Zombiedude101

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Luca @FernStone, Sloane @Atrophy, Britney, Adora @Mixtape Ghost N & Everyone Else

---

”... Sorry about that, Clance.”

Britney

Was that sarcasm?

Britney had earned herself another half-assed clap from the boy's grimy palms, payment in kind for the equally half-assed comment, although Clancy avoided giving in to the temptation to suggest where Britney could aim her [i]next[i] spear - he left that unspoken.

”Sure.”

Faint green light spilled from the other Greenwood girl - Kashmira - washing over him with no effect, Clancy chose not to join the brief huddle that formed, instead setting his attention on their supposed destination as Autumn stepped up to lead them on. He kept an eye on Luca and, to a lesser extent, Adora. They weren't in their best shape, and he had considered they were already in bad shape with unfriendly eyes on them, and this was all before they'd reached the vault.

That soon changed at least. Greenwood girl led them out of the tunnel and into something out of an art gallery.

The others probably had their eye on the vault, the overengineered mechanical system that would've looked old by his grandparents' standards, never mind the people in the room. Whatever its workings, it would be difficult to get through.

Probably.

The vault was their problem.

Clancy's gaze, on the other hand, was set on the statue of the dog. The Starving Dog, although to look at it, the model from which its likeness had been sculpted was probably better fed than most dogs he'd met. What it was really made of was a question present in mind. Marble, maybe? He wasn't a rock expert, but he knew that the stuff was heavy, but also easier to crack open than something like granite.

Then again, this was a magical statue that didn't follow logical rules or reason. Sounds familiar, right? The irony wasn't lost there, either.

”I'm the only one who can give Luca or Sloane an opening.”

Adora

Clancy rolled his eyes as they considered their plan of attack. Why wait for Father Wolf when you can just get eaten by his cousin? For Adora's sake, he cut in.

”Nice try, but you weren't there when some of the stupor friends met me at the biker club. They had dogs that size, too.” Or something like that. ”And maybe you hit your head a little too hard back there and forgot which one of us is still walking around without some glowing green bullshit to fix things.”

It wasn't intended to be mean spirited, but being blunt and direct came across as subtly as a lead balloon.

”How much can you handle like this, Clancy?”

Luca

He looked at Luca, shrugged, then glanced downwards at the shadowy abyss yawning through his torso. It was starting to close up, pale flesh gradually edging back over the underlying skeletal shadow, not unlike watercolour spilling across a canvas. It would take a while before it cleared up, and would probably not make it in time before they had their next punch-up.

”If you’re less hurt than Adora then… you’ll be able to hold it back best.”

Luca

The boy realised, perhaps a few seconds slow, that Luca was asking if he was capable of stepping up so Adora wouldn't have to. That she was in far worse a shape than he was or would ever be.

"I'm not hurt." It was easy to forget how bad things looked, sometimes.

Irritated was a better description, present company accounted for. The damage was superficial, an interruption at best. Outside, it meant people asked questions, but in this circle there was no illusion to keep up with. Perhaps in part that was a relief, what made it easy. Not that he wanted to go through the experience of peeling himself off the end of a large wooden tree-trunk again, "But I think you're right, he gestured back to Luca, then nodded over at Adora, "Could say a lot of stuff about you both. You're not okay, and you still have getting out of herle to worry about when this is done."

”If Layla, Alizée, Aislin and Britney can immobilize the statue… I could also destroy it. It’ll erode like any other stone I bet. Then we won’t have to deal with it on the way back out. Unless we’re hoping for a secret passage inside the vault, or a perfectly timed teleporter?”

Luca

"How long would it take you to get through stone?" It was a rhetorical question, mostly.

Too long, too much risk. Clancy shook his head, giving voice to his feelings on the matter, "Not worth it."

When the biker had set the deer-goat-dog things on them at the club, he'd slowed them down, hurt at least one of them bad enough it didn't get up, They weren't too different in size to the statue either, either, but they had still been living things, made of meat, blood, bone.

Could he stop it? Of all of them, he probably had some of the best chances, and had nothing to lose. Could he break it? 'Maybe' was his best answer.

[b]"Here's a better idea. Sloane was right about trying to hold it down, immobilise it. While that's happening, I'll try and hold it, hit it, break pieces off if I can. I don't know if it's smart enough to know it can't hurt me. Doesn't feel like it's really ‘alive’ like that, but I'll keep it busy.”[b]

Like a big cat sizing up prey, the boy pivoted a wide berth around the stone canine, easily dwarved by its size, a puppy by comparison. The only thing it was missing was a coat of red paint Funny, he considered, without betraying a sense of humour to the others.

Thinking back to Sloane's suggestion, he added onto the strategy. ”Adora and Luca should save it for the way back unless they don't have a choice. You'll just get in my way.” A half truth, equally blunt as before.

”l can still do as much damage as I can. If you've got anything for me, like a stick to play fetch, now's your chance. Otherwise, do what you need to open the vault and slow Clifford here down. Get what you need and run. If it doesn't stay down, I'll catch up when you're too far to be outrun.”

Then, after another seconds pause, he shot a comment in someone's general direction, ”Try not hitting me this time."

Clancy, for his part, was as ready as one could be.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

King Corpse, Aislin@Estylwen, Luca @FernStone & Everyone

---

For all its power, the corpse-king was still just that. A corpse. Dead, rotting meat and old bones.

Useless, the instinct at the base of Clancy's consciousness reminded him. There was no sustenance to find here, only a problem to be dealt with.

While it appeared to remain unaware of him, the boy had made to maul the towering creature, small hands grasping and tearing at exposed bone and the residual tissues contained around it. He meant to bisect the royal skeleton, one hand plunged elbow deep in an effort to grasp at what passed for backbone. Fingers grazed against vertebrae, then-

Snap.

The boy's limbs seemed to drop, dangling limp at one side as the two of them were speared through by a great wooden length, the skeleton through its ribcage and the boy from waist to sternum. Clancy's gaze shot downwards, trying to make the scale of it.

It looked bad, horrifying even. The stake as thick as a tree tunk, more as like to be just as strong. Thick enough that it seemed less the case it had speared through him, than he'd been smeared around it, like a human donut.

