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Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Not dizziness, maybe, but I always get vertigo to the max.

"always" being, like, twice. >_____>

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

We had some...special pastries before seeing Pacific Rim in IMAX. I have very mixed feelings on the overall experience.

Never Lose Your Hat!

Ivy stared at him a moment longer, brow furrowed. She really, really, really wanted to show him what she'd found. All things considered, she thought she'd been pretty patient, since the only reason she hadn't made him stop and admire her handiwork back on solid ground had been because he'd given her his gun instead (green eyes flicked hopefully to the sidearm for a moment before she remembered she was trying to be supportive).

But if Mama Petra had been here, she'd have smacked Ivy for not offering to do something about the whole hat thing sooner. It was clear Jötz was still upset, and she really did owe him a handful of favors at this point. She decided to compromise by keeping a look out for anything even remotely hat shaped. She was sure she could figure out the rest from there.

Besides, Mama Petra would have smacked the Jaegar, too, because she had no patience for pouting. Or Jaegars. But pouting was definitely the greater of two evils.

That decided, Ivy sidled close, grinning. Any caution about the teeth, claws, and strength her new companion had over her had fled around the second or third time he'd saved her life. Also, she found a cool thing, and she wanted him to see.

Flushed with excitement, Ivy held a gore-covered fist beneath Jôtz's nose, then slowly unfolded her fingers.

In the center of a palm obscured with all matter of a lumpy blackish-blue-green substance was a thick curved tooth, smeared with a thin coating of gray-green stickiness. Even so, it appeared to almost glow in the dim light that shone through the hole they'd fallen in. It was a little longer than Ivy's thumb and about twice as thick, ending in a gleaming point that rested between her thumb and forefinger. The other end was splintered and broken, as if the tooth or bone had been hacked and chipped away.

Ivy stared at her treasure with an expression one might expect to see on the face of a new mother, if that new mother was also slightly manic. She reached out another finger and gently drew it along the curve of the stout tooth before looking to Jötz for his reaction.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said adoringly. "I got it from one of the little ones when that tree fell." She frowned a little. "I think I could have gotten more, but that big one didn't like us very much."

She stared at it again before shifting to sit so she was cross legged, all but leaned up against Jötz and completely, pleasantly oblivious. She carefully set the tooth in her lap, cradled between her legs in the quickly putrefying fabric of her apron. Absently, she wiped gore cover hands on her leggings.

It was a long moment before she realized her left hand was doing a funny combination of itching and smarting. She stared curiously at the hand, still a little smudged with blood and gore, before spitting into her palm and cleaning it again.

A look of excitement and alarm crossed her face and for a moment, the tooth was forgotten as she drew gentle fingers over her palm. She drew her hand close to her face, squinting through the dark, then nodded once.

"Huh."

She looked at Jötz, carefully neutral.

"When I was building my ÜberOven, I cut my hand on...something. I dunno, I get hurt on a lot of things." She stared at her palm a moment long, then held it up for further inspection by the Jaeger. "I think those things are poisonous."

The two-inch gash had been obscured by the growth of a thick, bluish flesh, cool and rubbery to the touch, with a number of small wart-like bumps forming on and under the new skin. The blue had grown outward from the center of her palm to the edges of her hand to begin to wrap around back and creep up her fingers. Ivy waited for Jötz to take his turn, then went back to studying her hand herself by prodding with an unblemished finger.

"It itches," she observed.

Then, suddenly her face brightened and she looked at Jötz as gleefully as thought someone had offered her a puppy on Christmas morning.

"Do you think the tooth will fit in the gun?"

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Oh, you guys. =)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Things were not great.

On the one hand, Daisy was convinced someone out there hated her more than the wight, her former personal trainer, and her dry cleaner put together. First ThadMax's problematic return, then the wight and his dumb face, and now an army of souls ripping holes in Death on their way to oblivion? There was no way it was mere coincidence. Daisy wasn't so arrogant as to assume she had anything at all to do with whatever reason Boss Man Werewolf had gotten them all together. But at this point, she was not going to be a gracious recipient if she was being Punk'd.

But it wasn't like she had any choice. Floating atop the Thames in a semicorporeal form, she could feel everything from all sides. The part of the Reaper that remained in the living was a little less invulnerable to the heat and flame that washed over her with each blast. It didn't hurt yet, but she definitely couldn't remain here forever without at least scoring a serious sun burn.

