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imported>Merek |
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| − | {{Infobox Log
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| − | |name = Rooftop Rampage
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| − | |summary = Unexpected Visitor after a SWAT Response.
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| − | |icdate = Thursday, September 6th, 2018
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| − | |ictime = 2:30 pm PDT.
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| − | |players = [[August]], [[Faith]]
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| − | |location = Rooftop Near Docks and Metro
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| − | |spheres = Garou Gaian Fera Bastet Kinfolk Law
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| − | }}
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| − | [[Category:Logs]][[Category:Faith]][[Category:August]][[Category:Fera]][[Category:Bastet]][[Category:Gaian]][[Category:Garou]][[Category:Law]][[Category:Kinfolk]]
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| − | ---
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| − | Location: Abandoned pair of buildings in the Dock/Metro District
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| − | Just after lunch rush, traffic is finally settling down on the edge of the thin neighborhood that slides between the coastal shipyards and the metro downtown. It's a decrepit neighborhood with a plethora of gang activity. That's probably why Faith was out on the tactical team again. A couple pin-neat shots from the rooftop, body bags, no collateral damage. Just "Fucking paperwork." Donahue is sitting on the rooftop by herself with the clipboard, her gear still in place and her back to a corner of brick walls. She told the team she'd meet them back at the station, but her habit is to complete as much of the preliminary report on site as possible in case there are details she'd otherwise miss. "Fucking stripes." And to judge from her irritable tone, no fucking for Faith any time recently.
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| − | No fucking, no violence. But that hasn't stopped August from either - nor has it stopped him from keeping tabs on the woman he'd invaded; in more than one way. The King of Killers moves with the total silence of a ghost, dressed nicely in ash-colored slacks, vest, and blood-red long-sleeved shirt. Like he's going to a wedding...or a funeral.
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| − | Silently, the killer moves behind her, bare feet dirty from the road - head freshly shaven, with only the black hairs on top. Greying. Like Cable was his fucking barber. There's a second the air quality changes - his scent there, that scent from that night, when her world changed and her cherry was popped..
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| − | ..then a vice-like grip clenches down on the back of Faith's neck, nails biting into the flesh. Then a voice, like distant thunder rumbles beside her ear: "Detective."
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| − | Her body's less than casual reaction happens faster than she can even formulate thought. Though Faith had thought she's been back far enough against the brick walls to keep it from happening, there she is. It's not fear, or even flight that stirs in her belly - it's that intensity of the sensual, undeniable wanton lust. Her flesh grows warmer under the clench, her chest tighter. Every muscle in her body vibrating for a moment to the siren call.
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| − | The kinswoman exhales slowly, her pen in one hand and the clipboard still in the other. A conscious effort not to draw on the beast that holds her. She gestures to the radio first with the end of the pen, notifying him of her intention to turn it off. Faith leaves her other hand on the board which rises to the right, staying within easy line of sight and away from her duty belt. Once the radio has been clicked to silence, she answers quietly "It's Sergeant now."
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| − | The grip never lightens. How he got there matters so much less than, that a Lord of Sunlight is holding her by the back of her neck. At any time, the knives could unsheathe from his fingertips and end her.
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| − | Ahnru's amber gaze undresses her, and though she wears uniform - he stares over her naked form from memory, from her face, to the wounds he inflicted in a bout of Moon Madness. A long moment of silence after the radio is clicked off, after she speaks, and the voice beside Faith's ear is close enough for the breath to fall away; for her to feel the strange tickle of whiskers. The danger of his flesh never being stable - the sudden feel of fur on her neck, where is hand is. The word comes, like a pet name: "Police Girl."
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| − | Another long silence, as the Simba reveals himself, standing right before her dressed as he is - and his form has not changed much, save perhaps the greying at the edges of his hair. The eyes cannot decide between dark brown or amber, bloodlust burning in his brain with duty, and the grip on her neck never loosens. Not for a moment. Chest-to-chest for a moment longer, the nose comes closer...and the whole of the physically impressive Lord is against her, pinning the officer to the wall, a killer's intent in the Simba's eyes...then he pulls away, and lets her go.
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| − | Turning his back on her, Ahnru is looking over the city rooftops, rubbing his hands as his flesh moves like melting wax. Unstable.
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| − | It's with every fiber of her will that her lips do not part in a scream. Her heart hammers in her chest as if it would break free from the cage of her own bones. The sound of her breathe is a wheeze. Something the human ear wouldn't detect. Just a hair's width of a tear still present in her left lung from the encounter. Police Girl. Cough. Right. Faith does her best to play it cool, she's bad at it. Using the brick to support herself she's standing up, tucking the pen into the clip board, trying to get her wits back about herself.
