captainryan | (no subject)

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Scotland. That's what the landscape looks like. If you could smell it, though, you'd know it isn't. There's a petrol-prey smell that sticks to it, just like the woods outside of Milliway's. It's the only territory the werewolf knows. The waning moon in the sky casts the foliage in an almost silver light. An overgrown path nearby practically glows, disappearing deeper into the woods. The black werewolf, Ryan, shakes himself off and sticks his head into the wind, feeling it through his fur.

Rachel's nearby. He gives her a cautious sniff, rumbling a bit at the back of his throat. He stands up to his full height and the sound goes from a rumble to a full blown growl. It's a warning. This place is mine, he tells her, showing his teeth.

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The uneasiness was noted of course, cool, emerald gaze locking in once more on Ryan's as her posture shifted towards...dismissive.

I will move through then, and hunt alone if the prey isn't in your territory a slight challenge to his pride? Maybe.

He bares his teeth, rising once more to his full height. I will come, he insists, glaring back. I will hunt.

She straightened to her full, unimpressive height of five foot eleven and let a small bark of laughter escape her lips Will you?

Men. They were all the same.

It's not in your territory... so, generally, the statement dripped 'prove it'.

He snorts at her in answer and turns to the glowing path. He can see it easily, always could, but has ignored it until now. He starts running, using the distance eating gait that wolves are known for.

He doesn't wait for her.

She didn't expect him to. She was there, a shadow just off his side, running in an easy, four legged gait that a human body should never have been able to manage.

The path glowed, the wolf was uneasy on it...but she'd avoided forcing him onto it, so things were okay.

She'd be kidding herself if she thought the hard part was over now.

Running is fun. It's something the werewolf enjoys and it's so easy to lose yourself to the flashing of trunks as you pass, the feel of the air as you breath, the impact of each paw hitting the ground.

Of course, he watches his companion as well, one ear turned in her direction always. There was prey at the end of the path, yes, human prey even. But this one here was also human and still smelled of blood. The only reason he hadn't attacked her when they met were the other scents, smells that no human should give off.

But running does make him hungry.

Rachel could, ands often did, lose herself in running. But not here, not now. This run wasn't for her, so she couldn't afford to.

Did the path waver slightly as he lost his focus? Did his paws turn off the side as he concentrated on her and food? These were what she had to focus on...

And correct carefully when she saw them, not obviously herding him, but not allowing side paths.

That should be simple enough. He keeps the distance between them almost perfect: to give more would be weakness, to give less would be a challenge. And the path is always glowing, easy to follow.

It's wider now, and no longer overgrown. The trees are thinner, and you can see further between them. It's still obviously a forest, though no longer the forest of Milliway's. The petrol-prey scent faded some time ago. This isn't the werewolf's territory.

But the scent of the human prey has grown stronger. His stride lengthens to take advantage of the extra space, attention split between companion, path, and prey.

The changes were interesting to note, even the ground beneath their feet sending a different sort of shock up through the muscles at each impact.

And the edge in the air...

Oh yes. Even she couldn't help the feral smile that stretched across her face as they left the safety of the known in the course of their hunt. Oddly, the smile seemed to let some of the Pain scent fade from around her, sliding it into an enticing, lively, energetic scent. Hunting? Was good.

Her scent has changed and for a moment both ears flick towards her. She is strong and healthy, and while she may smell of blood, he knows he would need pack to take her down. And is she not here for pack?

No, he'll focus on the other prey smell, the human that is so close now. It's scent is strange, twisted with anger the likes of which the werewolf has never smelt before. But it is still human, and he has been running for a long time.

He slows. He can hear the human, smell him, and almostalmost see him. But this is not his territory. He is cautious.

Yes, focusing on the other prey was a wise choice. The one who smelled tainted and twisted, poisoned meat...

Her own lips were wrinkled in distaste as she began to slip off to the side. It was second nature to circle prey, not hunting alone, and she didn't believe he'd stop her...

The question was...should she stop the personality shards when they chose to interact?

