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Characters: Dustin, Lola, Mason, Ivy,. Saulot
Date: 2020-04-30
Summary: Something has been killing people around pack territory, but it ain't the usual murders and the like. Something leaving very ragged and jagged slash-marks almost like it might be one of their own. It seems to be targetting specific people, and leaves behind a clue who the next victim might be. Now, it leads to the home of old Mrs. Sweetwater...

The sun's gone down, and most of the heat has died down. The warrior's moon hung high in the sky, offering much of its light through the see of grey high above. Most everybody had gone inside by now short of those usually up to their late night activities. A few of the folks hanging on a corner or on a stoop, although they don't more attention to the pack than they need to.

The place they'd been directed to was a quiet part of Bywater. Most of the people here were old, or had been here for twice as long as most of the pack had been alive. Mrs. Sweetwater, the supposed next target, was inside her home somewhere. Her car, an old green hoopty. Her front yard was freshly cut, and the smell was pungent. The woman's one-level house was fine enough, although there was a beware of dog sign on the front door.

The threats of a serial killer using the guise of an Uratha worries Dustin greatly, especially when it's been happening in his own territory as well. He's gathered all the packmates in the traphouse and prepared themselves to confront this psychopathic Werewolf, towards its supposed next victim, after it had deliberately left clues behind. Dustin is riding inside his Cadillac, with all of his packmates in if Mason isn't bringing his bike along, the smooth humming of the car's engine only increasing the budding tension within the vehicle. Dustin has a joint in hand, and he smokes while he drives. "Can't believe we have a psychopath running about," says the psychopath himself, who's probably had done much worse than this killer. But in a discreet, more professional way, of course.

Ivy choose to sit in the backseat to surrender the shotgun spot to Lola or Mason, whomever wants it. For once she has abandoned her bug-out bag for the time being; it would only slow her down. She's still wearing the thigh holster with a hunting knife sheathed in it and the skirt she wears has a pocket that's bottom has been slitted, to allow her to access the weapon more easily. She's humming softly to herself as she rides in the vehicle, psyching herself up for what is to come with some music in her mind; sounds like Bohemian Rhapsody. "I can believe it. The neighborhood has gone to crap," she comments.

Lola was determined to prove that she was useful damnit. So much so that she'd purposefully gone out of her way to find some lowlife addict yesterday and borrow him. Sacrifice a little to gain a lot. She had him stored somewhere safe, fully intending to bleed him over time so she could be prepared in case the pack got called on to do something. Or if those stupid hobo cannibals showed up again. Looks like her forward thinking was paying off tonight though.

Lola's hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a pair of black jeans, her ritual knife tucked in the back, and a white crop top. Mason's leather jacket was settled over her, definitely too big but that was okay. She was prepared to at least not get fucking stabbed *again*. "Only killers allowed in this neighborhood are us." Lola agrees wholeheartedly. "We'll take care of this cabron, don't worry." She's got her own window lightly cracked, smoking a normal cigarette.

Mason is, indeed, with the rest of the pack in the Caddy, having taken the back seat next to Ivy, the big man sitting just slightly askew in the vehicle with one arm layed out along the back of the seat. Tactical pants, hiking boots, and a simple black t-shirt underneath a heavier long sleeved thick jean jacket serve the man for his choice in clothing. There's a pistol in a holster at the small of his back, a hunting knife carried openly in a horizontal sheath on his belt, and another knife in the top of one of his boots. "Dunno who or what the pig-fuckin' asshole's doin' round here, but he chose the wrong fuckin' place t'be doin' his shit."

Things are silent for now. As they approach the house they hear something around them. Someone around them. Whispers erupt all around them, their words unintelligible. Nonsense uttered with every beat of the heart. The wind blows, although the trees and grass remain still.

"Hey, it's always been crap down here. Not like it's our fault the government won't do shit about it," partly true, partly false. Depends on how you look at it. Indeed, some of it /is/ their fault for not putting an effort in making the place any better, although Dustin would most likely object to this. He's done /some/ good lately, protecting the streets he controls and terrorizing those outside his sphere of influence, but not enough to actually make a difference. Better than nothing though, right? Dustin gives her a sister a brief, fanged grin. "Damn right."

He takes one hand off the steering wheel and tokes, puffing a cloud of thick smoke to his side. His window is lightly cracked as well, giving the smoke space to escape. Dustin is dressed in an oversized black shirt and ripped jeans, an all-black ensemble of clothing for tonight, the top half of his face covered under a bucket hat. Arriving at the place, Dustin can already smell trouble lingering in the air as he hops out, his hair standing on the back of his neck when he overhears the whispers. He keeps it quiet, and goes around to investigate.