The only times he could recall things looking worse than this were oout on the train tracks, a long time ago. He could only guesd how it looked to the others, even if he felt nothing of it save for the presence of something that didn't belong there.

The corpse-king wasn't down yet either; impaled through the ribcage, and pinned to the wall a few feet abead of his own position, uust narrowly out of his reach, Clancy could see the glow forming in its twitching, bony digits as it invoked another surge of elemental wrath, fire and storm bound into one Although he didn't have enough room to twist around, or even glance backwards, the boy could hear the panicked voices, urgent shouting.

Getting free was a good idea, except he was suspended midair, far enough of the ground that his feet were dangling in the air, no floor or wall to kick off, and the corpse-king still a few inches too far away for him to properly grapple with or pull loose. One hand clutched at the wooden length drigen through him, palm barely wide enough to curl around a fraction of its circumference, and dug in.

Definitely a tree trunk.

Legs swung out, fingers dug into the wood, cracks and fissures forming where they bedded in, and then, before he or the corpse-king had a chance to lash out at the other, darkness enshrouded the both of them as the roof came crashing down, a shroud of dust and detritus swallowed up half of the tunnel with them.

---

=-”...Let's get outta here. I dont think it's dead.”

Aislin

Aislin's relief appeared premature when another hand burst through the mound of debris. Smaller, paler than the last, it appeared to reach backwards, pulling free a looser section of the rubble, exposing the still-impaled Clancy, skewered upon the visible length of wood.

Perhaps by some stroke of luck, the debris wall had given him something to kick off. Knees brought as high as they could, he kicked off against the debris wall while fingers dug into the wood, pushing himself backwards until he slid off the blunted end of the stake, landing backwards on his rear with both palms splayed across the ground.

When the boy stood, the foot-wide tear in his abdominal cavity was near-imppssible to miss, ligHt dimly spilling through the great puncture for a few seconds before a shadowy, skeltal layer filled in the space, underlying the pale facade of flesh that had been displaced. Human donut wasn't too far from the truth, complete with a coating of grey-brown dust that smeared his charred and tattered clothes. The only part of him that seemed to retain any dustinct colour was the crooked, yellow sneer of the torn cartoon mask, now smeared with blood.

”Great work.” Clancy clapped both palms together with a sarcastic cheer, nodding downwards at the shadowy hole in his torso, ”Thanks."

Although his expression betrayed nothing of his sort, his gaze searched for the others out of concern for their potential losses. Adora and Luca were definitely on rough shape, but they were alive at least, judging by the latter's suggestion they move forward, ”Yeah, before I run out of stuff that fits."

Then, he shot a look at Britney and the Greenwood girl, "Unless you think the dog can fetch me another shirt.” His voice was bristling, laced with venom, but lacking most of the guttural rumble that had characterised his other imhuman backslides into instinct.

For now, anyway.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Estylwen edited my post slightly to reflect that Clancy is also going to get Van Helsing'd by Britney's stake

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

King Corpse@Estylwen

---

Sirens, shouting, the faint crackle of gunfire and artillery seemed to perforate his surroundings. Then, the taste of warm blood and fresh meat arrived among those senses, nourishing a programmed demand that poisoned his consciousness for every waking hour it was denied. Clancy’s jaws sank into the mobster’s sleeve, fingers tightening a little more around the elbow joint, coming close to outright snapping off the man’s forearm like a brittle branch. The boy had meant to tear the arm off, to let him bleed out, to crack bones beneath his teeth and gorge on the marrow-

Had being the key word. Someone else, a man wielding a chainsaw, had distracted him - momentary enough for the mobster to pull his remaining hand free and make a gesture.

A surge of energy coursed through the boy’s body, the black electricity dancing across him; the man was far from done, and the brief spasm induced by an electrical jolt brought the boy to his knees as the ground yawned open beneath them into a stygian abyss, threatening to swallow both in its black embrace.

But Clancy for his part was deceptively strong, far from weak, even as patches of clothing smoked from where the lightning had seared the fabrics enough to burn away at the facade of flesh beneath and leave pockmarks of missing skin. The boy proved unwilling to descend, one foot, a free palm and sheer strength pressed into the lip of ground surrounding the portal, preventing either from immediately escaping, for a moment.

Had the man thought he'd pull him through? Maybe, if he were just a kid, but not him. Instinct told him to pursue, chase, devour. But the others-

Adora was winded, facing down the corpse-king, The others were still occupied with the lizard-thing, or recovering yet from other blows sustained.

In other words, not good.

In his periphery, Clancy felt more power surging forth from the steepled figure ahead while the others continued to wane, cold winds gusting down the tunnel. Frost formed across every surface, and for a moment he was almost half-convinced that the wisps of fog rising from his body were a sign he was breathing for the first time in decades, until he realised it was a product of the frigid air making contact with his smouldering clothes and the mobster’s warm blood smeared across his jaw.

In the wake of those pressing matters, Clancy relinquished what little grip he’d maintained on the mobster’s shattered wrist and pulled free, leaving the dark-haired man to sink into the depths.

The boy was left to survey the damage left behind. Luca was dissolving the lizard-thing, the others at his side in enough strength to keep him from getting killed, but the corpse-king remained the greatest danger here, slowing them down, keeping them from getting where they needed to be and, he realised almost too late, rendering the tunnel uninhabitable. Clancy pushed the mobster out of mind, pulling himself past the portal, moving past the chainsaw-wielder, his gaze set on the towering carcass as it wrought icy storms upon the tunnel.

Cold had no hold over him, no pain it could enact on his senses, nor the shivering that would induce most into a stupoured huddle. Too long in the woods. His sleeves grew encrusted with frost, each movement giving forth a crunching sound as ice formed, dissipated and reformed with each motion.

Sluggish steps became paces, the boy driving fingers into a section of wall coated in ice, raking gouges in the surface, and pushing off against that surface for more leverage.

Half-charred and spattered with blood, the boy looked half a revenant himself as he burst through and vaulted over a layer of ice to lunge for the undead monarch’s lower torso, hands clamouring to grasp, tear and smash at whatever exposed bone and rotting tissues he could find.

