ArchivedLogs:In Which Some Teeth Are Bared, Some Blood Is Shed, And Some Limbs Are Lost

In Which Some Teeth Are Bared, Some Blood Is Shed, And Some Limbs Are Lost
Dramatis Personae Nick, Taylor	2016-12-23 Wolf v. squid. Warning: graphic violence.
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. It's late, by Fight Club standards, and many of the participants have retired to spectator status, nursing injuries. Nick, however, does not look quite ready for retirement. He's stripped down to a pair of black athletic shorts, his thick brown coat matted down here and there with dark blood. Where he usually makes an attempt to walk more upright--more human-like--he has no such aspirations right now, his weight settled low on his semi-canine hind legs, tail waving slowly behind him. His ears are pressed back and his teeth bared, stained both red and blue. There's a wild gleam in his amber eyes as feints and then bounds at his opponent from the other direction, shifting his weight and angle of attack with remarkable agility to swipe out with one heavily clawed hand. Taylor, too, has pared down clothing to minimalist levels -- just dark blue shorts, speckled wet in places. There's one mid-sized arm hanging limply, thick blue oozing from where it's been nearly severed -- over at the side of the ring a second smaller arm lies /all/ the way shorn on the ground. The swipe sends him stumbling back, fresh red welling from a new tear in his side. One of his limbs is whipping upward, now, the heavy club-end of the tentacle slamming back towards the forearm that just came towards him. Nick tries to propel himself past Taylor in order to avoid the tentacle. Though it does not land a completely solid blow, the hooks embedded in its suckers rip into his arm, trailing blood as the two pull apart again. He snarls and whips around, snapping on the tentacle somewhat reflexively with razor sharp teeth. Taylor's answering yelp is sharper, higher, teeth quickly clenching back down as his arm twitches between Nick's teeth. The twin to that tentacle is snaking its way around, though, in a rapid lash that coils out for the other boy's hind legs. The moment Nick's jaws close on the tentacle, he yanks back and shakes it viciously, rending the rubbery flesh and scattering blue blood all around. He sees the other tentacle out of the corner of his eye and lets go of the one he has in his jaws--just a little too late to get himself wholly out of the way of that limb's admittedly very long reach. Taylor coils his tentacle tight around the hock of the leg he has struck, sharp hooks latching tight where he grips. Though his opposing one now hangs torn and crippled, the other jerks back -- still gripping its prey hard -- to lift up, intent on slamming Nick /back/ toward the bloodied concrete floor. Nick looses a ragged howl when the hooks dig in. Before the tentacle can properly haul him off the floor, he has turned around to sink his claws into it. His teeth follow fast, tearing away at the muscular limb in a desperate bid to get free. Once Taylor has lifted him clear of the floor, even he must know there's no use, but he keeps at it anyway, biting and clawing to the last. Up-up-up climbs the massive snakey limb, even if its wielder, battered and bloody, is mostly at this point kind of crouched on the floor. A little wobbly even on hands and knees, palms pressed hard against the ground to steady himself as he lifts -- lifts -- and /thud/. Teeth and claws have done their work; a torn and truncated stump remains where Taylor /had/ been holding Nick only moments before. Both wolfpup and the severed end of his arm come crashing back to the ground, gravity taking over where his muscles no longer can.