ArchivedLogs:Blood and Shadows
| Blood and Shadows | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-11 Nox searches for missing children in the sewers. Finds a monster. (WARNING: Violence, *lots* of blood.) |
| Location
<MOR> Below New York | |
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. The childrens. Will someone think of the childrens? Nox might. The nightly sentry patrol of the sewers has brought up a curious little trinket, out of place among the discarded candy-wrappers and scraps of trash. A child's shoe -- bright, *obnoxious* red, fresh and clean and shiny and new -- sits at the center of one of the tunnels. By itself, it might not be enough to warrant too much attention -- there are any number of plausible explanations as to how a shoe got down here... but the shoe is not by itself. No, there's something /in/ it -- something that has leaked out across the floor. Blood. More than just a little. Fresh, but recently dried. Few people outside of the Morlocks ever see Nox as she believes herself to truly be--that is, not human at all, but rather a collection of darkness better suited to these tunnels than the body she adopts aboveground. Recent news reports have not gone unnoticed. The shadows' patrols have increased, as a result. They pass through the tunnels in a way most would never noticed, just an increase of darkness in a place that already goes untouched by light. Nox has been tireless in her search. And it finally brings its reward. A bittersweet reward. The shadows gather around that little shoe, its presence unusual and the pool it rests within more so. Countless tendrils separate from the main shape, touching the shoe, touching the blood, touching, testing, assessing. After a moment, the shoe is picked up and disappeared, folded into some dark pocket as the shadows move on. Blood in this amount does not simply pool. It trickles, it flows, it dribbles along the ground and so leaves a trail. One that Nox intends to follow. Curiously, beyond the shoe, there is not /much/ of it -- the trail of blood so tiny it is scarcely visible at all. As if the person responsible was busily /preserving/ it, so as not to waste a single drop. But even the most methodical of predators cannot hide their trail perfectly. A patient, thorough eye -- particularly one familiar with shadows, and the geography of the tunnels -- is soon rewarded. Another drop of blood, freshly dried. 10 yards away, another. 30, another. But soon, the distance between the drops is extending -- as if the predator is growing more efficient... or, more likely, the amount of blood left to spill is progressively growing less. It is deep in the tunnels when Nox catches her first glimpse of something /besides/ a trail -- near an access tunnel that leads up to a subway (harsh flourescent lights penetrating down the slanted passage -- not enough to subdue her, but enough to remind her of her limits). It's a shape, fastened to the wall. Up high -- as if it were /glued/ there. A small... child-sized shape. A child-sized shape fastened to a wall up high is certainly unusual. Far more so than a shoe left in a tunnel. Nox had been stretched out as she traveled, in her element and capable of growing much, much larger than most would realize. But with the intrusion of light, however faint, and then the sight of that shape up there on the wall, she collects herself together again. For a time, there is simple observation. Then there is action. Feelers extend once more, strands of being that slide up along the wall to find the cleanest path--the one that will carry her up and up and up without falling afoul of the sputtering haze of light in that tunnel. Sliding from one shadow to the next, she ascends. And as she gets closer, she opens her senses to everything the darkness has to tell her. The darkness has many things to tell her, but the first -- and, perhaps, most relevant thing -- is this: The child-sized shape is, in fact, a child. And she's alive. Barely. Nox can /hear/ the weak thud of her heart; she can /feel/ the coolness of the child's skin. Even in the shadows, her flesh looks unusually pale... and her eyes are closed. She is unconscious, at the moment. There are no visible wounds upon her. She is clad in a loose-fitting navy-blue jacket -- a wool cap -- face and nails smudged with dirt. And... underneath the wool cap -- which has slightly slipped up, to expose her left temple -- she has... nubs. Yellow buds -- like horns. She is 'attached' to the wall -- her arms, her legs, and her waist -- by some unusual, reddish brown 'paste'. It's dry, and crumbly, and feels like the bark of a tree -- but it smells... familiar. In fact, it smells like... blood? The shadows tell her something else, then: She and the girl aren't the only people here. There's someone else present. Some *thing* else. Above her. Clinging, in perfect stillness, to the ceiling. Something... *big*. A pair of white, near-luminous eyes open. The ceiling gurgles... and a few tiny drops of blood drip down. A voice purrs over her head, growling through the entire tunnel: "What are you." There are few things as guaranteed to move Nox to action of a specific type--a Morlock in distress, a child in danger. That list is very short. Her anger is very, very impressive. When the voice rumbles above and around her, the woman acts swiftly. A wing of shadow settles over