If nothing else, it would pull attention away from the others long enough to do some damage. His only error, as he'd realised moments later, was that Britney's stake was primed to punch through him on the way to its target.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Estylwen

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

@Mixtape Ghost N Sloane @Atrophy Luca @FernStone Alexander@Estylwen

---

It hadn't taken long for the others to catch up, even if they were doubtful of why he'd dealt with the not-corpses The Greenwood girl had expressed mild disapproval in her need to remind him of what they didn’t need.

"... And we don't need to kill every zombie we come across,"

Autumn

To that, Clancy had thrown up his hands in a half-shrug, thumb and forefinger tapping together to silently puppeteer her commentary. Need was a strong word, and particularly from someone who had probably been shitting her diapers while he was dealing with a different kind of monster. Her chastisement was a familiar talk-down he'd learned to suppress over years in half-doses.

He doubted she'd have appreciated it if he'd left one of the rotting carcasses to grab at their ankles and do what things that should be dead... did to the people that weren’t yet dead. Whatever that was. And he'd broken through enough of them in the sodden yard of Kari Wilson to know it was safer than leaving to chance.

“Personally, I’d feel more comfortable knowing there were less ghouls to potentially block our only known exit,”

Sloane

Sloane blunted the edge of his irritation, gratitude enough for now. He tilted his head slightly upward in response, perhaps not so subtly exaggerating the nod in the process.

They came towards the supposed access point to the compound, a side-entrance with a loose door. He wanted to question whether it should’ve been that simple, but he’d seen plenty of smart people who still forgot the basics. A light here, a door there.

The Greenwood girls’ warnings echoed in his mind. No lights, no loud noises, and most importantly, no magic. Stick to shadows. All of those he could check easily enough, except for maybe the fact that he wasn’t functioning by natural means. His existence was unnatural. Did that mean being there would qualify?

Either way, there was something they needed here, and he doubted the others were any less noise than he was with their collective magic and parasites.

Soon, as foretold, the first of many cameras cropped up, the faint blinking LED indicating its presence as it slowly pivoted from left to right. It took maybe a quarter-minute to get the timings of the search pattern down, but then he had never really had to worry so much about them before now.

The others, on the other hand... Luca volunteered to go first, looking in his direction.

”I guess you could come with me?”

Luca

Without hesitation, Clancy had bobbed his head in agreement, then moved in lock-step with Luca, expressing a quiet contempt for the corrosive presence probing at his facade of a body as he escorted the skinny latino across the camera's blind spot like a good samaritan walking an old lady across the street.

Even as the others passed through, he chose to keep pace with Luca while some of the others moved ahead, letting them slip past him as though he was no different a fixture than any of the ornate decor of the place. Further in they pressed, keeping to narrow alcoves, blind spots and the like until they came to what he guessed was the security gate that had been mentioned earlier in the plan. While his intent was to keep an eye out for Luca, he warily glanced towards the others.

Layla and Alizee, bound as they were, were as unknown a quantity as he was to the rest of them; Britney and Sloane had been whispering to each other a moment before, about what he had no idea, while Adora and Aislin seemed to be keeping quiet for now, as were the Greenwood girls and Amara’s phantom.

Well, they were, until something at the periphery of his senses seemed to close in, off one blind corner away from the security gate.

Clancy was late to notice it, in light of the distant cacophony of sounds and smells pulsing across the island as the other groups made their play, but now he could distinguish it from the background noise, the large presence he felt was too close to ignore, footsteps that closed ahead and smells accompanying them. ”Something big, close-”

Gurgling, stinking mound of meat, the lizard-thing had been sighted by the Greenwood girl before rearing its ugly head, a toothy maw not unlike the books he’d seen when he had been a lot younger, still growing.

The same Greenwood girl was hollering a warning of an incoming adept, which he had figured by now meant magic-user, though ‘red’ and ‘purple’ were distinctions that meant nothing to him, and to one side he could hear the rumblings of Adora, ready to leave. Britney seemed a little more resilient.

"Came here so we could find the asshole who murdered my n-.." Clancy sharply reminded them, then changed trajectory mid-sentence "Your friends." Like the biker’s pet ‘dogs’, the lizard-thing was not something that gave him pause. If it came to it, like he’d guessed it could with the stone dog, he favoured his own chances of dealing with it.

At least, he had until a rush of air pushed out from behind, too close to ignore.

Prompted to turn, Clancy caught it just barely in time to catch two figures emerging from a distortion in the tunnel, for one to just as quickly disappear as some hulking corpse-king took their place, wreathing either exit in green fire.

The man that remained pointed at them, raving about Luna - the white-haired girl who’d been spying on them?

No, not raving. Revenge.

Manifest in power, surging forward. Clancy stepped out, trying to put something between Luca and the bolt spearing at them..

That something was himself.

The arc crackled over him, manifesting in the form of half a dozen obsidian fingers which seared at his clothes and gnawed at his instincts. One licked at the open mouthed, buck-toothed grin of the cartoon character portrayed on his mask, blackening it into a charred, hollow scream. Beneath the fabric, he could sense the recession of what accounted for his lower jaw, where the pale white expression of cold skin was peeled back to expose bare teeth and the black void yawning behind.

Another black kiss made his knee give out for a moment, not pain as he could describe it, but something that counted for discomfort, stalling him. Then, it stopped.

Vines and roots emerged to close off one mouth of the tunnel, binding the dark-haired mobster in a cocoon of tangled overgrowth, but Clancy’s eyes were dark, flinty chips of ice, set on the gaps where skin and clothing remained to showcase the outline of a body.

And the boy felt that malevolent instinct surging at the back of his mind, the hunger, the need for meat from some stupid asshole that tried to kill him.

All that worthless flesh.

Clancy threw himself forward and drove a hand through the overgrowth that bound the mobster, small fingers raking through plant matter to grasp at his entangled arm, still pointed outwards, at the point where the elbow connected to the upper arm.

His other hand grasped at the gnarled growth that stretched out from the mobster's trapped fingertips, intending to wrench the limb away. Noises were abuzz around him, his s senses fixated.

