Logs:Broken Glass and Other Sharp Objects

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Broken Glass and Other Sharp Objects

Characters: Muse and Seth
Date: 2020-06-11
Summary: What's a little stabbing between friends?
Disclaimers: Violence, Adult Language

Swamp House, a windy evening with a waning moon and clear, starry skies.

The tree-covered yard of the Band of Savages' mansion is a quiet landscape of rustling branches and drifting leaves as an unusually strong wind shakes the bayou this evening, coming from southwest off the Gulf. Tonight, Seth is out among the trees, the only indication of his presence the occasional glimmering flash as the straight steel sword in his hands catches an errant ray of silvery moonlight. A few other close-combat weapons have been laid out on a blanket, overtop the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree whose branches must spread for twenty, thirty feet overhead. Knives mostly, but also a hooked sword, a staff, and a telescopic baton like you'd see security guards carrying. He seems to be going through the motions of exercising with these weapons, dark-on-dark with his usual disregard for useful lighting.

Tonight, sharp eyes capable of piercing through the darkness would spot Seth wearing a loose black tanktop and jean shorts, along with bare feet. His hair isn't tied back, falling into a loose disarray, but he doesn't seem to mind much. His eyes are closed as he goes through the motions of swinging the sword through different stances and positions, focusing on the correctness of his posture over whether he can 'see' the correct form. Besides, his opponents for these exercises are imaginary, so it's not like he needs to see them. Instead, he focuses on coaxing his muscles and body alignment into the correct forms, increasing the efficiency of his motions until it's reflexive. The sword cuts into the wind with a soft howl of quick-moving metal, as another gust descends on Swamp House from the swamps.

Mmm. The stirring of that wind through the trees is a pleasant change to the usual, sometimes oppressive stillness of the bayou and the unseen presence that approaches the Savage out in the darkness of the yard tilts her face up savor the caress of it. Alas, it does nothing to quell the restless aspect of her Beast's nature tonight, in the wake of violence and the temporary surge of sensation that follows feeding. If anything? It makes it worse. She can't settle, can't find anything to amuse herself, to distract from the ceaseless desire for activity as fresh blood sings in her veins.

Until now.

Wandering amongst the shadows, practically impossible to separate from them, Muse moves silently to the edge of the treeline, at first idly observing her coterie-mate, admiring the grace of those motions with the sort of appreciation only a fellow predator could truly muster. It's rare that she herself feels so bound to this plane, rather than the realm between waking and slumber. It affords her a different perspective. Sharper focus. And much less desire to resist her earthly impulses.

Moving forward once more, as unhurried as before, practically floating across the damp ground, the brunette stoops without slowing her stride, collecting one of the knives waiting atop that blanket. As her fingers wrap about the hilt, testing the well-balanced blade, it fades out of visible existence without any pomp or ceremony.

Are Seth's eyes closed? That seems.. unwise.

Circling around her fellow Mekhet, she permits herself a wolfish smile in the fathomless dark, side-stepping gracefully now and keeping a close eye on his features for any flicker of awareness of her presence. He executes another turn, another swipe of his sword, with no apparent aim in her direction. And so, as his back is turned, the waif steps inward just enough to glide the flat of her blade along the line of his ribs at one side. Warning, promise or threat? Hell.. she could simply have slid the knife upward beneath them. But it's so much more amusing to tease her advantage.. and her feigned 'benevolence' in refraining from inflicting hurt, having gotten this close.

That done, she backs off again, withdrawing easily into the velvet concealment of the night.

When the knife touches him unexpectedly, Seth's immediate motion is a backswing that's not quite fast enough to catch the fleeting specter who teased him from the shadows. Nonetheless, the blade is sharp and cuts through the moonlit darkness with a hum of parting air, whistling to a halt a moment later. When no injury is forthcoming, the taut reflexes that have risen to the surface while the Mekhet practices with his weapon are relaxed, a bit.