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| − | "To what do I owe the honor of this visit? I haven't seen you in.. a long time." Her voice has at least started to stabilize. Yeah, she might even be able to convince herself she's got this. Unless he looks at her again. Because god damn. Yeah.
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| − | The head turns to look at her over his shoulder, "I've been busy in Argentina." A pause, "And the Burning Season here - did you like the fires? They were a great success." He speaks of the West Coast burning down, and Colorado, and all the other states. When the fires would die down? This being before her, would help them start back up. He's listening to her, fully-focused on the woman behind him, though his gaze has returned to the cityscape. A long gaze upon the buildings and the distance lights, the ratta-tatta of rapid gunfire.
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| − | Slowly, August turns to look at her, to lock eyes with her, before letting those eyes fall down her body - so she can see the way he calculates her and compares, the way that his bloodlust is present. There is no hiding it, no way to not see his inhumanity: The King comes to the City for a Hunt.
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| − | A step forward is taken, eyes on her. Why was he here again? The thought goes to the back-burner, when confronted with the impossibility that is resisting the ease of killing the creature before him. That quirk to the corner of his mouth - the same he had when his claws perforated her lungs. The Moon's growth only fans his excitement.
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| − | She raises her hand to him palm out and fingers together in that thin black leather glove. "Stop." There it is, the fire that ignited his passions the first time. The girl who dares -command- the Lord of Sunlight. "I'm not available, I'm engaged." Faith's blue eyes meet his own and there's that cold flicker of steel - the one that he saw before she slit her own throat rather than being taken by what she thought was the enemy on a warm night in the desert.
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| − | She leaves her hand up with arm extended, knowing he could just pull it off at the shoulder should he choose. "Is there something else I can do for you, August? I wouldn't expect you to actually use the appropriate chain of command even if this about business. I don't think you actually have it in you to ask Dragomir for anything." A little smirk curls at the corners of her own mouth, a playful, genuinely friendly expression.
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| − | The hand touches his chest, and beneath the fingers she will feel the solar-scar on his sternum. The hammer-and-anvil heartbeat. The deep, calm breaths. August pushes against that hand, slow, and just as she saw that night - he would have what he wanted. Her. The fact she is engaged, dosn't make him flinch.
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| − | So he pushes against the hand while doing the most cat-like thing he could do, "Who is Dragomir?"
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| − | The hands finally reach out to push aside her arm, whilst the other grabs Faith by her throat to pin the woman to the wall, to close the distance in that instance and bite into her throat. Hard. As hard as the first time, when she discovered Cat Folk are not stagnant to form. That the teeth that have her feel like a man's only this moment; while in the next they could be a lion's jaws, releasing flesh from teeth to growl into her ear. "Soriba. Sabaro. These are names I want faces to. Backgrounds. Information." The growl is lethal. Violent.
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| − | She's fighting, the knee that drives into his groin about the time Sori breaks from his lips - when he teeth are no longer engaged with her jugular - is nothing more than a hopeful distraction. Balls-of-Steel wouldn't fold under that kind of a minor attack from a girl who can't even keep her feet under herself as she's lifted by the throat. It's the can of mace she's going for - if you can't overpower his body - go for those acute senses! The pepper and chemical spray is already being released as she's pulling it off her duty belt, her other hand, not bothering to struggle for control, is going for something in her pocket.
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| − | Faith's only noise is that deep wheeze as she tries to suck in some fresh air before the chemical attack hits her own nostrils, eyes closing tight against the impending gaseous cloud. The way the truth registers on her face as the names are spoken may serve as an even better distraction than the attempted knee-to-groin contact or probably-not-unexpected fight. She knows more than the sounds of those names too rare to be coincidentally spoken together.
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| − | It's true. The moment he has spoken the names, the full force of the killer's intent is revealed: Like someone has summoned the King out of the desert with the promise of a Hunt; and it's two women. His past with Faith should have taught her that gender isn't a barrier to August. It won't protect them. Whatever they have done, or were going to do - the thing they have, of which Ahnru wishes to possess? It has put the King of Killers behind them.
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| − | It's the knee to the groin that comes, and - does she hear his dark laugh? He's enjoying it. This is the smell of bread being baked.
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| − | The spray comes and instinctively he swipes outwards, and the fingers that could claw her stomach open without pause catch the uniform and -tear- at her so violently it is a question whether he was aiming for her shirt, or aiming to rip the Officer down to the ground as he backs away and lets out a scream, a very human sound of pain that melts into the fantastic and horrifying bellow of a beast. A monster. His flesh rippling, as Rage rises, eyes shut and head propped upwards.
