tunicaintima | Supernatural AU for Roland

[Firo hesitates when he finally sees this strange thing, feels the wind ruffling his fur.]

What... What are you?

[Ah, but then he remembers what's more important. The hunter is here and, bolt or no bolt, that limb still looks like it'd be nice to play with. This strange thing is in his way, and Firo assumes that it's been messing with him. He doesn't connect it to the chill feeling yet, but what else would it be doing? Certainly not saving him--his mind doesn't even go there despite the obvious. ]

Get outta my way!

[He tries to give the shade's hand a warning snap.]

[Two chips of blue appear where eyes might sit in the area of the shade which might vaguely suggest a face. They appear there for the sole purpose of narrowing balefully and the hand with the bolt in it gets shoved closer toward the wolf's muzzle, uncaring of how close the teeth get to it. From the feel of it, the crossbow bolt is made of something special, some type of holy wood, maybe, and he's guessing whatever is making it so painful for him will effect the beast in front of him, too. Surely that will explain things.]

Edited 2016-09-13 03:04 (UTC)

[Firo can't help the yelp of surprise when the bolt comes closer--it hurts and it's not even touching him!]

Damn it!

[A low growl rumbles in his throat. He doesn't know what's going on here, but he knows the hunter is bad. The bolt is bad. This shadowy thing it probably bad too. Firo doesn't quite know how to deal with all that, but he does know that he should make it so there are fewer bad things. He plants one paw on the hunters face, both as an attack and as a way to brace himself. Because with the other paw he's going to move fast and try to swat that bolt away from the shadow, no matter how much it hurts.]

[That knocks the bolt away from him and if the shade still had any weight to hold up he might stagger with it now. But as it is, he only flickers, draws in a low, chill hiss of air and as soon as he's realized he's lost patience with this whole thing he's moving forward, and a shadow reaches out from him to try and pool under the beast's paw, wanting to cover the hunter's eyes and nose and face. Finish this quickly, because so long as the shadows stay where they are either the man will flail out and make the beast finish him, or he'll strangle. Might as well spend the energy on it; he'll have to go rest after this, anyway.]

[Firo wrenches his paw away from the coolness--he doesn't want it touching him. He's sure that'll do something to him, too.

But he can't just leave it, can he? Or the flailing hunter--if he escapes in this state, it'll be bad. So he sinks his teeth back into the throat and tears. The only movements coming from the hunter now are involuntary.

Blood drips out of Firo's jaws as he looks to see if the shadow is still on the hunter's face.]

What are you? Are you tryin' to pick a fight? I found him first!

[Still, it doesn't occur to the shade to try and form words. Instead he glares, facelessly, at the stubborn, shortsighted creature, then moves the shadows of him down around all those crossbow bolts, and draws all the shadow back, leaving all those dangerous things in unnaturally bright light. Drawing attention to the reason it was important to take this man out in the first place, to the thing he saved the beast in front of him from, the shade considers this eloquence enough.]

[Not eloquent enough for this critter, apparently. Is it a threat? The wolf growls again.

He steers clear of the bolts, but he takes the crossbow in his mouth and bites down on the wooden part. Restringing it might've been easy, but now it's useless. He lets it fall out of his jaws.]

Come on, I know you're there!

[The shade considers this a moment. Then, under the roof of the closest cottage, the semblance of a human body forms again, tall and narrow, standing just far enough outside the rest of the shadows to give itself definition. Its face turns those blue spots toward the other hunters in the distance, although if he has a head per se, it does not need to turn in order for him to see. But he 'looks' at the hunters anyway, then at the beast's eyes, then over toward the forest. Then in a single long stride the form of him is standing under the next cottage over, closer to the forest, and he tries to grab the wolf's eyes and tilts his head toward it. Yes, he's here, and it's time to go. Clearly the other creature can't handle another hunter much more easily than he himself could.]

[Firo, of course, is going to misinterpret that gesture, given that this weird thing is currently labelled as "enemy" in his head. But he does at least understand the indication that they should move for the forest. He starts loping off in that direction, eyes fixed on this strange figure.

Once they're farther from the hunters, he decides to cut to (what he thinks is) the chase.]

So you want a fight, huh?

[That's why the thing wanted to go, right? To take their battle away from the approaching humans? It's safer for two supernatural beings to fight where hunters won't sneak up on them.

For a certain definition of "safe."]