Seth inquires of the shifting branches and empty space that surround him, his eyebrows rising upwards along with a sweep of his green eyes against the shadows of the yard. His supernatural senses strain against the shadows, trying to find some trace of his unseen attacker... but they fail utterly. Well, that's a point of serious concern, actually. Seth files it away for later, though, instead revealing a sardonic grin on his lips as he steps into a brighter patch of moonlight to be illuminated properly. He stabs the sword he's carrying into the ground and leans on it at an angle, casting his eyes among the empty spaces between the trees surrounding him. "Alright, I get it, you've been practicing your powers of concealment. Very impressive, museling. Thanks for not ruining my shirt." Practiced in the appearance of being a madman seemingly speaking only to himself and to the trees, Seth looks around for a moment with a gradually growing smirk on his lips, before relaxing back into the combat patterns that he had been practicing previously. His eyes are still open though, this time.

Is she laughing at him? Such is the depth of the darkness she has wrapped about herself, the shadows she's merged with, he wouldn't hear it even if she were. Not right now. Still.. perhaps Seth knows his coterie-mate well enough by now to sense a momentary flicker of something approaching amusement, in his seemingly deserted surroundings. Little more than a subtle vibration on the breeze stirring his tousled locks.. but it's enough to lend the impression.

There's no verbal response to his sardonic muttering, anyway. Unless one counts the gentle creaking and swaying of branches or the distant melody of crickets and other nocturnal creatures of the surrounding swamps. Less formidable than those here present, of course.

Having withdrawn beyond the reach of his sword with a dancer's grace, Muse grins in the shadows, extended fangs indenting her plump lower lip with the expression. Alright, so she's not playing fair.. but when does she ever? When do any of them? Circling once again, moving in the opposite direction to her companion as he elects to carry on with his routine, the brunette regards him from every angle the vantage allows. Without doubt, toe to toe, he would have the upper hand. So forgive her if she chooses to delight just a little longer in her sheer devilry.

As Seth arcs his blade, scything it through the air, she snaps a different grip upon the hilt of her knife and brings it upward to clash with the sharp edge; an audible impact of metal accompanying the unexpectedly abrupt jolt as his movement is not only halted.. but actually flung aside with a further swish downward along the keen length. Yes.. this time the whisper of dark laughter is discernible within the background music of the bayou.

Seriously? What does a guy have to do to get some peace and quiet, not attacked by the wraiths and ghosts around here? Seth sighs, spinning the sword before driving it point-first into the loamy dirt of the yard beneath his feet and letting go of the weapon with a weary exhale. If anything were going to drive home how horribly out of practice he is in the art of edged weapons, it would definitely be getting toyed around with by a weeks-awakened Vampiress who he can't even spot. Some formidable Hound he is... although, admittedly, he's not using guns for this one. Nonetheless, it does drive home how vulnerable he would be to a less mischievous and more hostile occluded presence would go to town on Seth in his current weakened post-Torpor state, which leaves him somewhat disquieted.

That might be why, after a few calming breaths to push his Beast down and not actually take the attacking mischievous sprite seriously by going all blasting-gat on her, as his worst instincts suggest, Seth instead draws the sword back out of the ground and assumes more of a battle-ready posture. "You going to hide all night," he taunts the shifting darkness around him, and its concealed occupant, "Or are you going to come out and fight?" His voice is level and teasing, but nonetheless his battle reflexes have been brought to the fore for this situation, as he's waiting for a moment to seize back the initiative from his invisible attacker.

She's.. elusive. No argument there. But tonight Muse isn't content with merely taunting her opponent. Her Beast is riled and urges her to actually take him on, to defeat him, soundly and hands down. Does she obligingly shimmer and coalesce into existence before Seth, as per his 'suggestion'? Fuck no. She's not stupid. But she is of a mind to toy with him at her leisure. Really, given how well acquainted she is with his tendency toward violence, when provoked even a little, one might expect her to know better.