Clothing. Meat. Bone.

The boy, bathed in an iridescent green glow, crunched down at either end, the moment washing over them.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Clancy had quietly listened as they finalised and formulated their plan for the job, studying the map that had been set before them, the warnings of the obstacles and dangers they would face, and the division of the groups.

He was no stranger to getting into places where he wasn't welcome, but could not have said he'd ever pulled off a heist on purpose. Like it or not, his vice was prey.

Stumbling into poison and loose change were sometimes a consequence of what he did - especially in the cities, but he never hung onto them, usually holding onto a few spare bills as his allowance, while tossing baggies and bricks were thrown in the furnace or, given the former's scarcity, into the nearest body of water, more often than not. No doubt the fish had probably not thanked him for that, but it was better than leaving it for other assholes to find.

Whatever their mutual doubt of one another, he could recognise that Britney was right about the plan - or specifically, the lack of a backup. If the Greenwood people weren't around to get them off, what was the plan?

Swim for the shore? Clancy, for his part, was not so bothered about getting off the island this way.

He had forded streams, rivers, even lakes. Why did an ocean matter?

The first time, when he had refused to accept his situation, when he was in denial, had been the worst. A dark, cold plunge that he thought - hoped could've stopped him, except it didn't, as he found himself tearing at the entrails of a fresh carcass less than an hour later, his clothes sodden, his face and fingers caked in mud, grit and blood.

When you didn't need to breath or worry about the stuff flooding down your airway, water was just another environmental presence, like thicker air that moved over and around you. When you didn't need to care about the cold washing over your body, weighing down your clothes and holding you back from surfacing for air, or worry about feeling any pain from where the water would normally sting at your eyes and burn through your lungs, it was just another aspect to the world, like the difference between walking over snow, ice, grass, asphalt.

Clancy could swim, but often times he found himself sinking like a stone, walking or wading close to the solid ground beneath, clawing at the silty bed for a better foothold here and a lunge there. It was how he'd left the Halloween Festival when the old man had driven the cane through his eye.

But there were others here, and they were a mixed bag. Britney didn't like him, nor he her. Enough said. Sloane and Adora were okay. Aislan, he knew less of, but he had no problms with her at this point. The Greenwood people were strangers, and probably saw him the same. Layla and Alizee had made their bed, and would now have to lay in it.

That left Luca, probably the only one of them, apart from Adora, who he could trust to the furthest point he had trusted anyone in his unnatural existence. Although they were all - Clancy aside - technically adults, he suspected Luca would benefit from a helping hand. He knew how fragile the skinny latino was, and how he was more at risk than most of the others on those benefits. The rest could, as far as he understood, look after themselves.

For that he hoped they wouldn't need another way out, because he didn't rate his chances of trying to drag their fragile bodies back to shore in the middle of the fall - hypothermia would do a faster job of killing most of them than any parasite could.

The others were dressed for the occasion. The Greenwood Maidens in their sports gear, the others similarly garbed in caps, hoodies and masks. Some were armed for the occasion, like the Ghost Woman - Amara - in her riot gear, complete with phantom figures stood beside her. Where had she got that? He put it out of mind, that didn't matter - only that two of the phantoms were going to accompany them.

As far as disguises went, Clancy's had worked for him. There was no cutting or styling the hair, but he could hide his face and make it less obvious who he was. He'd traded the grey hoodie for a navy one, this time with some dull faded sports branding across the side, and slipped on a yellow balaclava with the likeness of some stupid kid's character called Jimbob Squareshorts or something stupid like that, swiped from the post-Halloween bargain bin of a thrift store. The only part of him he didn't cover were his hands or eyes, and that because amything he did was likely to be torn off if they got into a scuffle.

Even if he didn't particularly care if some saw his face, he didn't want to make it so obvious by association. He'd spent a long time keeping under the radar, avoiding the supposed magic feds and their like, even after surveillance cameras started showing up on every other street corner. He didn't want to risk that now, or the slim chance of the same people they were taking these magic items from would make the connection between him, Luca and the others who'd hosted him

Not to mention the hitwoman the old man had probably sent after him. For all he knew, these people might have had connections to her, as everyone in this town seemed to have with one another. A few fleeting words and thoughts passed through his mind, thinking back to what he'd learned at the club what must've been over a month back.

Dollhouse. Judas' connections to them. Who were Shayton's bosses? He put the thoughts out of his mind for the moment, focused on the matter of artifacts.

By his understanding, the axe he'd taken from the nazi had been such a thing. It had felt powerful, in its way, although the only thing he'd found it good for was cutting things in two a little more efficiently than with a butter knife. Perhaps it was the source of the tattooed nazi's strength, but for him - his existence a different kind of strength - it seemed only to serve as a sharp tool, and even then it had been lost to him when the 8th Street assholes had turned the scene outside the cabin to mud.

Still, the axe would've been helpful for the stone dog, for the eventuality that it turned up. For now, he'd have to manage without. The artifact group were going with minimal baggage, and he was about as best as they could get for-

The veil fell. His train of thought interrupted, their assembled groups were moving. Within moments, he found old ground disappearing beneath him in one moment and new ground apparating in the next.

Teleportation? They were here. No time to think on it.

---

Elysium Island - Artifact Group
Luca @FernStone, Sloane @Atrophy, Artifact Group

---

As they progressed, gunfire and other panicked noises crackled in the background. He was no stranger to such things, although perhaps not on this scale. Usually it was closer, directed at, above or beneath him, rather than being on the score of half an island away. It was rare to run into assholes with the kind of power on display here. A distant thunderclap underpinned that musing.

And not usually with explosions.

Clancy wondered if this was what his old man and Uncle Gerry had been through in their wars of long ago. What Frank had been unable to escape. Except there was a clear difference; Clancy didn't care so much about getting through it alive. He wasn't living, had nothing to lose except the prospect of failing, and while they were still trying to get back home, the only thing that he could hope for was the end of the line.

There wasn't a home left to which he could return, either way.

Luca had volunteered to demolish whatever doors sat between them, but Clancy was inclined to agree with Sloane on letting her or one of the others try it first. Using the Rot was a double-ended sword, with no safe way to use it.

