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Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Pooooost! (When you have time) Daisy's gonna avenge the hell out of Veti. Who probably isn't dead, but she just has a lot of feelings.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

I'm envisioning a "DONT YOU DIE ON ME GODDAMMIT" scene forthcoming. I shall use my best WWII prose.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

THANKS JUXY SO SWEET BUT NO ONE IS REACTING APPROPRIATELY EVERYONE IS DYING I HAVE TO YELL I HAVE SO MANY FEELS

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

NO IM SAD WHY CANT YOU JUST LET ME HAVE THIS

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Oh, I'm sad now. =(

Saloon City -- A Rural Noir RP

The still was alone, no one in sight, when Willa reached it, and she grunted, sucking her teeth in mild annoyance, before she heard Kitty whistling somewhere through the trees. Kitty was always whistling, usually tuneless big band and swing stuff, though it'd changed a bit since she'd started hearing new colored music back in town. Jack had taught Kitty to whistle early, real early, before even Vi had gotten the hang of it -- another thing she resented the only remaining Avett boy for -- right about as soon as they'd all learned she'd never learn to talk. As far as Willa was concerned, teaching Kitty to whistle was the last good thing her piece of shit twin brother ever did.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Willa walked up to the still and gave a short, sharp whistle of her own. The answering whistle stopped almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Kitty came traipsing out of the woods, grinning, skinny arms loaded down with a pile of sticks.

Willa frowned. "You out here alone?"

Kitty stopped smiling and hesitated, which Willa took as a yes. The willowy brunette cursed under her breath and watched as Kitty began to go on the defensive.

"Don't start with me," Willa interrupted impatiently, walking over to relieve her teenaged sister of her load. "I told you you ain't allowed to stay out here on your own no more. Just like I told Vi not to leave you out here on your own no more. The hell is she, anyway?"

Kitty pouted for a second before shrugging, stooping to shove a few bundles of skinny twigs under the basin of fermenting mash. Willa watched, suspicious for a moment before relenting.

"No, guess you don't," she muttered. Her youngest sister was smart as a whip, but she'd always been a shit liar.

She was hardly surprised Vi had cut and run again. Kitty was always more than willing to prove her use, staying entire nightlong shifts out at the still on her own if she could -- though even Vi was cautious on that end of things. And their red-headed middle sister sat still about as easy as coal turning to diamond. Really, Willa'd have been more worried if she returned to find the other girl ready and waiting.

But that was neither here nor there. Vi was flighty and irresponsible, but even she was careful -- and angry -- after the still explosion a few years back.

Willa must have had her nostalgia face on, because after a moment, Kitty elbowed her with an apologetic smile, and pointed to where she'd had a row of clay jugs already set up and labeled -- three Xs and a rose sketched in charcoal -- for filling and running, if Vi ever got back. Kitty was clearly proud of herself, and Willa found herself smiling nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Listen, I'm gonna trust you to get back home on your own?" Kitty made a face, and Willa laughed aloud. "Alright, then. You been out here since dawn, girl. Git. Go get some sleep -- and get to school on time for Crissakes. I'm not tellin' you again, you ain't got nothin' else to decide until at least summertime."

Kitty considered arguing, then decided she was too tired. Standing up on her toes, she pecked Willa once on the cheek before disappearing back through the way she came, her repainted bicycle crunching along through the underbrush.

Never Lose Your Hat!

Ivy's mind was humming a hundred thousand miles a second -- jumping from toothy projectiles, from poison dart guns, to poisonous projectile-shaped frogs, and vice versa -- giving the overall sensation of a warm buzz. She didn't object, or even seem to notice when Jötz grabbed her wrist, having completely skipped over the eagerly hopeful reaction she'd been anticipating. One moment, she was sitting cross-legged, inspecting her grisly prize from all angles, and the next she was on her back, still inspecting her prize, none the wiser, all without ever realizing she was about to say a very quick goodbye to a very critical body part for a very permanent time.

It was the pinprick of pain that finally drew her attention elsewhere, without quite breaking her free from Sparking. Impatient, annoyed, she looked to her arm, scowling at the thin, bright line of blood there before switching her green-eyed gaze to the Jaeger.

"What are you doing?" she demanded imperiously. "I -- " And then she seemed to focus on the blade in his hand, and her mind snapped abruptly back into place. The irritation in her face became fear and confusion at once and she began to pull away.

"Wait," she said, half pleading, half questioning. "What's gonna hurt? Are you -- ?"

And then he did.

Time seemed to slow down, her heart beat rolling to a stop, her eyes never once leaving Jötz's, though they grew wide as saucers in her increasingly pale face.

"Um..." she began meekly, almost politely. "Did...did you...?"

The pain came before she could finish the question. It came like a speeding train, like a great wave bowling her over. There was nothing, and then there was everything, and the everything was entirely too much for her mind to handle, because it seemed to short in that moment, giving her pain not in physical feelings, but in flashing colors and lights.

FLASH!