But maybe that's half the thrill.

As the Mekhet assumes a ready stance with his blade, practically gritting his teeth with the exertion of maintaining his precious composure, Muse drifts around him in the darkness of the silhouetted trees against the night sky, calculating and unhurried. Around to his back she goes, yet again. There's no warning given, deliberately or otherwise, of the sudden rush of approach. But there's the surprise of impact against his back, the pressure of knees pressed above his hips at either side for balance as she lands. There's the distinct presence of a slender arm wrapped about his left shoulder.. and the sharp pinprick of the knife-tip pressing under his jawline on the right. The Shadowed assassin doesn't hold tight. It's the principle of the thing really.. the suggestion of what the playful threat might have been, under other circumstances. Probably the wrong button to press, if one were thinking rationally.

She's not. She's just pushing those buttons because they're there. And he can likely feel, even if he cannot see, the smirk that plays across her lips at the small victory.

Muse has done it. She's managed to actually irritate Seth. An impressive feat, but if anyone was capable of managing it legitimately, it's certainly this ethereal creature of antagonism and playfully demeaning taunts. But she's forgotten one thing, in this latest and almost seductive threat... they're both dead.

Seth's next maneuver is certainly unexpected. He drops the sword entirely, reaching up with an abrupt movement to slam the knife into his own throat, burying it in his flesh, the pressure hanging it up on a bone with the abrupt palm strike of his hand against the handle of the weapon. He keeps the pressure on, slamming it in firmly into his flesh and trapping it there. Not much blood leaks out from the wound: Seth's body doesn't exactly need his throat functional, after all.

But it gives him a moment to trap her dainty wrist in the twist of his own, comparatively stronger grip.

And then the Vampire flickers, silhouette and though Muse had previously mounted him from behind... they're abruptly face to face, and Seth is offering a toothy smile to her in the moonlight, stained a bit with his own blood from the internal injury.

Then they both flicker together, and he slams her up against the old oak tree, pinning her back to it with a grunt of exertion that he shares himself. Once she's been struck, he's ripping the knife out of his throat and casting it aside carelessly into the grass that covers the soft, rich dirt here, already forgotten. The wound on his neck begins closing gradually as he pumps blood into it, a low growl rising in his throat as his Beast comes to the fore.

 Seth rolls 4 Dice 
 Roll: Strength + Brawl
 Result: Success (1) -- (7 3 3 8)
 OOC: 1 success + 1 weapon damage on a knife, 2 damage for getting shanked.
 Seth takes 2 Bashing 
 <OOC> Seth says, "Breaking point: surviving something that would hospitalize a human, Humanity 7, getting stabbed in the fucking throat."
 Seth rolls 6 Dice
 Roll: 4 + 2
 Result: Success (2) -- (1 3 9 7 4 8)

For all of a splitsecond, beneath the mask of mischievous 'play', the brunette's feral Beast looses an exultant howl of satisfaction as that blade slams into the vulnerable throat of her prey. She hadn't truly planned on going so far but.. well, when in Rome. The predatory instinct offers only this fleeting triumph, though, before she finds her slender wrist trapped in her coterie-mate's stronger grip. Shit. That delicate Cupid's Bow, curled a moment ago ins smirking amusement, now draws back to reveal her teeth in a silent snarl of displeasure and consternation, her jaw tightening reflexively in the face of imminent danger.

Literally, as it turns out. A ripple within the darkness and she's looking directly into her fellow Mekhet's vibrant emerald eyes. Shiiiiit..