As for the 'Starving Dog'...

"If the dog comes, I'll buy you time," he put the notion forward, then continued, "Focus on getting whatever you'll need to find Father Wolf. It can't hurt me."

Unless it happened to have teeth that were made from the same crystalline material that had pained him so. [i]Nothing[i] would've surprised him at this stage, and it was a chance he was willing to take if would get them a shot at Father Wolf. For Ashley.

Perhap to undermine the point about something being unlikely to hurt him, there was a blinding light off somewhere on the horizon, as though the sun itself were bearing down on the island, centered on the mansion. Clancy's attention had been directed towards Luca and Sloane, but even so the light had briefly flashed through the fabric of his hoodie and mask.

He stopped in his tracks, almost blinded for a few seconds, fingers tightening into half-fists as he raised one to shield the half of his face until he could adjust. Off in the distance, he could smell what could've only been described as ozone and charcoal mingled together, along with something else closer.

Meat he thought at first.

No, he corrected himself. It was rotting.

Dead.

Clancy threw a hand up in a silent gesture to the others, still half-balled into a fist, then approached a clearing amidst the trees they'd pushed through. There, where the daylight bored down, he spotted a pair of silhouettes lurching over tree roots, barely avoiding getting thei footing tangled in some of the oversized root systems that cut through the ground.

The boy veered off to the left, leaning against one tree, then pounced, slamming a foot into the hamstring of one undead guard that had been faced away from him to break their footing, and brusquely grasping and mashing their head into the tree trunk aside in a mangled smear of dark viscera.

.
The other wight, half-turned, was subsequently shoved at waist-height over a thick patch of moss and overgrowth, and the boy soon concluded its existence by driving his knee into the undead creature's skull before it could wheeze out another strangled roar.

Useless, rotting meat. The base instinct at the back of his consciousness would've recoiled more out of disappointment than disgust.

The others no doubt were catching up, as fast as they could go given their limitations. There was no time to be annoyed or disoriented. "Few more nearby. Can smell them."

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

---

Clancy had little to say on the matter of the conjoined girls. Both victims of a parasite, and now...

Layla claimed there was no force in the matter, but Clancy had been for long enough to know that force went beyond the physical. Sweetened words, promises, threats... some had tried it on him while out foraging, and come to regret their tastes shortly afterwards. Leon, now back to normal form, had a literal devil on his shoulder, whispering poison into their ears.

Clancy knew that he himself was proof they couldn’t be trusted, and both Luca and Lila’s circumstances had only reaffirmed that view. Parasites, through and through.

But it was done, and there was no separating the two now. He could only think over the names being bandied about.

Scott Reese. That meant nothing to him, as far as names go, other than he seemed to be difficult to deal with. Monstrous or not, raw strength by itself did not make him pause.

Be, Todd.... he hadn't known much of them.

Auri, the flower girl. She had meant more - had been closer to Ashley at one stage - but even so, Clancy hadn't much to make of her. She'd tried to organise them, and by all accounts had struggled doing so, given the divisions between the old coven. Much of his attention and subsequent suspicion had been reserved for Britney. Even now, even after the cautious agreement that he'd proposed. The only thing he could trust was that she didn't particularly trust him.

The dangers they spoke of carried weight.

None of it particularly frightened him. Even the prospect of facing the hitwoman and associated agony did not stir fear in him, not like that. It was failure that made him wary. The prospect of failing to end Father Wolf. That he would kill the rest of Ashley's friends.

Some of them weren't assholes, and didn't deserve to die that way.

That gave rise to another thought, buried at the base of his consciousness, for in truth there was a selfish element to keeping close to Luca, Lila and the others.

Whether he wanted it or not, as long as they were alive, if not well, they served as bait, the prospect of an attack dangling over their heads. While Clancy was with them, there was the hope he could stop the killing once and for all. Part of him might have even hoped Father Wolf would try, if only so he could gnaw on the murderer's bones for what they had done to Ashley. For taking that last vestige of family away from him.

"You're serious." Clancy finally noted, and there was no sarcasm or incredulity masking his tone. It was an acknowledgement that they had something of a plan. "I want Father Wolf. Some of you probably do, too." He didn't clarify his meaning, and left that open to interpretation. "You've... seen what I can handle. Some of you, anyway. I don't know if they'll smell me from a mile away, but if Sh-... if the old man's hired woman knew, these people probably will too. What's the plan for getting in?"

Clancy leaned in, ready to ask a few more probing questions. "Elite. Heard a little but not much. Who are they? Names, faces?” For a moment, he considered the matter. ”Same for House of Cards. Names and faces.”

He was, after all, still a stranger in this town, even if he’d found a shade of trust in some people here.

"What's the dog supposed to be, big?" Clancy's mind thought back to the dog-like creations that asshole biker boss had sicced on him, a chimera of dog, deer and sheep. "If it gets in the way, I'll deal with it."

If it was anything like those creatures, it would take a beating, throw him around, gnaw through the facade, but he didn't tire, and he didn't hurt in most instances, it would be a matter of breaking it down until he was the only thing left intact.

Layla's question about who would make it home had reminded him of another concern, perhaps a little more urgent to him. "How do you make sure the things we need to find him make it off? Who takes them?"

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

Background Noise

Somewhere in the Midwest

One year ago

---

The faint thrum of hospital machinery, ventilators and heart monitors pulsed against his temples. A dozen footsteps and voices idly chattered outside the hospital room, unaware that an interloper had scaled the wall to clamber in through the window. A dollar-store radio set rested by the windowsill loosed the faint lyrics of the late, great Jimmy Ruffin.

Clancy blinked at the fragile creature resting on the bed, garbed in a speckled-blue gown that ran from shoulders to knees, an IV line snaking its way from the bedside stand into her sleeve. Time had robbed her of many things: her youth, her memories and now? Her health.

His sister wasn't long for this world, that he knew, from what he could follow of the countless conversations and private doctor's messages he'd pried upon. Illness was terminal, this time - and even if it wasn't, lucidity eluded her more days than not. She was a widow, who's own family couldn't bear to watch their mother, grandmother fade away, seldom making personal calls anymore, and for all intents and purposes she was the last of their family. The last he knew of.