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| − | And she's going over the wall backwards.. like a terrified rabbit. The flaps of her uniform rise and the light of the sun catches her pink flesh that bares just a kiss of razor thin marks of scars left behind on a night she was not more cautious. The can of partially discharged mace is dropped to free to clatter to the top of the roof as her other hand is fighting a cellphone from the pocket it had dodged into.
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| − | Time slows to a crawl at moments like this - when the mind processes faster than the human body can move. She knows there's a solid surface about six feet down. She's going to be knocked breathless if she lands flat. She risks breaking a bone if she lands on her feet with anything but perfect balance. The swipe has already put her off by precious degrees. The emergency button on the radio - not happening. He would kill any humans that could manage to show up - and there may still be some left in the building below them. The phone - her only option. She's dialing for the other kind of emergency backup - and he likely knows her intention before she does.
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| − | He's in pain, and his roar echoes through the alleyways below as it turns to a bellow. Time clicks into a cinematic existence as the chemical is dispelled from his flesh and, his face teary and red-stained, and August's eyes - amber as they are - glow like molten gold in the furnace.
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| − | She's hit, suddenly, by a full-body impact of the warrior-king leaping at the woman in full-speed, his growl is real, and his temper flares. It's a violence aimed not to throw her down the alley, or tear an arm out of the socket; one-part protection, one-part hunter's leap, Ahnru hits the officer with the tackle to send her across one roof - and to crash upon the other, casting the cellphone away and rolling sideways with such speed that he lands in the push-up position. There he lays, licking his teeth, before slowly pushing himself upwards, "Are you hiding them, Police Girl?" The look on his face twists into a feral enjoyment of the situation, watching Faith, not moving anymore. Because he can taste it - his own bloodlust for the two names on August's very own, brand spanky new, List.
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| − | The phone smashes against the alley wall and lands in pieces three floor below in the dingy shadows as the kinswoman rolls across the uneven rooftop, landing sprawled and winded in an undignified lump and tangle of limbs. The girl's ice-blue gaze is clear and sharp, her lip stained red with a taste of her own blood.
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| − | A miscalculation. They are rare on the part of the Simba no doubt - and he likely learns lessons from them that are almost as hard as those taught to his prey. In his pause, she moves with the swiftness born of the same sort of do or die mind set he had seen that first night. Faith is hitting the panic button on the side of her radio even as she meets his rage-filled gaze.
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| − | The wave of Ego that vibrates off of August fizzles. Which is a shame because, when August cannot man-handle his way through social sharpness - he relies on other tools. Sharper tools. Tools that leave cops slung up on phone poles like this is the 80's.
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| − | There's a flash of annoyance that bursts into Rage, and the words that leave his lips are tainted with the promised violence of the thing, "I will have my Prey." The Fight. The Chase. He'll find them, and probably, kill them.
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| − | But then from his pushed position, August is moving on all fours, bent like a Beast and charging across the rooftop as that flesh begins to bubble and burn daring to lose shape and gain another - but he remains a man. Leaping at the downed officer like Sabertooth, arms outspread. Excited.
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| − | The beacon has been let out.. the alert is loose and sliding along the weavers webs as fast as a shifter can move in rage. Faith's slammed into the hard roof by the full weight of the man, without any recourse but to submit. "Want Address.." she growls lowly. "Get. Off. Me." There's nothing sexual about the way she's looking at the cat with those seething eyes.. this is no longer a game to the girl. Even the smallest sliver of empathy will register her furious, cold, rage. She's stab him in the fucking eye with his own dick if she could move right now.
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| − | When he's on her, his hand is around her throat in such a way - the only way - that it could fit. There's a unique sameness between kink and killing, and the thumb presses upwards against her chin as the Lord of Sunlight stares down at her. Wide-eyed, and smiling. But, August is excited.
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| − | Not for the possibility of fucking her into a new personality complex, but these are all the signs - signs she'd have to learn through experience - of a Simba hunting. Excited. Unsubtle. He isn't going to play politics, and he isn't going to socialize; the bloodlust is heavy and as August leans over her his smile grows a little more. The hand loosens, but it doesn’t come off, "Give it to me."
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| − | Now imagine how August found her own address, and the violence beset on the person who knew it.
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| − | She draws a subtle breath.. just enough to be able to speak. By the time she's finished whispering it, he can already hear the sirens starting to loop in this direction.
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| − | The eyes look down at her, and they are amber and calculating. The fingertips touch her lips, and then her chin, and jugular. There are no words to say, no thank yous, or apologies. He stands like a machine and turns towards the direction that address is in, a pause to breathe in air and then - off. Cats don't fear heights, and moreover, this one now has a direction.
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