It's not as though she can pretend that rousing his ire was unintentional. They both know full well it was. The only scant comfort is his apparently rigid control of his more bestial instincts, preventing him from answering the provocation with a burial of his fangs in her own throat as recompense. Well.. so far. With a sudden rush of motion, Muse's slender back encounters the unyielding bark of the ancient tree with an audible crash, splinters of bark flaking onto the fabric of her attire and into her dark tresses. There was no hope of avoiding that.. and frankly, even she might admit, if pressed, that she had it coming. Thus pinned, the Harpy observes the removal of that ensanguined blade, expression impassive following the instinctive wince that came with the impact. A moment more? The flicker of alarm at having been so inarguably caught is fading to that heavy-lidded gaze more usual for those seraphic features. The gall of her.. practically lounging in his grasp as his Beast rises and displeasure is growled ominously from behind his teeth.

Unthinkingly having wrapped her hands around each of his forearms, Muse braces herself, more than prepared to fight back - albeit desperately - should he push the matter. Her gaze does stray, somewhat inevitably, to that wound as it begins to knit closed, noting the relatively small rivulets streaking down to the hollow of her companion's collarbone.

 <spend> Seth spends 1 (-1 points) of his Vitae pool, for healing the throat-stab.
 Seth receives healing for 2 Bashing 

Once Muse's ability to continue attacking him, undercutting him, has been resolved... Seth likewise doesn't push the matter any further, though neither does he release her immediately. Each of his hands is clasping her shoulders roughly, the grin on his lips curved as it shifts in his speech. "Satisfied now...?" His voice is a hoarse rasp, severed vocal chords still reconnecting as the wound on his neck seals itself shut with a few trails of blood running down towards his shoulder... seemingly black in the faint moonlight.

Seth doesn't release Muse from the pin, the waifish Vampire still clinging to him in the reverse of her original ambush position as he stares at her with a slow and predatory cant of his head. He studies her, fingers flexing slowly against her thin shoulders as he finds a more sturdy grip upon her. "And you tell me that I'm not in my right mind," he teases in turn, his voice still harsh and broken like glass, but more coherent than his original statement as his body repairs itself towards 'normal'. He leans forward to Muse, nearly nose-to-nose with her. "If we're going to practice together in the future," he affirms, not seeming opposed to the idea at all. Indeed, there's a flicker of anticipation, that he won't be reliving this travesty again, "Enough with the sneaking around like a gremlin. You can't rely on that forever."

A beat. "...even if it is dangerously effective," he concedes in a low growl, as an afterthought, staring into Muse's eyes at close quarters.

In spite of everything, the question posed in that hoarsely afflicted tone elicits a broad grin from Muse, the expression utterly unabashed in conveying her wicked mirth and continued willingness to provoke. That's an answer in and of itself, but she's kind enough to emphasise it with a simple, "No." It'll have to do, for now.. but that tangible hunger for violence that brought her here in the first place only diminishes rather than departing her entirely. It never departs her entirely.

Though there's little room for maneuver, the brunette rests her head back tentatively against the tree behind her in order to more steadily level her dark-lashed gaze on Seth's in kind, refusing to be cowed.. at least outwardly. In truth, each passing second in proximity when the Elder Mekhet is inspired to even mild annoyance has her feline Beast, while snarling in protest, flattening it's metaphorical ears back in grudging acquiescence. "..when did I ever claim to be in mine..?" The soft-spoken point is actually quite reasonable. Muse has a knack for illuminating such facts at just the right moment to give pause.. usually.

It fails her on this occasion.

Tensing, the subtlety apparent beneath the grip of her coterie-mate's hands, the brunette sobers as he leans inward; the threat in the dominant nuance crystalline to her senses. The growled admission too, obviously. And still, after a fleeting flicker of hesitation, she quietly rebels against it. "Yes, it is." Stubborn defiance, when it comes to her relying upon what she does best. Though it mingles with an answering trace of intrigue in her dark, gold-flecked eyes at the idea of 'proper' training; their expression shifting to curiosity as they wander his features. Probably seeking to establish if the offer is a genuine one, or just a last dig at her prowess to soothe his bruised ego. And.. stabbed neck.