"Fuck the government," Ivy mutters low, but still loud enough to be heard. They're to blame for the death of her brother, after all. And the ensuing cover-up. But that's a tale for another day. She slides a hand into her pocket and checks the hole in it to ensure it hasn't disappeared in the last few minutes. When the car pulls up and those eerie whispers can be heard, her shoulders scrunch up, the hackles on the back of her neck rising up. Her nose wrinkles, white teeth bared in a sneer and her head rolling on her shoulders. "Fuck," she whispers.

The whispers on the area set Lola on edge. She doesn't like that at all. La Sang is sort of on alert. He's mostly just along for the ride right now. So to speak. Lola frowns deeply, quietly getting out of the car with the others. "The fuck is that?" She whispers to the rest, watching Dustin go off to investigate. She moves to stand in front of the car, eyes on the house and the surrounding yard and area to see if she can spot anything suspicious.

Jaw tightening as the crazy amps up about them, Mason gives a toothy wolfish grin at no one in particular, "Shit's already fuckin' goin'goat-fuck, monkey-shittin' crazy. 'nuff fuckin' reason to put this mangy-ass dog down all on its fuckin 'own." As the Caddy pulls to a stop he pushes the door open and climbs out, giving his shoulders a bit of a shake to settle the jacket on them and does a quick but practiced sort of self pat down to make sure he's not left somethin' useful behind. Head on a swivel the ex-Marine moves towards the front of the group, the big bearded man's stride a ground eating one that isn't -quite- natural, his every sense on alert.

There's someone around them all right, but they're hard to see. It's as if reality folds in on itself everytime they try to focus in on it. There's a glint to it's appearance, shining oddly in the moonlight. Eventually, it can no longer be seen. However, the whispers persist with the beat of their heart.

Dustin has to adjust his hat to see things better, eyes shifting left and right as he walks around the house to investigate, beckoning the rest of his pack to go on without him. It's probably best that they check up on Mrs. Sweetwater while he secures the perimeter. He can definitely sense someone watching them from the shadows, though this being manages to keep on fucking with his sight whenever he tries to focus on it. A low growl rumbles in his throat, and Dustin goes to slowly approach this obscure figure, if it can be approached.

When Dustin waves them on to contonie, Ivy has no trouble heading up on the home's porch and approaching the door. Soon enough she's knocking on it to get the attention of Mrs. Sweetwater. She raps her knuckles on the door, putting on her brightest Girl Scout type smile. Nothing to see here. Just here to sell cookies and exorcise some evil spirits.

Lola catches sight of a humanoid figure for the briefest moment. Attention snapping. "Careful hermano." She hissed out towards Dustin as she saw him trying to go in the direciton the figure was. She flashed a look to Ivy and Mason and then swallowed, starting to head for the house, letting Ivy take the lead. She slides a hand back as if casually resting it on her side once she's on the porch as well. But her hand is resting on her knife, ready in case she might need to use it. For reasons.

With Ivy moving to do the proper thing and rouse Mrs. Sweetwater and Dustin moving around towards the back..or at least long the side of the yard and Lola going along with Ivy, Mason is .. going to slowly prowl around the front yard, keeping to the side that he can keep an eye on Dustin to some degree or the other, but remain well within range of getting to the front door and backing Ivy and Lola up if needed.

"Gimme a minute, gimme a minute!" comes the voice from inside the house. "I ain't decent!" It takes a few minutes, but the noise eventually comes from inside. The first bolt is off, and then the lock tumblers start moving. She opens the door, one hand holding her bathrobe closed and in the other she holds the door open just enough to peek through. She takes the cigeratte out of her mouth, and blows smoke at whoevers in front of her at the door. "Whatcha want? I ain't got any money so robbing me's a waste of your goddamn time."

The alpha stares at the latest place this figure was, the dark orbs of his eyes blurred under the rims of his hat. The skin on his face pulls back as Dustin snarls, hands jerking and fingers twitching, ready to discharge wicked claws from them. If this is indeed Uratha, he's wedging his bets on either a Bale Hound or a troublesome Ghost Wolf, if not Zi'ir. He holds his nose up and sniffs once the figure is gone, turning on his heels when he hears Mrs. Sweetwater greeting the group and rounding up the corner to rejoin them.

"Hi... Uhm... So. I think I just ran over your cat by accident, ma'am. It ran from this yard into the street and I couldn't stop. I'm so sorry," Ivy says, having lost the initial Girl Scout smile when the door opened. She steps back to gesture in the direction of the street, paying no attention to the friends that are with her. Perhaps she needed their moral support for the moment.

Lola spies Dustin coming 'round, a little less tense now that he's back in eye sight. She tries to pull off a sorry looking expression. She, however, doesn't vocalize anything just yet. Simply gives Ivy's arm a light squeeze. Moral support indeed. She does try to peer past the woman though, into the house. Just to see if there's anything of note that might attract any spirits. Intentionally or unintentionally.