Everything ricocheted back into hyper speed as Ivy began to realize what had just happened. She could feel her heart begin to race, could hear her breathing picking up in her ears. She blinked dumbly and tried to sit up.

FLASH!

The searing light -- red? yellow? -- was accompanied by a scream this time, and then another, the first a stunned yelp of surprise, the second one of fear, appearing to swell as though she stood at the bottom of a vast abyss and someone was falling toward her, quickly.

FLASH!

Something bad was happening, and Ivy had to leave. She had to get away, run away, even though she wasn't sure how or to where or from whom. She tried to get her feet underneath her and failed, succeeding only in stumbling to once side. Her back found a wall and she leaned against it for support.

FLASH!

It was getting harder to think, if that's what the chaos tumbling through her mind could be called. Her head felt heavy, her eyelids felt heavy. Her face felt hot, and the rest of her felt cold. Except her left side, her arm. That just felt --

FLASH!

She was going to pass out. She was pretty sure she was going to pass out. She felt sick and dizzy and slow, and she was breathing too quickly and there were great big colorful spots in her vision, slowly blocking out what she could see.

Her eyes scanned the growing darkness for a way out, any way out, and instead found the Jaeger. What was his name? Jaegar...Jaeger...Jaeger...

She threw up and started to draw a hand across her mouth, and couldn't, and screamed again. In the back of her mind, something kept trying to kick into gear, Sparking fruitlessly against the FLASH! that had taken over.

Her eyes, half lidded now, caught on something in the darkness, a pale, cold still thing, so small against the shrinking black. She counted four fingers, a thumb, a few inches of arm...

The next FLASH that came was duller, colder. The black was taking over, coming over even the pain, and she didn't mind in the slightest. She wavered fell back against the wall, struggled to stay upright.

Finally, she looked down to where her hand had been and froze. The flashes stopped. If she was still screaming, she couldn't hear herself. Ivy blinked once and nodded, as if she had expected this. A small frown of disappointment crossed her face.

"But I'm left-handed," she protested quietly, much the way a very young and overtired child might insist they could stay up another hour past bedtime. And then the encroaching darkness became complete, sealing itself shut over her eyes as Ivy slumped, unconscious, to the floor.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

>< I have a really hard time making those posts as short as I'd like them...

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Someone, somewhere was dying.

Granted, Daisy was standing/floating/haunting amidst waist-high piles of gores, blood, and fur. Half the fallen bodies strewn around her ethereal form had just recently died at her hand, something she was trying very hard to ignore just now. The rest were hurling them against the B&H castle walls, maybe taking a few more souls down with every blow. A lot of someones were dying a lot of places. Daisy was a Reaper who'd been ass deep in Death even before all the chaos had started. She was so accustomed to feeling souls snuff it, she could generally ignore it.

This soul was not like the others.

For one thing, it was not a sudden flare of light and pain and then a pull of cold nothing as the souls were obliterated by whatever magic had been laid upon them. This was the slow, inevitable crawl to Death everyone -- most everyone -- experienced at one time or another. But unlike the average human soul, this was no dull bundle of cool light. This soul was old and big, the sort of shit people would have used in conjunction with words like 'noble' or 'venerable' or 'gravitas', whatever the hell that meant.

Someone was dying inside the castle. Someone important.

For one stupid, embarrassing, annoying moment, Daisy's sort of heart was in her sort of chest. Her eyes flicked back to the castle and her soul began straining against the bonds of life and Death. Veti's name repeated in her head like a slowing heartbeat. Which was lame, because she maybe kind of sort of hated Veti or something. But she didn't want her to die, geez, she and Tiny Vamp had just spent an entire year pretending not to mind each other's sense of fashion to prevent that.

But no. No, Daisy knew what Veti-at-Death's-door felt like. She had eleven months worth of experience. This wasn't that. This was bigger, deeper, colder. Not as scary, maybe, but still some pretty real shit. And it occurred to her then she had no idea what was happening inside the castle. That was clearly were the werewolf bombs were trying to get. If things were bad out here --

Whatever she'd been about to decided suddenly fled as the newly dead werewolves -- the ones she'd managed to save, thank you very much -- suddenly realize they weren't so helpless as they thought.

She felt claws rake down her back like red hot pokers drawn through butter, and she hissed in pain. They'd attacked from Death, not life. They couldn't kill her -- not quickly, anyway -- but they weren't far from leaving those same ugly marks of decay all up and down her torso.

Daisy released her hold on life for just a second, letting the castle flicker out of view in favor of the gray waters of Death, where just now, easily half a dozen enraged, confused werewolves were beginning to realize they'd been cheated.

'Cheated.'

Daisy quickly put some space between herself and the snarling pack, hiding pain behind a mask of irritation.

"C'mon, guys, I feel like we just talked about this. You're on my home turf. You don't want to fuck with me."

"You have stolen the promise of glory from us!" one hissed, and his companions howled and snarled their assent. Daisy tapped the Scythe, still invisible, with her thumb. Just in case.