That he could care about.

Clancy knew he shouldn't interfere. Shouldn't say anything. He was a ghost, and yet...

“Judy?“ The name slipped out of him.

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet her frail form seemed to stir in mere seconds and her withered expression seemed to light up.

"Clancy?“ she spoke hoarsely, "Is that you?“

Too late to back out. "It's me, Judes..." The words spilled out awkwardly.

"Clancy... where've you been, huh?" her greyed brow furrowed, leaning forward as though she wasn't aware of the IV drip feeding her fluids, "We've been worried sick." Age had robbed her of just enough lucidity to to deceive her into thinking they were just children once more.

"Mom and Dad, they've been worried sick for you.." Dad had been gone for more than twenty years. Mom hadn't held out for long without him.

But Clancy tried to pass it off, best he could with a kind lie. "I was walking to Uncle Gerry's place and took a bad shortcut, y'know?" Last of our parents' generation, and he died after we both got closure. He knew the truth was too much to bear or believe. Far better to tolerate a gentle scolding - any excuse to spend a little time with her, face-to-face.

"Even Frank.." Judy's features creased a little more as she chided him, slowly forming the words, "H-he went looking all over for you, he can't sleep." Frank got drafted, and died halfway across the world in Vietnam for it. Clancy loosened a soothing hush to try and calm her, leaning in close enough to be drawn into her embrace. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact he was cold.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, with a childlike sincerity he hadn't felt for some time, clutching her tight as he felt her heartbeat strum a familiar, waning chord. "I didn't mean to upset you." Perhaps for just a moment, he could truly be a child again, in body and mind. Forget about what happened to him. Forget about everything he'd done - had to do, wanted to do. Forget that he was stuck somewhere between spending eternity as a child and the black oblivion which lay beyond. For a moment, Clancy could be the little brother and forget.

"Didn't want any of this."

But not the hunger. No, never the hunger. It was always with him at the best of times, like a scratch on the paintwork of a brand new Camaro. And for a brief moment, perhaps by instinct alone, he became acutely aware of her heartbeat. How even her ailing body constituted meat, blood and bone - that it would be such a tempting moment, an opportunity. And there he was again, no longer a child.

No.

You won't have her.

The thought shamed him, and he stiffly drew back from the thin, leathery arms that had been drawn around his shoulders. The hospital was an abattoir for him, and the people within just meat. Even Judy.

And soon he'd be alone.

Better to let his last link to the world rest. It was time he made his exit, before his senses failed him.

"I'll go tell Mom I'm sorry, Judes." Clancy lied, turning away so she wouldn't see his contorted expression, "Just get some sleep." He didn't stop to see if she acknowledged that, but he felt the faint murmur on her lips. Goodbye.

As he left the room, he felt the reverberating thrum of the burner phone resting in his side pocket. Idly slipping it out, it took him but a few seconds to scan the SMS that had crept across the screen.

looking forward to seeing u buddy. ;)

Another matter to attend to, a friend - the kind that were easy enough to bait out if you trawled the right places. The kind that might've been a predator to some, but prey to him. Which was for the best, really.

The hunger was never truly apart from him. Self-control had its limits.

Clancy keyed a few letters back in a well-rehearsed motion, then hit send.

see u soon

---

Luca's Apartment

Early Morning

Dourly, he peered back at his own reflection, faintly distorted by the street lamps outside Luca's apartment.

In truth, he'd been watching for the skeleton, but it had not returned since he had arrived with half a mouthful of bone, absent the marrow. Clancy suspected it was waiting for a moment of opportunity, when he left. He’d been gone a while, slipping out in the night to settle a matter and returning before the autumn dawn had returned, but it seemed as though the wretched thing had not chosen to visit in that period.

There was little else to do here while the others were gone. He had little enjoyment of TV alone, though had endured it with the others for some quiet company. Music offered some respite, but Luca's tastes differed from his own. He did not seek to intrude on Lila’s space, either, which meant for him he spent those quiet hours in the ‘communal’ area, hunched near the couch or the kitchen.

He had no need of sleep, and he was unlikely to find sustenance within the confines of the apartment building, at least not without inconveniencing Luca.

All through his stay here, he became acutely aware that the place was far from hospitable. Luca had tried, for all his efforts, but Clancy was acutely aware of the cracks forming in the kitchen counter and what little wooden furniture remained, fabrics torn and freyed as though left to molder for years.

It was by this he was reminded of some of the rot he’d seen in his world, before this city, before even knowing Ashley existed. Derelict apartments, filled with poison to the mind and body, in the form of needles, chemicals and violence.

For all he tried, Luca was fighting a losing battle. The parasite sat inside him was a poisonous influence, and not unlike the world he came from, he wanted it gone, but was powerless to do so with the power weighed against him.

And while Clancy could not die, he too was incapable of escaping his situation.

Thoughts of a time long past drifted through his mind. Home. Family. His parents. Frank. That last moment with Judy.

”Oh shit- Clancy?” Luca almost tripped over a slight bump in the floor as he shuffled out of his room as quietly as possible. He couldn’t sleep, having woken up in pain. He didn’t want to lie there rolling about in case it woke up Jasper… so he’d snuck how. He hadn’t expected Clancy to just be there. Especially when he’d disappeared that night. ”You’re up?”

Clancy pivoted to see Luca standing in the hall, ”Don’t sleep. Remember?” He awkwardly cocked his head to one side, half heartedly shrugging.

”Oh yeah,” Luca laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. ”I didn’t expect you back tonight… Did you get whatever you were doing done? I had quite the day myself…”

”Yeah.” The boy had taken a change of clothes since Luca had last seen him. Olive pants, with a grey hoodie, and a navy knapsack hanging off to one side. One hand reached into that knapsack, pulled out a wrapper, tinted green with dollar bills all tightly packed together, ”Might have broke your window lock.”

Clancy stepped forward, and planted the baggie on the countertop. There was a faint red hue smudged across one wide that had been discreetly wiped away. ”Sorry. This should cover it.”