Still, even that was better than the pinpricks of stinging cold -- like she had become the victim of a My-Girl-esque death scene, where all the bees were also antarctic chimaeras. She felt one every time a werewolf soul was torn asunder by a blast she couldn't explain. She hadn't even known it was possible to just...erase souls like that. Somehow, even erasure would have been better. At least she could have pretend they were going to the right place. But this...watching thin wisps of what had been a real, living thing just crinkle and burn to nothing?

Daisy made a point to avoid feeling disgusted or bothered by anything, but that...that was wrong, and not just because it was breaking. The goddamn. Rules.

So, what choice had she had but to go after them? It was stupid and dangerous -- Artie was pissed. She could feel him straining at the end of the tether he provided, back where she'd left him on the far side of the keep, safe, she hoped, but semi-frozen, too. And it hurt. Ghosts haunted shit for a reason. No one, not even a Reaper, was meant to drift in this gray space between life and Death for long. She shouldn't have even been able to do it, let alone Reap souls from here.

But again. Villains. Heroics. No other options. Fucking Veti had taught her all that shit.

She trudged through the explosions, first "walking", then "running", then abandoning both when she realized both require some form of friction, and she really only had willpower. It still felt like too long before she reached the center of the action, and it was another long moment before she forgot to do anything but stare, horrified, transfixed, by the show of light and carnage.

There was a wolf approaching her, oblivious or uncaring, about the enter the Thames, about to wade across to this fucking huge office building and try and tear it down to...what? Hurt her friends? Scratch an itch? Did he -- or she, Daisy had never been able to tell, though she didn't share that with Veti -- realize what he was giving up? It was far, far more than his life.

Daisy decided to let him know.

She reached out a ghostly hand, and in the instant before he...exploded, she pushed, hard, and felt her fingers close around the familiar chill of a live soul. She yanked. The wolf dropped to the ground, unexploded, and his soul came roaring through with Daisy.

It was instantly clear he was not keen on the proffered favor.

The towering wolf rounded on the pink-haired Reaper, who stared back calmly, if a little impatient. Reaping souls that hadn't been Marked wasn't allowed, either...but she was pretty sure whoever was in charge would make an exception.

"What have you done?!" She couldn't tell if he was speaking a different language, or just growling kind of a lot.

Daisy sighed. "You're pissed, you're scared, I get it. You're also dead. But trust me, I did you a favor."

"How -- "

Daisy ignored him. Her hearing went funny for a second as she reached back through and grabbed another three wolves. On the Thames, three more bodies collapsed to be overrun by their uncaring brethren.

" -- happened?"

Daisy blinked, adjusting her footing as the wolves slowly realized their missions had gone awry, thanks to an American (ish?) teenager with hair the color of cotton candy.

"Can you all just...move? I can lead you on later, but now I need to save your friends."

One of the wolves snarled and lunged forward. "You will answer, child. I -- "

Daisy took a step back, and with a flick of her wrist bought the water swirling around furry ankles to the level of their chests. Even without knowing what it meant, they reacted appropriately. Confusion. Caution. Fear.

"You don't want to do that," she said. "I have a werewolf friend, and she is, like, crazy overprotective. Also, you're dead. So, whoever you were with before, I'm in charge now. Okay? Now, please be quiet so I can try and wrangle a few more of your buddies."

She turned away, letting the water drop back down to small eddies and whispers of Death. And then she paused.

"Wait, just so we're clear...who did send you guys out here?"

Never Lose Your Hat!

Yes, I am well-versed in causing inordinate amounts of stress. =)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Igraine said
Oh that was amazing Dot - and yes, Veti will totally buy Daisy like, the entire top shelf is she likes, and just bring the hurt if they try to card the pink-haired teen Cannot wait for the follow-up with semi-heroic life saving... soul-saving... stuff!

You are so sweet. I'll admit, I find myself wanting to design team Victaislinn shirts a little more with each post from you and Heroes. >__>

BUT ALSO WAITING WITH BATED BREATH FOR SIYA AND ATTICUS TO GET. IT. ON. >={

Derren Krenshaw said
I was a bit slow on getting it trademarked, so go on a steal away : )

I know an attorney who deals in copyright law and intellectual property, if you like?

Never Lose Your Hat!

