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xp_logsSomewhere in the Adirondacks, a fading star plans for reignition.
"I don't care if it is non-union, I expect craft services to be on site. Ulysses Bloodstone is not cheap, nor does he fail to compensate his crew. And gluten-free options are non-negotiable. People have all sorts of intolerances these days."
Vera ended the call without allowing the PA to reply. As a woman burdened with the birth name of Verussa she had long since ceased to care about the opinion of others. With a heavy sigh she turned to her husband.
"Honestly, darling, I thought I'd made myself clear to these people," she said as she brushed a dark curl from her immaculately plucked brows. "Top tier working conditions attract top tier talent. Substandard conditions, on the other hand, can lose it. I've told them you deserve nothing but the best, and I will accept no less."
"Our castle was established by my ancestor, Augustus Bloodstone, based on his knowledge of the arcane and the hunt. He stood athwart the darkness and- athwart? Is that the correct term? Yes. Yes. Athwart the darkness and through years of struggle and pools of blood carved out our legacy. And now, I do this from a former car lot in upstate New York. I don't like it." Ulyssus said, his chest puffed out. He was many things, but he hated the weak lies that his career required now. The last few years hadn't been kind to his career. “The Legendary Hunts of Bloodstone” had been cancelled after three seasons, and his ill-fated foray into Hollywood had earned him nothing but ridicule and two Razzies. His poorly chosen appearances on 'Dancing With The Stars' and 'Chopped' had made him all but a pariah for producers and networks. He'd returned back to his home, brooding at his now hopeless future.
And then Vera had appeared.
"Darling." His wife swept over to him, for it was one of Vera's many talents that she could sweep even in a tasteful chiffon pantsuit. "The day I turned on the television and saw that underdone rack of lamb with its ill conceived pineapple reduction I recognized a man of vision. Of ambition. Of unparalleled skill in the bedroom. A man who only needed someone to handle the little details for him to achieve his true potential." Vera gave Ulysses' arm a reassuring caress. "The Adirondacks may not have the venerable historicity you're accustomed to, but I assure you the quarry will more than make up for it. Even Augustus Bloodstone has never seen a hunt like this."
"We have a tradition. Even if my daughter doesn't want to acknowledge it. We are Bloodstones!" He said, his tone a touch dour until the end. "We have to-"
"There are no outlets on this side, Chet."
"Shut up. Shut up, Carl! We need to make this... out shit, ok, hello Bloodstone."
"Randy. Randy. I've vaguely dreamed about you. When I was cutting the lamb on the Cooking Network, it was you. When I watched police beat innocent protesters, they were you. You have always been MY WORST FECULENT ENABLED FISTULE THAT I HAVE EVER ENABLED!"
Randy blanched for a moment and rallied. "You hear that! Chet, Carl? You're the most flatulent people he's worked with! Get that shit figured out!"
Somehow Vera managed to maintain her loving smile even as the rest of her face turned to stone.
"I'm so . . . pleased . . . your loyal crew could join us," she managed. "Their presence does such wonders for your vocabulary. You really needn't have bothered, though. Every twist and turn is covered. Carter is especially excited about the drone."
"The drone? Oh yes, the... tech." He muttered with the dismissive confidence of a man that other people handled his smartphone usage. "The important thing is the hunt itself. Showing man and monster balanced on the knife edge between life and death. Where the hunter becomes the hunted and back again. The creatures we Bloodstones have single handedly turned into the stuff of myth by destroying them completely. The- Chet, that is a vintage 15th century flail that you are currently draping your microphone cords over. It was once used to beat a werewolf so completely that he was finally killed by the silverware used to scrape him into a bucket. And if you continue to mess with it, YOU WILL ENVY THAT FATE AS I LEARN TO DO THE SAME WITH A FUCKING PANINI PRESS TO EVERY BIT OF YOUR WORTHLESS FRAME I CAN CLOSE IT AROUND!"
The corner of Vera's eye twitched, ever so slightly.
"Your family protected mankind so thoroughly they've forgotten what they owe you. You deserve more than a venerable name and a few antiques." Her hand touched the dark gemstone that hung from her neck. One of Ulysses' particularly disadvantaged forbearers had once looked into selling it, only for the appraiser to explain he would have gotten more from melting down the setting. As with many things that had come with their marriage, appearance was more impressive than the reality. She dropped her hand and smiled. "For the first time, the world will see what you're capable of."