[The shade stops. He turns his head toward the wolf, and eyes it silently. Then he sighs. That's one sound he does still make, the whisper of a cold breeze over dead leaves. There are even the motions of a sigh, though the shade does not breathe. Shoulders lifted, chest moving as if to in- and exhale. Then he puts the place where hands aren't on the place where hips aren't, an exasperated gesture he thought he'd long ago forgotten but doesn't think twice about making. He shakes his head. Points at the wolf, then at the forest.]

[It's very simple, if someone stops refusing to put their ego into it. He only wants the two of them to be safe.]

(ooc: I was thinking if we need to time skip at some point and have them see each other later after this first meeting we can do that too, so if there's no reason for Firo to stick around he doesn't have to.)

[Weird. But Firo keeps going in that direction anyway. He speaks as he races towards the trees:]

If it's a trap, I'm not fallin' for it. What do you really want?

[ooc: Makes sense! He might run off in a bit, so I'll let you know.]

[Oh, to be able to roll his eyes. He keeps pace with the wolf effortlessly, because there is very little he needs to pace with. Anywhere there is a shadow, one shadow connecting to another, he can be there, too. So he keeps pace, for now, and he sighs, and he gives in to another old urge he'd all but forgotten about. It feels like this one was more often used with cattle than people, and all the more appropriate for that: a swift swat on the ass. Get on, little doggie. That's how it goes, isn't it?]

[The horror! The indignity!

Firo jumps with a yelp, and for a moment he doesn't even comprehend what just happened. He whirls around in one hop, all four paws coming off the ground. But he can't see this creature stopping in any one place, so he jumps around again to follow the moving shadows. At least he's going in the right direction?

The growl rumbles in his throat, embarrassed and squeaking more than low and menacing.]

You do want a fight! Keep your hands to yourself!

[The shade's paying no attention. The hand he'd used - the place that hunter's bolt had stuck in, somehow, to living shadow - still has a hole in it. Instead of paying attention to the wolf he's paying attention to that, turning that particular bit of shadow this way and that, studying the very small bits of him drifting out of the space in his hand where he isn't. Distracted, he makes a noise which, under the wind, sounds like it might almost be a voice. If a grunt counts as a voice. It doesn't quite, in this case, but it comes close.]

[He waves his other hand absently toward the forest, uninterested now in either the werewolf or in how young it seems, bristling for a fight like that. It's a very easy dismissal, one the shade does not think twice about making. More important things happening than you now, the gesture says. Off with you now, little werewolf.]

[He's ignoring him? He's ignoring him. It's hard for Firo to tell what this strange, shadowy figure is doing, but he thinks he's right about that.

Then there's only one thing for him to do.

Firo growls and then springs at the figure, jaws snapping.]

[He sees no need to even slip somewhere else. He'll simply stay where he is, and if the werewolf - as he fully expects - moves through the darkness with only a little more difficulty than he'd have moving through a very dense fog, the darkness will probably look up from its hand to cock its head at him. The hand will probably go on the space where there ought to be a hip. It's a very expressive expression the shadow will probably make, especially for a creature which does not particularly have a face.]

[Firo's about to lunge again, this time aiming to mess with that hand the shadow seems fixated on. He can't tolerate this disrespect.

But just as the muscles in his legs are bunching, he feels that familiar pull, the one that tells him the moon is going down and it'll be harder to maintain his form.]

Shit--!

[His clothes. He can get to them, but he'll have to leave this jerk. Firo growls in annoyance.]

It's not over, okay? I just can't waste all night on you.

[He turns to scamper off, but finds that it's like he's trying to run through chest-high snow. Something's holding him back so long as the shadow stays in place.]

[Now that that little annoyance is taking care of itself, he can focus on the larger problem - the one of that odd hole through him, that odd drained feeling. Best save energy, figure it out later. The shadow squints at the figure moving away from him, ignores - for the moment - the odd pull he feels, and disappears, as much as he is able. As much as he wants to hold this form, it isn't his, not really, and he forces himself to let it go. The almost human shape of him becomes something almost imperceptible to the eye.]

[Almost. Because unbeknownst to him, when the werewolf runs under a strong enough light source now, he'll have two shadows.]

[Firo suddenly finds that he can move--maybe he was just tired. This thought annoys him, because it seems far too soft, but he brushes it aside as he hustles off to where he left his clothing when he transformed. He wriggles into it as best he can, adjusting it more as his wolfishness slips away with the disappearing moon.