"I can't seem to find it, thought it ran off this way." Mason adds, just loud enough for the old woman to hear as he paces around the front yard - it could very well be that he's looking for an animal that got hit and ran off aftwards, perhaps ok - perhaps injured. While he may be lookin' around at the ground, its only occasionally, he's not gonna let he or his pack get blindsided if he can avoid it...despite all that stink of smoke 'n weed in his nose from earlier...maybe.

"I ain't got one of those mongrels," she sneers. A bit behind her the wolves can pick up a scent of a dog, and Ivy can see it past Mrs. Sweetwater. The dog's a pitbull, and looks about as old as the Mrs. It barks, tiredly. The dog looks up to Ivy, chuffs, and drops its head back down to rest again. The lady looks over to Mason, her eyes narrowing as she focuses in on the man. Then over to Dustin. "Those two can come in, though," she says with a flutter of grey lashes.

There's a scratching of his chin as he observes how the situation is going. Of course this has to be that crazy old lady everyone talks about in the neighborhood. Obviously the perfect target for a kill, too- who's gonna remember the old hag after all. Dustin's eyes widen behind the rims of his hat when the woman calls for him and Mason in, the Irraka staring at his Rahu packmate with an amused grin. "Sure thing, madam," he says to her, slinking between Ivy and Lola as he makes his way in. "Nice place you have here. Can't we invite our friends inside too, though? It's kinda cold outside. Poor girls, yknow."

"Oh." Ivy looks back toward Mason and then to the old woman in the doorway, her brows furrowing. Did the old bag just hit on the boys? "Ma'am, I think it must have crawled under your porch. Do you have a flashlight we can borrow? The poor thing looked really hurt," Ivy presses. Whether she responds or not, it gives Lola time to look inside the house past the old woman, to see if there's anything besides the old dog inside the place.

Lola's eyes narrow ever so slightly as this Sweetwater lady indicates the boys can come in. This is how every one of those horror movies starts innit? She has zero plans of becoming this loca chica's dinner or some shit. She looks at Dustin like he's crazy as he starts to slink inside and then tilts her head to look back at Mason. As if daring him to agree to go into that house. She shifts her body slightly, grip tightening on the handle of her knife as she looks back. "A flashlight would be real helpful." She agreed, trying to be subtle about scouting the interior of the home.

"Ma'am, I stepped in some dog-shit out here, don't wanna be trackin' it all over your house n'stuff." Mason replies, though he does move closer, scuffing his boot back and forth in the lawn like he was trying to get some of the aforementioned excrement off his boot. He leans over a bit as he gets closer to the porch, "Y'know, I thought I fu...err, I thought I saw something under the fu..dam..under the porch. Sure you don't have a light, ma'am?"

The woman is shamelessly eyeing up Mason and Dustin. She looks over to Ivy, lips curling into a sneer again. After a sigh and a roll of her eyes she steps back, and closes the door. After a bit of metal moving she takes off the last bolt, and opens the door. "Get your asses in, and you better not keep your asses in here long."

Just as she's finished a rush of cold air flies outside of her house. It causes the windows to shake, and for her robe to fly up in the most unflattering of ways. She turns around in a hurry after her cigarette's been blown out. "The fuck was that!?" she yells. No sooner do the words come out of her mouth the power goes down from her house all the way out to the surrounding houses on the block.

Dustin does not seem phased at all when the strong wind suddenly washes them over, and darkness blankets the place, as the lights go out unexpectedly like straight out of a horror movie. He takes one last hit of his joint and chucks it aside, letting the wind carry the roach away. His eyes turn to regard his packmates, as if acknowledging them of what's to come, and then back to Mrs. Sweetwater. "Ma'am, please step back inside the house. I don't think it's safe for any of us out here."

The lights go out and Ivy has no choice but to abandon the squashed cat line of bullshit. She decides to let Dustin take over with the convincing of the old woman, backing up from the doorway and looking around to see how far the power outage goes -- and to look for any other signs of weirdness around the house.

Lola growls a little when she sees the ghost woman on the other side of the house. Around the back. "I saw-" She starts to say as the woman is letting them in...but then that WOOSH happens and she curses. "This will be over soon." Hopefully. Maybe? Who knows. La Sang is far more alert and interested now to what is going on at least. Lola turns her back to the woman, Ivy, and Dustin sliding the knife out of her back pocket. She lightly drags it across her open palm. Blood welling up in a thin line. She barely flinches. It's time to fight, whether they're ready or not.

Mason sets his back to the rest of his pack, backing slowly in towards the house while keeping his head moving around, leveraging those wolfy senses of his as best he can even as works to do his best to ensure that he's the one furthest out from the 'safety' of the house of his pack. He gives his shoulders a bit of a roll, twisting his head side to side a bit on his neck as if loosening up for a fight - which is exactly what he's doing. "C'mon y'spooky rat-fuckin', ol'lady pervn', shoulda been pushin' up fuckin'daisy's dickwipe..." He says in tones that are quite likely to be too quiet for the old woman to hear, possibly Lola..but not his to fellow wolves.