"I still think the other hunters are unnecessary. Or that damnable security service!" Bloodstone huffed. "After all, I am more than capable of - IF YOU PUT A SECOND FINGER ON MY GRANDFATHER'S ARMOR, I WILL REMOVE ALL OF YOUR DIGITS AND INSERT THEM DEEP IN YOUR COLON, CARL - removing this rabble on my own. The hunter picks his ground and his prey. Relying on numbers is unsporting."
"I know, darling, but the sponsor was very specific. These days it's all about spectacle. Just try to think of it as hunting par force." Vera calmly rearranged the hair blown back by her husband's bellow. "Between you and me, the security is for the other hunters. These are no Bloodstones, and it would be simply irresponsible to take any chances with Great Beasts. In the event of their regrettable demise someone must keep the quarry occupied until you can deal with them. Oh, that reminds me. Billy?"
"Yes?"
It would have surprised the casual observer to discover the room contained not five people, but six. The speaker had that effect on people. Where Ulysses had brought generations of ancestral knowledge and hunting acumen to the marriage, Vera had brought her personal assistant. Possibly from beyond the grave.
"See that our guests have all they require from the armory, then do a final pass ensuring all waivers are in order. This isn't Prague."
"Of course." Billy gave a little bow and departed as soundlessly as he'd arrived. While meticulously groomed, every interaction with the elderly man left one wondering if they should check for any pieces that might have flaked off.
"Such good help," she observed, and gave Ulysses a peck on the cheek. "Now, I'm sure you have your own preparations to attend to."
"Yes, I do." He said, but as his wife left his expression fell. "Randy, Chet, Carl.... the hunt matters to me. It mattered to all of you. We have spent a decade on this journey. I need your best." His words were pregnant with feelings. "And if not... I have set up a fund. You'll be paid for several years. I just want you to trust me a little longer in this path."
The three men, so used to being abused, fell over themselves to say yes. Ulysses' smiled like a tiger at their words. "If this is my last hunt, I will have the best with me. So be your best, or I swear I WILL MAKE SURE YOU SCREAM IN ENDLESS PAIN OVER A BONFIRE OF FAILED EMMIES AS YOU COOK AND DIE!"
Elsewhere, as friends begin to notice something is amiss, Liam and Sharon awake in unfamiliar surroundings yet extremely familiar circumstances.
Hands on his shoulder, shaking him. A voice.
"Liam. Liam, you must wake."
"No," Liam muttered, but it wasn’t a sleepy mutter, it muttered that it didn't want to acknowledge the situation they were in. One that was very awake.
"Liam!" Sharon's voice had an uncharacteristic edge to it: fear. She shook harder, her claws digging into his bicep. "Liam, I cannot change!"
Uncurling he glared at her, "Yeah and? The universe decided we weren't kidnapped hard enough on that VR thing, so they're redoing it." His tail swished as much as it could.
They were in what could only be described as a kennel. It was wide enough to accommodate the two of them side-by-side, even allow them to stand if they stooped, but it was clearly a cage. The reinforced slats of metal that served as bars were too closely spaced to allow for much view of the outside, and there were no hinges on what seemed to be a door: it slid upwards, like a chute. Sharon tried to hook her fingers beneath the bottom edge and began to tug.
"Help me pull," she insisted as she shot Liam a wild look. Her tail was lashing, pupils dilated with more than just the darkness.
Snarling at her, a noise Liam rarely made, he got up to help, not that it did either of them any good. "Sharon, stop it. I've already tried. We can't get out."
Sharon spun on him like a rattlesnake.
"I will not do nothing! I will not sit and wait! I will fight! I do not need to change-"
Something hard and metallic banged against the door. The meager light that showed through the slats was eclipsed by the silhouette of a person.
"Shut the fuck up," snapped a voice, unfamiliar and totally devoid of patience. "Save it for-"
Sharon screamed and hurled herself towards the voice. She fell upon the door with claws outstretched and tried to tear through the metal, scrabbling to find even the slightest gap she could exploit to get to their captor.
The slats were only spaced far enough to allow for one thing: a cattle prod. And it was this the guard drove directly into Sharon's stomach.
Every muscle in Sharon's body seized. Suddenly breathless, she jerked away from the door and fell to her knees.
"Like I said," came the voice, cold as a man in a slaughteryard, "save it."