He automatically starts to circle on the other side. The moonlight works against him, he knows, helping the prey to see through the darkness. But then, this prey had never had trouble with that, had he? Not with the tools he used, the binoculars and sights.

...Sights? pfft

The sound is soft and the pain accompanying it is small compared to the ripping of flesh a slug will do. But the werewolf's suddenly staggering, feet crossing as he tries to stay standing. He'd had tranquillizers that night, hadn't he?

pfft pfft pfft

She knew that sound, with a deep, shiver through her skin. She knew. There had been hunts where the prey was young. Young enough to break. Young enough to train. No kill orders and Masters with dart guns...

Her snarl wasn't remotely human as she darted from the brush at his back, her attack wasn't meant to kill though. No, this wasn't her kill to make...

No, she was just a terrifying shadow that left a line of pain along the man's arm as she snatched the weapon from his hands. A terrifying shadow that landed in a crouch beside her current packmate and watched the poisoned man turn and run...

The path glowed still, growing under the human's feet as he fled. She had no fear they'd lose him, so she turned her attention to pulling darts out of the Werewolf.

The darts are perfectly aligned in his chest, one for each of the dark slashes there, one centred in the knife scar. The pinpricks heal instantaneously as she removes the metal; there is no silver here.

But the drugs are still rushing through his system, spreading far faster than they would in an animal of similar size. The metabolism that allows him to heal so quickly also spreads the toxins, immobilizing him.

And in the mean time, the prey is escaping.

The darts were shattered once removed, soon followed by the gun...as for the prey? He's leaving a trail her feral chuckle assured as she helped him a little further into the woods. Best not to rest in so open an area.

I'll guard

There's a weak disgruntled chuff as he settles against a tree. Stupid! He knew this prey better than any. He shakes his head repeatedly, trying to clear it, growling a bit when the world keeps moving even though his head isn't.

It takes time, but eventually his vision steadies and he risks standing. Claws digging into the tree, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying a bit until he's sure of his feet. A few cautious steps forward, and he knows everything's working as it should.

The path is still glowing and the scent is fresh. It's time to finish this. This time, though, he does wait for Rachel.

Rachel hadn't been idle. She'd ghosted the edges of Ryan's recovery spot, and a few, incredibly foolish squirrels had gone his way...but yes, time to finish it. She fell in at his side once more, never questioning his readiness. He'd manage.

It appeared the prey had noticed the glowing paths he spawned though, and cannily, had crossed and recrossed them until there was a Gordian knots worth of trails weaving through the trees and each other.

Rachel gave an annoyed sneeze and set her back to Ryan as she scanned behind them...

The werewolf gives an amused rumble. He knows these tactics. They're designed to slow tracker dogs down and make their handlers doubt that they have the right trail.

But they are not dogs with handlers.

He ignores most of the knots, using both scent and sight to find where the man re-emerged and following it to the next knot. The stream is trickier. The water washes away the glow, leaving only patches and short tracks where the man exited to lay false starts. The 'wolf bounds up one bank and down the other until he finds the true exit, a good ways upstream and made more obvious by the glittering path that leads away.

They've lost time, but not nearly as much as the man did laying the trail.

She'd trusted him to unravel the confusion and sort through the tactics used...Rachel had taken it upon herself to run trap interference and do scouting along the flanks so Ryan could concentrate on the task.

Yes, the prey had lost time...

And they were simply faster than any human, no matter how well trained. It wasn't long before that poisoned taint was in the air once more...

Prey smell, human smell, blood smell...but also gun oil. The human's been moving straight, trying to put distance between himself and his pursuers, but he'd expected more time. They're here, now, and he has nowhere to run except a house that is familiar to both he and the wolf, if he can get there in time...

The 'wolf is done being cautious. He's hungry and puts on a burst of speed charging straight for his prey. The human whirls, the MP5 coming up with a sharp banging rattle as the slugs tear through the 'wolf. There's a yelp of pain even as the 'wolf slams into the human, knocking him down. The holes have closed, but there's still blood smell, his own blood smell, and it drives him mad with hunger.

