo, hate is such a strong word." She spread her hands. "You can always come with me peacefully, we have a rehabilitation camp. It'll be fun!"
Artie ran at the girl, dodging past his pack leader and the rest of the pack, teeth bared. He lept and struck, landing hard.
America redirected him straight into the ground. "Lesson time, once you're airborne, you've committed, and I can change your direction quite easily." He landed hard, skidding across the ground and lying stunned.
A bush ruffled in the wind just beyond the treeline.
Kyle let momentum take him past America, and skidded around to charge again, teeth snapping at her legs. His growl was deep bass, and then he howled, and the pack was upon America as a whole, snarling and howling and all bright teeth and slashing claws.
Silver flashed, a dark, wet scent filled the air. America spun around, knives in each hand.
She had knives. Artie attacked again, newly cautious. He could smell the silver in the knives.
She twisted her body out of the way, hands flashed up to slash at the femoral and brachial arteries. She turned the twist into a roll and popped to her feet to face the other one.
How could any one woman... Kyle bit back another howl to summon anymore of his pack, and leapt upon her, tearing with teeth and claw and somehow always missing. He snarled in pain every time the flashing knife cut into his flanks, and eventually fell, blood oozing out of countless wounds.
America hammered her knife down into the leader's chest, under the diaphragm and up into the heart. Then she twisted and jerked to the right, shredding it to be sure. Magic burst from the corpse, slamming into the rest of the pack. America waited cautiously.
And then finally, after all of that, the night was silent once again. It could almost be mistaken for peaceful, in that moment, if it wasn't for the noxious smell of coppery blood that cloyed heavily on the air.
Everything was silent and preternaturally still.
Then there was a ruffling of leaves and the moon ducked behind clouds, if only for a moment. And then there was once again a second person on the field. One hand hanging off the pocket of a pair of yellow short shorts, the other tucked into the center pocket of a grey school hoodie, she just stood, looking over the field of bodies impassively.
America pulled a pack of baby wipes out of her pocket and started cleaning her hands. "That was a good tip, thanks, m'ija."
The figure in the hoodie tilted their head to one side. "You doubted me and yet came anyway?" she asked, confusion evident.
America shrugged. "People were getting hurt, dying. I had to take every chance to end it."
"Noble of you," the girl said, although she didn't sound sarcastic. She just sounded... sad.
"It's a dirty job," she said. She flopped on a clean spot on the ground, patted the spot next to her. "Pull up some dirt."
The figure did. A shock of strawberry blonde hair fell out the shadowed-over hood. "Thanks," she said, so quiet it was almost immediately lost to the night.
"Feel any better?" America asked softly.
"I thought I would," the figure said, honestly. "I thought... I don't know what I thought, I guess."
America let the silence fall over them, taking comfort in the cool-down.
The silence was nice, and the two just enjoyed the sound of quiet breathing. But nothing could last forever, and the silence was no different.
"Are you not going to ask me why I did it?" the figure asked, eventually.
"Nah, but if you need to tell someone, go ahead." America stared up at the stars, gently waiting.
A very wolf-like growl erupted from the back of the hooded person's throat. She pounded a fist on the ground. "I hate them. I hate them I hate them IhatethemIhatethemI HATE THEM!"
"They took EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The figure roared, fists clenching at the earth. In one smooth motion, she threw back her hood, and the blue eyes of Alison Blaire stared back. Well, blue eye, at any rate.
While her left eye was the same shining sapphire that America saw daily, the right was changed. Instead of a matching blue, it was a brilliant, smouldering amber yellow. A silvery rope of scar ran from above the right eye across her face and down, past her lips and around her chin to disappear under the neck of the hoodie trending towards the left. It looked healed, but fresh, as the edges still had a hint of angry red dusting the unmarred flesh. It was a dramatic injury that would be impossible to hide and would likely never fade, had she still been normal. As it was, even wolf regeneration might not be enough for it.
"Half my face was hanging off, when they finally climbed off me, you know that? One of my legs had all been torn off, too." She gestured to her thigh. Just above the knee was another rope of silvery flesh, looking at a glance like an argent garter.
"One of them..." Alison took a deep breath, gasping and ragged. "One of them said I 'deserved' to join them. That I was a 'survivor'." she spat the word like it tasted foul. "A predator, like them." There was a long pause. "Like now I was 'worth something'." she swallowed heavily. Twice. Three times. "I-- Sorry. They take the only thing I've got going for me, and then act like they've done me a favor. What a joke."
America continued to listen, letting the girl go on. She sounded like she needed to get it out.
"I'm not stupid, you know. Not deaf, either." Alison sat up, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I hear what people say, when they think I'm not listening. 'Bimbo' is my favorite. Some of the others are partial to airhead, as if that's somehow better." There was a bitter snort. "I've had more than one person explain blonde jokes to me. I'm not even a natural blonde," she laugh-cried, venom in every intonation. "but apparently 'redhead jokes' aren't a thing."
"I'm not smart . Not enough for an academic scholarship. Daddy doesn't make enough to pay for college. Maybe, maybe, if I was lucky I could have gotten something through cheer, but in a backwoods town like this even that was unlikely. I've seen the statistics." Her shoulders slumped, and all the tension she'd carried since her outburst left her between moments. "Realistically I only had maybe ten to fifteen more years anyway, but, well..." she ghosted a hand over the scars, flinching at their touch. "...I guess plans change."
There was a very long pause. At last, her voice was very quiet, and very small. "...they should have just finished it the first time." She buried her face in her knees and cried.
America hesitantly reached out to awkwardly pat Alison's back. "Being average isn't that bad?" But her comforting skills definitely were.
Somehow, that seemed like the wrong thing to say, as Alison just cried harder. It was a nasty, ugly cry that sent wracking shudders all up and down her frame, and she trembled like a leaf in a storm.
Eventually, the silence of the night overtook them both and the wracking sobs trailed off. Alison just... felt exhausted. Like the part of her that didn't die in the attack was ready to just lay down and not get up again. She was just so tired. Honestly, maybe it was better this way.
"Funny you don't realize what you've got until it's gone, huh?" Alison asked, drying an eye with the back of her hand. "Thank you," Alison said, and she never meant anything more in her life. "For being so kind to me. I think I'm ready now."
America stood and clapped her hands. "Great, my van is parked at the school. I'm sure Dr. Voigt will yell at me for not getting you to her sooner, so don't be surprised. She's just grouchy in general."
Something in Alison's brain popped. It was the only thing that made sense, because whatever it was that America just said absolutely didn't.
"...what? I don't..." ...understand, she tried to bring herself to say, but couldn't, because somehow despite everything, she did. America wasn't about to kill her. She was... going to live?
She just couldn't let herself believe it. Not yet.
"Yeah you do. Now come on. There are some people you should meet." And with that, she turned and walked away from the chaos of the night.
Alison stood, brushed herself off, and slowly followed.