Liam growled, "You gonna keep being dumb or you gonna listen to me?" he asked. He could smell the energy in the cattle prod but now it was replaced with the smell of singed flesh.
For a few breaths Sharon could only hunch in place, stunned and trembling. The pain cleared her mind enough that certain details were starting to register with her. Her perceptions had an odd disjointed quality to them, as if she and her own body were a step out of sync. She had the same jittery feeling she had when she sensed someone's eyes on her back.
"I cannot think," Sharon mumbled as the silhouette against the bars moved away. "Is not right. My head."
"Well, fucking boo hoo your head hurts, " Liam mocked, "We've been properly kidnaped and they have cattle prods and are probably going to kill us!"
If her muscles had been working properly Sharon would have bitten him. Instead, she was forced to think. He wasn't right, either. Liam did not swear. He may tease her, but he had never been cruel. The situation was stressful, but was it that stressful?
"Something has been done to us." That felt right. Sharon uncurled from her hunch and rested her palms on the ground, drawing comfort from the quadrupedal posture. "Pheromones, maybe, or drug. We are not ourselves."
"No shit," Liam grumbled, curling back up in his ball. "I hate this!" he yelled at nothing. He hated this. It was scary and he was certain they were going to use them for violin strings.
The paranoia was still there, prickling the back of her neck and the hairs on her arms, but his distress gave her focus. Sharon crawled over to the younger boy and crouched on her elbows to bring herself eye-level with him.
"We will get out. Did we not escape before?"
"No," Liam spat, "You got everyone out because they couldn't hold you or whatever," he had only gotten out because of her. Not because he'd done something good.
His anger was contagious; her spine began to curve as her tail stiffened. "I will do it again!" Sharon snapped back. "I will get us out!"
Liam waved a hand, gesturing expensively. Go ahead. Try.
"I will!" If Sharon's voice cracked it was just from whatever chemical was in her system. Not the unexpected fear she felt for Liam, nor the helplessness that came with being trapped in her most vulnerable shape. She was Cat. Such emotions were not hers.
Stiffly, Sharon crawled away from the younger boy and retreated into the opposite corner. She pulled her knees up to her chin, tail curling tightly around her ankles.
"I will."
"I don't care if it is non-union, I expect craft services to be on site. Ulysses Bloodstone is not cheap, nor does he fail to compensate his crew. And gluten-free options are non-negotiable. People have all sorts of intolerances these days."
Vera ended the call without allowing the PA to reply. As a woman burdened with the birth name of Verussa she had long since ceased to care about the opinion of others. With a heavy sigh she turned to her husband.
"Honestly, darling, I thought I'd made myself clear to these people," she said as she brushed a dark curl from her immaculately plucked brows. "Top tier working conditions attract top tier talent. Substandard conditions, on the other hand, can lose it. I've told them you deserve nothing but the best, and I will accept no less."
"Our castle was established by my ancestor, Augustus Bloodstone, based on his knowledge of the arcane and the hunt. He stood athwart the darkness and- athwart? Is that the correct term? Yes. Yes. Athwart the darkness and through years of struggle and pools of blood carved out our legacy. And now, I do this from a former car lot in upstate New York. I don't like it." Ulyssus said, his chest puffed out. He was many things, but he hated the weak lies that his career required now. The last few years hadn't been kind to his career. “The Legendary Hunts of Bloodstone” had been cancelled after three seasons, and his ill-fated foray into Hollywood had earned him nothing but ridicule and two Razzies. His poorly chosen appearances on 'Dancing With The Stars' and 'Chopped' had made him all but a pariah for producers and networks. He'd returned back to his home, brooding at his now hopeless future.
And then Vera had appeared.
"Darling." His wife swept over to him, for it was one of Vera's many talents that she could sweep even in a tasteful chiffon pantsuit. "The day I turned on the television and saw that underdone rack of lamb with its ill conceived pineapple reduction I recognized a man of vision. Of ambition. Of unparalleled skill in the bedroom. A man who only needed someone to handle the little details for him to achieve his true potential." Vera gave Ulysses' arm a reassuring caress. "The Adirondacks may not have the venerable historicity you're accustomed to, but I assure you the quarry will more than make up for it. Even Augustus Bloodstone has never seen a hunt like this."