the child, as if the natural shadow of the area simply grew to swallow her. The girl disappears entirely, the surface of that "wing" taking on the consistency of leather to protect from above as it begins to work in beneath her as well, to pry her free of the substance holding her to the dank concrete. The second thing she does is to launch another "wing" upwards in a flurry of dark tendrils intended to grapple, restrain, tangle. Their target is the owner of those eyes, the area immediately around them. She does not answer it with words. Instead the shadows themselves vibrate with a hiss at the voice, venting its disgust and its less than friendly intentions. The dried 'blood' gives under pressure -- it's strong, but not unbreakable. Akin to porous wood; it bends, stretches, *splinters* beneath sufficient pressure. It will take some work to pry the girl free, but it is not an impossible task. With enough time and patience, Nox will have the girl in her embrace. As for the 'thing' above Nox... when the shadows roll up to attack, it's clear that this was unexpected. Contact is made -- a hiss, a *shriek* (nothing at all like the sound you'd expect from a human -- this is shrill, warbling, like the screech of an owl) as something gives -- rubble tumbles down. Blood splashes from the ceiling, torn free. The luminous eyes vanish. And then... The ceiling /descends/ for her. All at once -- something the size of a U-Haul truck. Bristling with blades -- knives -- hooks -- *axes*. Shrieking like a bird of prey. And mouths... it has multiple mouths. All lined with teeth. Some of them are hissing. One of them is speaking: "WHAT ARE YOU. WHAT *ARE* YOU. I CAN'T *SMELL* YOU!" It sounds... furious. And, actually? A little scared. The problem with attempting to grapple is that Nox must become physical to make contact. She was not expecting the ceiling--or what had become the ceiling--to fall. Another shriek rises when bloody edges carve into solid darkness, this one in a woman's voice, or what a woman's voice would be if it were spread over a large area and incapable of rising above the level of a whisper. It's the echo of a scream, the dream of it. That part of herself trapped beneath the creature's falling weight sags--and then dissipates completely. Nox reforms above and around the child, collecting her into the core of herself. She has more of a shape now, bristling with long multi-joined legs and a thick body, a spider made of nightmares. Its head is a woman's head, armed with pincers every bit as sharp as the edges just used to wound her. She hisses at it again. And then the whispers begin, all around it: "You are not welcome here." "Monster."
"Monster, you are a monster."
"This is not your home." "This is not your place."
"Leave." "Leave here." "Go away."
As Nox reforms, the blood-beast hits the ground -- and swells outward. Legs of his own form -- a spider to match Nox's own horrifying shape, except this spider is made of /blood/. And each leg ends in barbed hooks -- crooked and malformed. Instead of the face of a woman, it sports a massive, eyeless mouth... and where its eyes should be there are only more mouths. Skittering. Up the tunnel, toward the light... seeking higher ground. Wary of her. /Confused/. So many voices, all radiating about it. It growls, low and vicious, baring its teeth like a cornered predator. It's clearly debating whether or not it should lunge -- whether the meal is worth the risk. The darker spider has been hurt by their tangle. In several places, grey is peeled away to allow a richer black to bleed through, tears and gashes showing in its carapace. But this is still Nox's home, her /territory/, and the shadows cloaking the area come to her aid. They spring up around the blood-spider's feet, looking to tangle and pull, to make its skittering passage up the wall--as she skitters sideways with the child safely cradled inside--as difficult as possible. /Away/ from the tunnel. Away from the light. It can have the higher ground. Nox is angling for retreat, to carry her precious burden away. But even as her little lashing allies try to help, so too do they create more injuries. Every time they curl around a limb, they're jabbed and torn by those hooks and forced to dissolve again. They can only hinder so much--and with so much of her focus on keeping the main body whole and solid, keeping the child within hidden away and safe, she cannot go on the offensive again. It's a stand off. As those shadows entangle -- slowing its movement, catching its legs, forcing it to tangle -- the blood-spider hisses, twists, stumbles -- and /experiments/. It notices, something, then -- that the closer it gets to the light, the weaker the shadows become as they reach for its legs. At this realization, it springs -- suddenly leaping -- to land within the upper slant of the tunnel. Briefly illuminated in those gleaming flourescents... watching as the shadow-spider retreats, the precious cargo carefully ferreted away in her body. The blood-spider hisses... but allows it. Wary. Not pursuing. Not... yet. No... instead, it skitters toward a door on the left -- a creak, followed by a *CRACK-KOMB*, as two of its pincer-like legs seize hold of it and /tear/ it from the frame in a shower of concrete -- and then, flexing, shrinking, /squirming/, it fits itself through the narrow passageway... and leaves. For now. | |