Oh, Seth is definitely serious about it. He needs a training partner anyway, and his house-mate seems to have a lot of idle energy pent up for pursuits like sneak-attacking him. Might as well turn that pent-up tension to something more productive. There's nothing wrong with the devil's work, after all, but Muse's idle hands might as well get up to something more devilishly productive than watching Netflix if she's begun to adapt to their modern time period and feel a bit more comfortable in her skin.

"Well," Seth mutters as the wound on his neck turns into a scar and fades back into pale skin, only announced by the flows of blood still dripping from a now non-existent wound and drying against his throat, lightly staining the edges of his tanktop in two places. "I try to practice three or four nights a week, schedule permitting." Now he's using phrases like 'schedule permitting', proper civilized, instead of growling and breaking things. Evidently, his Beast has retreated a bit. "I'll try to find you before that, you can join me. Start working on honing some of the weakness from the Long Sleep out of your body, get you back into fighting trim. I need it, as well. I've come to realize just how dangerous this city is..." his lips compress together. "And I'm not prepared." The admission is candid: there's no need to shy around the topic with Muse, of all people. It's something he's been turning over in his mind frequently, these past nights, and it's steadily crystallizing into a desire to become something far more dangerous than he currently is. Something primordial.

Then he's slowly loosening his grip on Muse, fingers not falling away from her entirely. He does support her, until she decides to change her posture, though his hands find their way to her back, between her shoulder blades, instead of keeping her upright with a steel grip to the shoulders. "I don't want anything to hurt you," Seth says, looking back up towards Muse's face. Well, besides himself, apparently.

Devilment is something of a specialty for the ethereal little Savage, that's true. And if Seth wants to find a better outlet for that tendency, then so be it. Who is she to argue? She's hardly going to spend the rest of her unlife staring at screens.. she's already proven to be gaining a solid understanding of the world around her. Even if certain aspects of it still kindle disquiet. She'll probably never learn to drive. But at least the Regas seems acceptable to her as a mode of transportation, as well as an additional Haven, on occasion. At first, after being awoken, it seemed as though she may remain content to haunt the halls of the plantation house forevermore. As it turns out, she's devouring this new century with an audacity perhaps neither Seth nor Niko anticipated. Their own little pet monster.

..who could have actually caught her fellow Mekhet off-guard tonight. That awareness, regardless of his ultimate victory, radiates from her in tangible waves of satisfaction; akin to a young wolf for its first kill, the streaming of hot blood as their jaws rip a throat wide. Mmm.. perhaps best not to linger on that train of thought overlong. Her fangs are still extended, oversensitive at even the passing conjuration of such ideas. Apparently sating her thirst tonight actually merely whetted her appetites..

"Well, if you need the practice, darlin', I am of course at your service.." The purred response is laced with dark humor; she's well aware she needs it, too. As much for the release of animalistic frustration as for honing her abilities with knives and firearms.. but the safety of the coterie is just as much her concern as Seth's. Why shouldn't she, too, see herself elevated to the hallowed state of un-fuck-with-able?

The candid admission from her companion, even as she's likewise loosening her grip, sinking down from her precarious stance of tiptoes just barely grazing the earth to a more steady settle upon her booted heels, rouses no discernible expression in her fae features now that they've smoothed to their typical mask of charismatic indifference.. but the wordless acceptance of the oddly protective embrace, given the instinctive urge mere moments ago of inflicting harm upon one another, somehow implies her understanding without the need for anything more. Well. Aside from that habitual scathing wit. "Except yourself, if I insist on provoking you." Meeting his gaze serenely now, Muse looses a soft exhalation of amusement. "..they'd have to catch me first, wouldn't they. No mean feat, it seems. Don't you worry." The Southern accent is more apparent, oft-times, when she conveys quiet confidence. Wrapping her slender arms around her coterie-mate in a rare display of genuine affection and trust, she rests her cheek to his shoulder, content enough to be held for a moment of his coveted peace and quiet in the shadows of the Haven and the swaying trees that keep vigil through the dark.