"We have a tradition. Even if my daughter doesn't want to acknowledge it. We are Bloodstones!" He said, his tone a touch dour until the end. "We have to-"
"There are no outlets on this side, Chet."
"Shut up. Shut up, Carl! We need to make this... out shit, ok, hello Bloodstone."
"Randy. Randy. I've vaguely dreamed about you. When I was cutting the lamb on the Cooking Network, it was you. When I watched police beat innocent protesters, they were you. You have always been MY WORST FECULENT ENABLED FISTULE THAT I HAVE EVER ENABLED!"
Randy blanched for a moment and rallied. "You hear that! Chet, Carl? You're the most flatulent people he's worked with! Get that shit figured out!"
Somehow Vera managed to maintain her loving smile even as the rest of her face turned to stone.
"I'm so . . . pleased . . . your loyal crew could join us," she managed. "Their presence does such wonders for your vocabulary. You really needn't have bothered, though. Every twist and turn is covered. Carter is especially excited about the drone."
"The drone? Oh yes, the... tech." He muttered with the dismissive confidence of a man that other people handled his smartphone usage. "The important thing is the hunt itself. Showing man and monster balanced on the knife edge between life and death. Where the hunter becomes the hunted and back again. The creatures we Bloodstones have single handedly turned into the stuff of myth by destroying them completely. The- Chet, that is a vintage 15th century flail that you are currently draping your microphone cords over. It was once used to beat a werewolf so completely that he was finally killed by the silverware used to scrape him into a bucket. And if you continue to mess with it, YOU WILL ENVY THAT FATE AS I LEARN TO DO THE SAME WITH A FUCKING PANINI PRESS TO EVERY BIT OF YOUR WORTHLESS FRAME I CAN CLOSE IT AROUND!"
The corner of Vera's eye twitched, ever so slightly.
"Your family protected mankind so thoroughly they've forgotten what they owe you. You deserve more than a venerable name and a few antiques." Her hand touched the dark gemstone that hung from her neck. One of Ulysses' particularly disadvantaged forbearers had once looked into selling it, only for the appraiser to explain he would have gotten more from melting down the setting. As with many things that had come with their marriage, appearance was more impressive than the reality. She dropped her hand and smiled. "For the first time, the world will see what you're capable of."
"I still think the other hunters are unnecessary. Or that damnable security service!" Bloodstone huffed. "After all, I am more than capable of - IF YOU PUT A SECOND FINGER ON MY GRANDFATHER'S ARMOR, I WILL REMOVE ALL OF YOUR DIGITS AND INSERT THEM DEEP IN YOUR COLON, CARL - removing this rabble on my own. The hunter picks his ground and his prey. Relying on numbers is unsporting."
"I know, darling, but the sponsor was very specific. These days it's all about spectacle. Just try to think of it as hunting par force." Vera calmly rearranged the hair blown back by her husband's bellow. "Between you and me, the security is for the other hunters. These are no Bloodstones, and it would be simply irresponsible to take any chances with Great Beasts. In the event of their regrettable demise someone must keep the quarry occupied until you can deal with them. Oh, that reminds me. Billy?"
"Yes?"
It would have surprised the casual observer to discover the room contained not five people, but six. The speaker had that effect on people. Where Ulysses had brought generations of ancestral knowledge and hunting acumen to the marriage, Vera had brought her personal assistant. Possibly from beyond the grave.
"See that our guests have all they require from the armory, then do a final pass ensuring all waivers are in order. This isn't Prague."
"Of course." Billy gave a little bow and departed as soundlessly as he'd arrived. While meticulously groomed, every interaction with the elderly man left one wondering if they should check for any pieces that might have flaked off.
"Such good help," she observed, and gave Ulysses a peck on the cheek. "Now, I'm sure you have your own preparations to attend to."
"Yes, I do." He said, but as his wife left his expression fell. "Randy, Chet, Carl.... the hunt matters to me. It mattered to all of you. We have spent a decade on this journey. I need your best." His words were pregnant with feelings. "And if not... I have set up a fund. You'll be paid for several years. I just want you to trust me a little longer in this path."
The three men, so used to being abused, fell over themselves to say yes. Ulysses' smiled like a tiger at their words. "If this is my last hunt, I will have the best with me. So be your best, or I swear I WILL MAKE SURE YOU SCREAM IN ENDLESS PAIN OVER A BONFIRE OF FAILED EMMIES AS YOU COOK AND DIE!"