The truth was that it was probably broken before he'd ever visited the place, but it was an excuse to offload money he would be unlikely to use, and subtly compensate Luca for tolerating his presence.

”You don't have to but- thanks,” Luca accepted it with a slight smile. Normally he wouldn't… but he had a whole group of people to worry about now. A house to buy, and all.

”You have family you talk to?” Clancy changed the subject.

”Not anymore,” Luca said with a sad smile. ”I have family. Both my parents live in St Portwell. Last I heard my older brother moved to Portland, and my little sister goes to university here. Nevermind my extended family back in Brazil but…”

Luca trailed off, turning around to sit on the arm of the couch with a slight grimace. ”None of them have magic. When I first became like this I made some excuse to my parents to move out. But they'd call and insist I came around… and I can't do that. Just getting near me would kill them. So I had to cut them off.”

”Sorry. Guess this world isn’t out there for most.” Clancy paused, ”I get that, not wanting them in danger. But... take it from someone who was just gone, it won’t make it easier for them. You don’t have to tell them everything, but...”

But what? The more his mind lingered on the subject, the harder he found to come up with an answer. ”I kept an eye on my family, sometimes. Like I said, always far away, never close. But I broke that rule. Twice.”

”Twice? When?”

”Had an uncle,” Clancy omitted the second time, ”Hard as nails. Went through some... bad stuff in the war. Worse than my dad and the camps. My folks were missing, my sister out of town, me and my brother buried for years, and the only one left was my uncle, holed up in a nursing home. He was dying, I knew that. We had... closure? I don’t know. I told him what I wished my family had known, and he answered a question I’d been stuck with for years by myself, not knowing.”

”What question was that?” Luca asked softly.

”They moved on. I don’t think they were happy through it all, but... they had good times and bad times.” His face was frozen, ”I don’t have any right to tell you what to do, but... think about it, maybe.”

Luca gave another sad smile, then held up his bare hands. ”I’m not scared of putting them in danger from the Paranormal world. The danger is me. How can I tell them they can’t come within arms length of me without getting hurt? That if they stay close for more than a few minutes their skin will rot away? That if I touch them they’ll just die?”

He shook his head, looking at Clancy with that same sad acceptance he had for his impending death. ”I’d love to see them again, but I can’t. It’s not an if they’d get hurt- it’s a when. I can’t kill my own family, Clancy.”

”No.” The boy acknowledged with grim resignation, ”I get that. I realised how dangerous it was, when I saw-... when I took my chances, too. But you don’t have to see them, or tell them everything. Just... maybe give them some closure...”

If he didn’t know himself better, he might have volunteered for the job himself. But the path he was set on didn’t allow for too many diversions, and he’d taken enough chances already. ”Wasted your time,” The boy shook his head, like a wolf snapping the neck of a rabbit in its jaws, ”Sorry.”

”It’s fine, I appreciate it… and I'll think about it,” Luca shrugged, offering him a smile. He didn't seem upset - and wasn't really. He spoke very quietly, in case anyone else in the apartment was awake. ”Funnily, when you find out you're dying, you start to appreciate the small things. You'd think it'd be the opposite but… nothing’s a waste of time to me. Especially talking to someone. After years isolated, I really appreciate it.”

”Easier when not talking to assholes.” A thin smirk emerged from the boy's lips, ”And I get it. Even if I'm not… dying.”

”Yeah, good company makes things a lil easier,” Luca said, before yawning. ”Do you… need anything for the night? I should probably try get some more sleep. My joints feel a bit less achey after talking.”

”No,” Clancy shrugged, then added, ”I could grab you pills. For pain. Pharmarcy couple blocks down. Window doesn't lock right. Lockers easy to open.”

”I already got the strongest stuff, it just isn't always enough,” Luca shook his head with a slight smile. ”But thanks… I'll take you up on that if I ever can't afford them.”

He then yawned again, raising a hand in a slight wave. ”For now, good night.”

Clancy acknowledged Luca’s wave with an upwards tilt of the head, attention turning back to the ceiling.

---

Eleventh Path
@FernStone@AtomicEmperor@NoriWasHere@Estylwen

---

Now

Much as the others had been, Clancy found the way opened for him. It was strange to think; whether he intended it or not, he had made himself a participant of the Sycamore Crew in his presence and actions here.

When he stepped inside, his hood was still on over to the peak of his forehead; he was somewhat wary of being stopped and speared by the hitwoman again. Memories of the encounter, and the pain that had accompanied it, stalked his every step, much as he stalked others.

Quietly, he observed and listened, paying half-attention to what had been said. Three more people, names he wasn’t particularly close to or had really spoken with, but the fact they had been together worried him.

Father Wolf had been able to get the best of the others in spite of their abilities, their power and practice. And the hitwoman, the crystalline structure she’d bedded in his chest, were proof that there were people out there that could get the best of even him.

What did that mean for Luca, for Jasper and Lila, or Kenshiro?

It almost made him regret needing to leave the apartment in the night, even if for a few hours at a time, but it was difficult when the alternative was disruptive at best, and damaging for his hosts at worst.

Some sense of.... relief? Or at least what he took for relief, had washed over him when he sighted his roommates arrive, in one piece and unharmed. Except Luca, anyway.

Also, much as he had been wary of at the bar… his stony expression betrayed little as Layla and Alizee stepped in, his worst expectations confirmed.

They had joined, against his every warning.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1

House on the Hill
@Shin Ghost Note

---

ambience

As people had slowly filtered away, Clancy had taken the liberty of stepping aside from a now somewhat-stable Luca to poke through the old building in a hunt for something to wear, for what was probably the nth time in as many weeks.

As it was, he had been half-naked, wearing the tattered remnants of his shorts with sneakers that looked as though they’d been through a woodchipper. His shirt wasn’t much better, and as he’d moved around the tattered remnants of it sloughed away like dead skin, exposing the facade of pale flesh that had by this point reformed, painted back in. Even his eye had returned to occupy the empty socket, to the point he now looked as much as himself as he ever could. 

Given he stood out, he didn’t want to draw more attention than needed. The police scanners no doubt would be alive with reports of an underdressed child if he walked out like this, and that would in turn catch the attention of the hitwoman and her employers. An annoyance that threatened to become something more, and he wasn’t eager to experience that kind of pain again.