"Um, I stole oblivion from you," Daisy corrected impatiently. She still had to get back to the castle. She still had to rescue scores of yet un-oblivion'd wolves. And these newly dead ones were not helping. "I dunno who promised you what -- " she pointed at the wolf who'd given a useless answer, " -- thanks for the help, dude -- but it's not what you think. There's no paradise waiting on the other end of soul-based TNT. There's no nothing. Trust me. I'm doing you a favor."

The wolves snarled and moved closer. Daisy swore under her breath. None of them had been in Death long enough to be a real threat. But they could still pack a wallop. Or at the very least, call the wrong kind of attention. Her back still throbbed.

"Daisy, don't be a hero," she sang under her breath, just as the wolves lunged toward her as one.

She thrust the butt of the Scythe deep into the water, knocking all six wolves back onto their haunches. Fully four of them were swiftly carried away by the water, their howls of anger quickly turning to fear as they realized what was happening. The other two scrambled up and after Daisy, who was already making her way back toward Artie and away from the causeway.

She found him and pushed through the life without so much as a backward glance, though she could feel the heat of claw marks burning through the back of her Victoria's Secret Pink tracksuit.

Artie was on all fours, towering above her as the sound of distant explosions and gunfire slowly returned to her. He licked her face once, anxious, angry, and she reached up, panting, to pat his snout before hauling herself onto his back.

"Go find Veti," she breathed, wincing, and trying not to think of the wolves still dying for everything and nothing. "Hurry, Artie. Go."

Saloon City -- A Rural Noir RP

William Horace Avett had always proudly announced his children -- his girl children -- had each inherited some part of their mother when she died.

It was the truest, kindest thing Bill had ever said to his oldest child and only son, and now, even three years after his father's death, Jacky Avett still knew it to be true.

Willa's trait was easy. That one had been growing on her even before their mother had died. He didn't like to think about his sister at the still too often. He could still see his twin now, in all of her resplendent teenage gawkiness, on hands and knees scrubbing out the mash basin like she was bathing a child. He'd been so angry then. Part of him still blamed himself for not just taking her away with him.

Vi's was a little tougher to place, but only until you tried to talk to her for more than a few minutes. It took her only that long to decide whether she liked you or not. If she did, she'd curse, call you a name, and invite you down to the Big River Saloon where she'd worked underage for years before it closed. He didn't know where she was inviting people now. He had an idea he was too afraid to test.

And if she didn't like you...well, she'd curse, call you a name, and invite you to do something a little less friendly, but equal frowned upon in decent society.

Then there was Kitty. Little Kitty, who it was a wonder wasn't spoiled, the way their daddy had doted on her. Then again, growing up with Willa and Vi, there wasn't much room to get prissy. If Kitty had lived with him, he'd have let her get every bit as prissy as she liked. He'd have taken her up to New York with him, would have had to beat off the boys with a stick when -- if -- she ever caught on to the new flapper style, all short hair and short dresses.

Kitty had adopted their mother's looks, dark hair, green eyes, freckles for days, and a smile that could outshine the sun. She wore it softer than their mama had, and Jack thought maybe some of that was his doing. She was gentler than Annie Avett had been, quieter, too, though that had been the breech birth, according to the doctor.

Still. Kitty Avett was pretty, sharp as a whip, and stubborn as they came. He knew full well the records he'd bought for her birthday next week wouldn't do a thing to change her attitude toward him. She was far too loyal to her daddy and sisters for that. No matter how much she loved that colored music.

"Whatcha got there, Jacky -- er, Chief?"

Jack looked up from the notes strewn across his desk to one of his Saloon City officers, a skinny kid named Thomas Shaw. Thomas was just two years younger than Jack, and had graduated the police academy a year after Jack had, deciding to leave behind his Virginia routes to join his friend down in Pickett County. Jack knew Thomas had probably only been drawn by the smaller numbers -- greater chance of earning Chief of Police if Jack didn't cut it. But the kid was loyal and hardworking, and it went a long way these days.

"Nothin' much," Jack answered with a yawn. He and his other officer, George Gable, had been out late the night before investigating rumors from some of the church wives across the river, who swore up and down they'd seen stills in the woods. "It's my baby sister's birthday next week. She's turnin' seventeen, and I can guarantee you, Vi and Willa ain't -- "

"What're you doin' with negro music?" said Thomas, instantly skeptical as he arrived at Jack's desk and picked up one of the records -- An Evening Duke Ellington and Friends. The other was the newest record by Bessie Smith.

Jack shrugged, somehow equally apathetic and defensive. "Kitty loves it. She'd carry Mama's old gramophone around with her everywhere if she could." He said nothing about trying to buy back his younger sister from the life she was being led into.

Thomas studied the record a moment longer, then shrugged and dropped it back down on the desk. "Kids these days," he tutted. "You and Gable get anywhere last night?"

"Nowhere that counts," Jack said, tucking the records and an unsigned card into an empty drawer. "Might have a new lead for today, though. You up for a drive?"

Tom grinned, showing tar-stained teeth. "Always."