She's difficult to make out. As if she's both there and isn't. That rail-thin figure. Now that she's made her presence much more known they can see that she's wearing something like a hospital gown. It's caked in long dried blood all over her torso. Her arms hang limply at her side and her unearthly long, spindly fingers end in claws that gleam from what little light the moon shines through the window.

The figure shivers and shakes. Seemingly moving and standing still all at once. She lifts her clawed hands high, and whispers something that's drowned out by the nonstop whispers still echoing around them. As the last word is uttered from her dried lips they feel it. They all feel it. Old Mrs. Sweetwater starts screaming in agony, and they can feel as much as see it as her. Cuts open up over their skin, and as quickly as Uratha heal another cut opens them up.

Ivy launches herself at the creature in the hospital gown; however, she's too distracted by the painful wounds that keep opening in her skin. Shame on her as a Blood Talon. But the fight is not over yet. Even if she fails to even make it to the creature for the pain.

Dustin is practically boiling in anger right now when he witnesses his packmates' pain. White fur oozes out of his body as his figure bends and contorts, shaping itself into a dire wolf, and he pounces. His razor sharp claws finds its mark on the horror, leaving a horrible wound on it. Dustin lands beside it and ducks, growling and snarling at the she-devil in pure anger.

Lola's skin seemed to harden. Her nails extended into claws, pocketing her knife. She stumbled a bit, an involuntary cry escaping her as an overwhelming feeling of suffering clouded her mind.This was all wrong. She tried to fight through it, hissing out in pain as the cuts easily slices through her temporary natural armor. Fury rises in her eyes as she focuses on the ghost. There's a brief, unnatural glow to them as some kind of power emits from her in an attempt to paralyze the ghost even for just a few precious seconds

Mason appears to have decided to pull all the stops, totally not even bothering with the lesser forms, shifting to the war-form as he makes a leap towards the now manifest entity, shifting amidst the wounds that keep opening in his flesh, bleeding him, if slowly, letting out a roar of primal rage as he swipes at her with heavy claws as he lands within range of the spirit entity and tears into her with blood in his eyes.

She made it close enough to attack this time, and Ivy becomes the creature she was born to be. Arlo would be so proud as she snarls out her fury and attacks from whichever side the other two in her pack have left vulnerable from their own attacks.

He howls out in excitement when the horror is knocked down by Mason's rampaging attack, the bloodlust within his Gauru form being acknowledged by the pack's alpha. Dustin, in his mighty Urshul form, doesn't hesitate to stomp his claws into the she-devil again, ripping and tearing the evil figure apart alongside his packmates.

Lola really is useless in a fight! She seems...torn. But you know what? The big boys and girls seem to have this one. So Lola changes tack and rushes inside the house to check on Mrs. Sweetwater and see if she's still breathing or not. She knows when to tap out at least. And hey maybe...no that's bad Lola. Don't think like that. She may be a cranky old lady but she certainly isn't someone that won't be missed. Not a low life. But..."Uhh I think the old lady is losing it!" She calls back - though they have more important things to worry about. Probably. She makes a mental note to do more research on some things. Later, when death isn't possible.

Mason does what gauru do best, rip, rend, shred. He roars with his fury, his rage, coordinating with his pack to work to bring this intruder ...this twisted spirit to the end it deserves. Sharp claws rip into the spirits form with murderous intent and savage fury.

Ivy landed a successful attack. Now it is time to scare the hell out of the entire neighborhood. The Cahalith throws back her head and belts out a mournful howl that might chill the blood of some, but it is meant to inspire her own pack. They're already in their war forms out there in the dark. Can't hurt to add some blood chilling noise to the mix.

Like carrion birds circling its prey, the Uratha of the Killer Instinct pack rip and tear at its paralyzed opponent. Dustin pokes his wolfish head up at Ivy and roars out a mighty howl in return, invigorated by her, teeth gnashing and snapping in the air. And as he comes down, he chomps into the she-devil's head, and pulls it off of its shoulders in a shower of gore, him howling out again as they stand triumphant. As expected, the proud alpha gains the last kill, spitting the head out to his side.

The woman was being torn to shreds. However, she gives them not an ounce of blood. Only menance and pain until the alpha's jaws rend her head clean from her shoulders. The body falls down and her head rolls to the ground. Her lips open, her uttering one final curse before she's gone. Every inch of her turns to ash, and in the next gust of wind dissipates into nothingness.

The room's now filled with all their blood pooled around them. Even little Mrs. Sweetwater and the mess she's made of herself. Between the Gauru and that thing coming for her she's barely at all there. Just shaking and shivering, trying to hold onto the last shreds of her sanity.