A few minutes of clambering over the bar and crawling through crevices eventually found him something that would work for now. A leather jacket, bundled in a heap in a corner under a dripping faucet.

It had seen better days to say the least. While it was still intact for the most part, the grainy patches of white material speckled across its edges betrayed a colony of mold that had formed across the surface. For Clancy’s part, that didn’t bother him. He didn’t need to worry about breathing in the spores, and the musty, mossy odour it gave out was no worse than the other array of things that assaulted his senses out in the wilderness. 

Slipping it on, Clancy found it had been oversized for him, enough that he had to roll up the sleeves, and it extended to the midpoint between his waist and knees, but it would do. It was better than nothing, and worst case scenario strangers would not annoy him with small-talk if it meant having to deal with that moldering-grass pungence that usually came with mold.

Luca and the swordsman would probably be leaving soon, In the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of Britney. She hadn’t yet left.

”Did you know this would happen?” he asked, pointedly, ”Your friends and the Prom Queen.”

Britney narrowed her eyes at Clancy, resting a hand on her hip. ”You’re gonna have to be more descriptive, hun.”

Deep down perhaps, he might have understood some of it if his perspective was in a different place. Maybe if they had been desperate.

”You might not trust me, but I try to be better than those parasites. And you've worked with worse than me.”

”No, no,” Britney raised her hands. ”It feels like I am actively working with worse - but that isn’t on my mind.”

For a moment, she paused.

”You might have the others convinced you’re not a threat, but be straight up here: what are you? What gave you these abilities?”

”Feeling is mutual,” Clancy cracked back, ”Not convinced about either of us.” For a moment, his face scrunched, ”What am I?” 

For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options.

”Twelve-and-a-half.” He answered with a flippant shrug, motes of dust flaking off the sleeve of his moldering jacket, I don’t know.” he said, dispassionately. 

”Come now, you have to know something,” Britney pushed, ”Where did it start? If you remember?”

”I’m not an expert in this stuff, like you people, I guess I ran into the same kind of monster that you fed people like Luca and Emily Reed to.” 

The truth came sharply. Bitter, painful memories surfaced and washed over him, colouring his words. 

[b]”If you really want to know… imagine you wake up from your worst nightmare. Except that’s the last time you’ll ever get any [i]sleep[/i again. You’re cold, but you’re not freezing to death. You’re [i]always[/] hungry, starving even, but you can’t make it stop. Not really. Food tastes like… dirt, sand, dust. It’s all meaningless. And you feel the world through a filter. Pain isn’t…. It isn’t there. And you can’t die, no matter how hard you push your luck. I’ve been under cars, trains, dropped into frozen rivers and fell from rooftops. I’ve been shot in the head enough times I could spit fragments out.”[/b] It streamed forth now, a diatribe on his situation, ”Do I like that? No. Do I have a choice? Also no.”

”So… maybe I’m still me, or I’m something that has all the memories of me. And I keep going by dealing with assholes and bad people. That’s how I keep control. That’s all I’ve had to keep going. Ashley? She was family, and I’m trying to find the asshole who murdered her, and stop her idiot friends from dying the same way. Does that cover it?”

Britney was silent, as she looked at Clancy.

”… Do you remember where or when it started?” She asked. ”Something had to have changed you… unless you are an Abominable.” She shrugged.

”I don't know what that is.” 

”A magical creature basically. Some are created… some are born,” Britney explained.

”Maybe, whatever.” Clancy shrugged, ”East. Somewhere between Huron and Michigan, maybe. I was twelve-and-a-half when it got me, and I woke up like this.”

Half of the truth. The closer he got to the memory, the more difficult it was to maintain a normal composure.

His last moments alive had been inhuman terror beyond anything he could understand.

”So I'll ask again. Did. You. Know?” Clancy switched back to his original line of questioning, ”What they would become, what they would do. What would happen to them? You know that boy-... that Luca is rotting from the inside, don't you? I felt it. I could smell it.”

Britney silently averted her gaze from Clancy. ”… No, I didn’t.”

”You know now.” Assuming she wasn't lying. ”Barely know him, but even I can see he doesn't deserve that. Even if they're assholes now, I bet 8th Street didn't deserve it before they chose to be monsters. Have you thought about whether any of this could be because of that?”

He let the point hang for a moment. 

”They were calling for your blood.”

”Of course I have,” Britney said with a nod of her head, ”Look, I understand what I did was fucked up. I’m not going to sit here and try and justify or excuse it. I had this conversation a thousand times already.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, ”If it’s my fault, then it’s my responsibility to fix it.”

”Sure,” Clancy shrugged, optimistic of neither her chances nor her sincerity, ”If you want to make a start, Luca. You help him, and I'll probably keep Emily Reed from wearing your skin.”

If he could save one of them from being consumed by the monster that had taken their body, it was him.

He seemed to pause, then reconsidered.

”You said ‘abominable’ earlier. I don't know if that's what I am now. I'm Clancy Patrick. Or I think I am, and I have his face and memories. But you know these monsters better than me. If you want to do something right, maybe point me in the right direction on how to kill one of them. When our business is done, I'm going to end the thing that did this to me. I won't be anyone's problem after that.”

He offered out a hand to her, cold and unflinching.

”Deal?”

Britney hesitated for a moment, ”I’m already working on something for Luca. Don’t worry about that.” She shook her head. ”And look, at the end of the day, Emily and Vashti are my responsibility. Not yours.”

”Offer stands,” Clancy's hand pulled back, his expression creased a little further, ”You can do something good and leave the world with a few less monsters in it, for a change.”

Britney stared at Clancy, ”I think I am looking at one.”

”Maybe we agree on something, then,” The boy offered her a dour expression, ”But you're not above working with them, either.”

”No, I’m not,” Britney sighed, ”But, let’s just shake on it and be done with it, okay?” She extended her hand, and after a moment's pause, Clancy returned the gesture with a firm, icy grip. 

And maybe she needs a mirror, he considered, wordlessly breaking off from the contact as soon as they'd made it.