He glances around to make sure nobody's watching, and then he dashes off. Even when he's slipping under the lamps on the outskirts of town, he doesn't yet notice the addition to his shadow.

With dawn on the way, he collapses on the couch for a fitful--and all too brief--sleep.]

[When he wakes, if he looks properly, he might notice an unannounced visitor. The space which is being visited is the foot of the couch. There is the suggestion of a figure there, its features obscured - even the bright blue spots which suggest eyes are nearly obscured, because the figure is looking up. Up at nothing in particular, except the ceiling.]

[He's trying to wash off a faint memory in his mind so it'll come clear, the memory of standing in a house, looking up at a ceiling from the inside. He hasn't started wondering how long it's been since he's seen that particular sight, but he's getting there. Slowly. As he gets there a light breeze has started whispering around the place and a chill's grown in the air. The shadows in the room grow and shrink strangely, now blocking whatever sunlight might be moving in the direction of the werewolf's eyes, now shrinking and letting it stream straight in. He isn't making things uncomfortable on purpose, he isn't trying to wake the werewolf up. It is not exactly clear whether the figure standing at the foot of the couch has even properly remembered the concept of sleep.]

[The light and shadows dancing across his eyelids rouse him, and he's immediately on alert. Could be Maiza, could be more monster hunters who somehow tracked him back home. Better safe than sorry, so Firo's leaping to his feet without a thought. The knife he'd had hidden under his pillow--he's not used to relying on his claws yet--is in his hand.]

Who the--?

[Nobody's there.

Well, that's not entirely true. He'd hoped that odd shadow was just a dream, no matter how real it seemed, but it's even harder to dismiss in daylight. It doesn't look real exactly, but something's definitely happening.]

You again?! How'd you get in here?

[The ceiling, as fascinating as it is, ceases to matter. The full attention of those blue spots in the shade's face focuses itself on Firo. A hand rises, a hand with a hole in it, and specks of shadow drift very clearly across the rays of sunlight between them. The shade doesn't seem to walk but comes closer anyway, trying to close the distance with all the unthinking confidence of someone to whom personal space is but a vague hint of memory. What he's going to try is to take in his chilly, faint grip whichever hand had been the paw that shoved that hunter's bolt out of him. He wants to see the palm, see if that's where all those little flecks of him are drifting to. Asking is the last thing on his mind - it does not occur to him that the man in front of him has any particular desires at all, let alone a desire for some kind of explanation. Even if he were capable of giving it.]

Edited 2016-10-02 14:26 (UTC)

[It had been his left, which may be lucky, because Firo doesn't mistake the movement for a grab for his knife. He's no less offended, though, and he first tries to back away.]

What the hell's your problem? Let go!

[In seeming contrast to his words, he moves to shove that palm right into where he thinks the face is--right at those blue spots. You want to see? See.]

Whaddaya think you're gonna see, huh?

[And then he does see. He sees a new place around him, one of bright golden light and deep shadow, and in the same way he always can sense the world around him he knows that this is not a real place. If he remembered what dreams were that's what he'd compare it to. In the same way he knows that what he's seeing now is dreamlike, he knows that behind him somewhere is a large castle, green fields, maybe a forest. He does not think about what they are, or why they're there, but he knows that they are.]

[What else is here depends on his companion. This place, real or not, is one they're sharing, after all.]

A curse.

[Those aren't words he's speaking, because they don't come on a voice. It's less a set of words and more an idea, a concept which, with the logic of dreams, the two of them might simply know has been said, even before the shade has remembered how to speak well enough to say it.]

That arrow was a curse. Between us. What do you see? What's around us? Part of this mindscape is yours, after all. Part of this landscape - such as it is - is yours, too.

[He sees the cave where he first turned: in real life, a little, lichen-covered thing, but in this dream it appears towering and grand, just the way he remembers it. Firo turns and sees some of the village houses seemingly shoehorned into the rest of the landscape, scattered without rhyme or reason. He surveys the image slowly, unbelieving, and then whips around to the voice. He felt it rather than heard it, but he looks to where he gets the impression of the "speaker" being.]

Us..? Hey, you'd better not be sayin' you cursed me!

How do you know all this?

[ooc: Let me know if my mindscape assumptions aren't working!]

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