The werewolf attacks again and the human, Ryan, can't hold him off. The teeth find his throat and there's a sharp tearing wet sound as the 'wolf bites. The blood is warm and black, hot, too hot, burning, tastes all wrong. The werewolf rears back, trying to spit it out, but it's pouring from the wound down his throat, till there's none of the black left in the human.

Ryan's on his feet in a moment, hand at his throat. He can still feel the teeth closing around his neck though there's no mark there now. He backs towards the house eyes flicking between convulsing werewolf and the woman. Was she human? She didn't move like one.

Rachel watched. Analyzed.

These were two mind fragments of the person she had promised to help. One destroying the other wouldn't do the job she'd promised...but the attack had needed to occur. The poison had to be drained.

The human shard was alive, healed in his purging...so Rachel nodded quickly to the house and turned her back on him. The poison had infected another shard...a shard that could do infinitely more harm.

Ryan doesn't know what's happening. Hadn't the woman attacked him before? And now it seemed she was going to attack the werewolf. He can puzzle it out later. Right now, the house was looking like a very good idea. If she wants to commit suicide by werewolf, by all means, go ahead. It gave him time to prepare.

He has to kick down the door. It had been locked and nailed shut against the pack. He remembers listening to the hammering. The toolbox is there, hammer laying on nails, and he repeats the action that happened months ago. It won't keep the werewolf out, but it'll give him advance warning when it breaks in.

Outside, the 'wolf is just getting to his feet, still coughing and hacking, black spittle foaming at his mouth. He snarls at Rachel. MOVE! he roars, moving after the human prey, HIS prey.

One day Rachel would have to ask Suzi just what kind of person the woman had taken into her house...not today though. Today there were greater worries...like the poisoning, even as the frantic sounds of hammering began to ring out.

She knew what the poison was...but it wasn't her poison to drain. That had to happen between the shards...when they weren't going to die within heartbeats of meeting at any rate.

That left...blunting some of the poison, the Anger. She could do that. Poisoned she snarled, holding her ground. Worry about that first

He wouldn't, she knew that.

He doesn't bother answering, instead sweeping out with one powerful arm to knock her aside.

Inside the house, Ryan drops the hammer back into the toolbox and looks around to see if there's anything else he can use. The house is exactly as he remembers it before he changed: the windows are boarded up, the back door locked, the side door blocked off with a kitchen cabinet.

He died here.

And for what? It should have been a simple mission. Lure the target out, take it down. There was only supposed to be one. But there had been five and he and his team had failed in the worst way possible. It's one thing to have an unsuccessful mission. It's quite another to find out that Special Weapons did indeed get their werewolf and to discover that the mission wasn't a complete loss. It had been a bit of good news to know his death was useful after all. For Ingram to decide that his death meant nothing, that Witherspoon could go free and not use what they'd found, that his death was devoid of purpose...

He slams his fist down on the kitchen table hard enough to knock over the glow sticks and rattle the sword against the wood.

He was dead because of that thing out there, and it was for nothing. And here it was, back again for another worthless, pointless death. He knows he'll lose. The bullets only slow it down, they don't kill the damn things. It'll break through the door or a window and he'll empty his clip into it and sure, it'll slow down for a moment or two, but in the end it'll catch him. It'll catch him and drag him down and claw him open and start eating him while he's still-

No. No, he'll shoot himself before he'll let that happen again.

Rachel? Didn't sweep aside so easily. She curled around the arm, absorbing the blow, she rolled to her feet and she dove for his. Years of training, centuries of pain...it made her good.

Very good.

She never attacked never dealt a blow, just was there, time and time again when the werewolf was going to advance. Blocking, impeding, another stone to wash that anger against.

But she could feel the rising despair in the house behind her, and it made her snarl. Obviously the shard wasn't going to help himself...so...with an inward wince, she took another crashing blow that sent her spinning through a boarded window, wood thick and harsh against her back...yet somehow she landed on her feet and skidded backwards. Her eyes never left the window, knowing that she'd be followed.

But she had moments, a few precious heartbeats, in which to talk this shard around. Unfortunately? She was never the best with words "Ryan!" she called, knowing she'd skidded far enough into the room that he was near.