Elsewhere, as friends begin to notice something is amiss, Liam and Sharon awake in unfamiliar surroundings yet extremely familiar circumstances.
Hands on his shoulder, shaking him. A voice.
"Liam. Liam, you must wake."
"No," Liam muttered, but it wasn’t a sleepy mutter, it muttered that it didn't want to acknowledge the situation they were in. One that was very awake.
"Liam!" Sharon's voice had an uncharacteristic edge to it: fear. She shook harder, her claws digging into his bicep. "Liam, I cannot change!"
Uncurling he glared at her, "Yeah and? The universe decided we weren't kidnapped hard enough on that VR thing, so they're redoing it." His tail swished as much as it could.
They were in what could only be described as a kennel. It was wide enough to accommodate the two of them side-by-side, even allow them to stand if they stooped, but it was clearly a cage. The reinforced slats of metal that served as bars were too closely spaced to allow for much view of the outside, and there were no hinges on what seemed to be a door: it slid upwards, like a chute. Sharon tried to hook her fingers beneath the bottom edge and began to tug.
"Help me pull," she insisted as she shot Liam a wild look. Her tail was lashing, pupils dilated with more than just the darkness.
Snarling at her, a noise Liam rarely made, he got up to help, not that it did either of them any good. "Sharon, stop it. I've already tried. We can't get out."
Sharon spun on him like a rattlesnake.
"I will not do nothing! I will not sit and wait! I will fight! I do not need to change-"
Something hard and metallic banged against the door. The meager light that showed through the slats was eclipsed by the silhouette of a person.
"Shut the fuck up," snapped a voice, unfamiliar and totally devoid of patience. "Save it for-"
Sharon screamed and hurled herself towards the voice. She fell upon the door with claws outstretched and tried to tear through the metal, scrabbling to find even the slightest gap she could exploit to get to their captor.
The slats were only spaced far enough to allow for one thing: a cattle prod. And it was this the guard drove directly into Sharon's stomach.
Every muscle in Sharon's body seized. Suddenly breathless, she jerked away from the door and fell to her knees.
"Like I said," came the voice, cold as a man in a slaughteryard, "save it."
Liam growled, "You gonna keep being dumb or you gonna listen to me?" he asked. He could smell the energy in the cattle prod but now it was replaced with the smell of singed flesh.
For a few breaths Sharon could only hunch in place, stunned and trembling. The pain cleared her mind enough that certain details were starting to register with her. Her perceptions had an odd disjointed quality to them, as if she and her own body were a step out of sync. She had the same jittery feeling she had when she sensed someone's eyes on her back.
"I cannot think," Sharon mumbled as the silhouette against the bars moved away. "Is not right. My head."
"Well, fucking boo hoo your head hurts, " Liam mocked, "We've been properly kidnaped and they have cattle prods and are probably going to kill us!"
If her muscles had been working properly Sharon would have bitten him. Instead, she was forced to think. He wasn't right, either. Liam did not swear. He may tease her, but he had never been cruel. The situation was stressful, but was it that stressful?
"Something has been done to us." That felt right. Sharon uncurled from her hunch and rested her palms on the ground, drawing comfort from the quadrupedal posture. "Pheromones, maybe, or drug. We are not ourselves."
"No shit," Liam grumbled, curling back up in his ball. "I hate this!" he yelled at nothing. He hated this. It was scary and he was certain they were going to use them for violin strings.
The paranoia was still there, prickling the back of her neck and the hairs on her arms, but his distress gave her focus. Sharon crawled over to the younger boy and crouched on her elbows to bring herself eye-level with him.
"We will get out. Did we not escape before?"
"No," Liam spat, "You got everyone out because they couldn't hold you or whatever," he had only gotten out because of her. Not because he'd done something good.
His anger was contagious; her spine began to curve as her tail stiffened. "I will do it again!" Sharon snapped back. "I will get us out!"
Liam waved a hand, gesturing expensively. Go ahead. Try.
"I will!" If Sharon's voice cracked it was just from whatever chemical was in her system. Not the unexpected fear she felt for Liam, nor the helplessness that came with being trapped in her most vulnerable shape. She was Cat. Such emotions were not hers.
Stiffly, Sharon crawled away from the younger boy and retreated into the opposite corner. She pulled her knees up to her chin, tail curling tightly around her ankles.
"I will."