I haven't forgotten you! I'll have a post up this weekend...I had an idea that's taken a bit more forethought than originally anticipated. Hopefully, it does not bring everything to a horrible, grating, painful halt.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

A bit lot later than planned, and I've stolen the 'kamikaze werewolves' term from you, Derren -- sorry about that, buddy -- but a post is up! I'll have a follow-up of semi-heroic actions sometime this weekend I hope. =)

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Days like this really, really, really made Daisy want to quit.

First, they'd made her visit a library, which was, okay, kind of cool, but not at all worth the effort for the surprise twist ending which still made her skin crawl. She was out one apartment and two roommates, and maybe two more snarky showdowns from killing that undead thing back in the B&H living room or parlor, or whatever insanely rich, insanely old people called it. She had literally just explained how uncool it was when people didn't put in what they took out -- such basic math: a soul for a life and vice versa -- and now?

Now, souls were popping like firecrackers soaked in propane, and it was just really fucking annoying.

For a long moment, Daisy had stood, entranced. There'd been a wave of heat -- intense heat for her to feel anything at all -- and a blinding light, and Artie had begun howling and barking and just generally losing his shit. A moment later, Jay-Jay was doing the same thing, and then she was gone, and Artie was growling in Daisy's face, just waiting for her to mount up, or whatever, so they could get the hell out of dodge.

Only Daisy wasn't really paying attention. Despite the explosions making the ground tremble beneath her feet, the chaos erupting on the grounds inside and out, she could focus only on one, tiny spot of cold. Not Floating Ice Bitch Cold. Not Fucking Wight Cold. Not even Death Is Coming Cold...but close. This was an inside kind of cold. That feeling you get when you realize you left the stove on back at home. The feeling you get when the doctor walks into the waiting room and she still hasn't met your eye.

Daisy shivered, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Castle Old and Creepy As Fuck was under attack.

Souls were dying.

It had taken Daisy, like any Reaper, all of a few trials to learn that souls didn't die. Souls were transferred, stretched, pulled, changed until you didn't know it from Adam, rare as that might be. Bodies died. People died. Werewolves, vampires, demon Vogue models, and fucking shitheads died, but souls were liquid intangible, as paradoxically tenacious as water. Souls went A to B, heaven to hell, life to Death and back around the other way, if you wanted to be a dick. But they didn't die. They weren't supposed to die.

And they were dying.

She'd felt it right away as fire and light raked over the statues and the castle and what had been a creeper stoner werewolf, that tiny pinprick of dread that normally meant someone was fucking shit up, tearing open portals where there weren't supposed to be any. But this dread quickly went deeper than that, bypassing the standard rage tube to settle in her stomach and balloon into something unfamiliar, and so cloying it was like a paralytic.

For a moment, Daisy stood, transfixed. And then somehow, without thinking, she was on the other side, tearing through the water to get to the new souls she saw pouring in -- only not in. They were wispy fragments of nothing floating, immaterial, over Death's waters, trapped between here and what was left of life, and Daisy suddenly realized what that feeling in her gut was.

Pity.

It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was wrong, she knew, and it totally made her look like a hypocrite. If the wight ever found out, he'd never shut up, and she'd be forced to punch his stupid face, and then where would they be?

But she wasn't really thinking about that. She'd left Artie crouched, frozen and angry, on the far side of the courtyard, guarding the portal back to life. And she'd gone on to the Thames and the wrong being done there, because if ever there was a time when two wrongs did make a right, or at least a 'decent', this was it.

Standing at the threshold of the chaos that was life, Daisy painted a small, ethereal figure at the water's edge, what most might have called a ghost. Almost all of the Bain and Hoyle Company would have been able to sense her, even if they couldn't see her. The wight might be able to pick her actual figure out. ThadMax, too. Jay-Jay and Nestor, if they looked through demonic eyes.

But the werewolves around her, the ones she was going to save, goddammit, they were oblivious, and she shuddered as wave after wave of heat and fire wafted over her form, expecting to be pulled to one side or the other with each explosion. Staying centered between Death and life wasn't easy, and shouldn't have even been possible, but Daisy wasn't one for petty details.

She was more focused on the fact that she was about to kill half a hundred pissy, kamikaze werewolves to save their stupid, werewolf-y lives.

Wherever Veti was, Daisy firmly felt her former roommate owed her, like, a dozen drinks after this.