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Post by The Sidhe on Aug 11, 2014 19:58:14 GMT -5
An old stone bridge led the way into the little town of Milton, foundations laden with moss and supporting the way over a narrow river. Narrow streets were populated with the usual morning crowd. The shops were opening up for business with the owners giving friendly smiles to passersby, children leapt into puddles and splashed at each other laughing on their way to school, farmers moving with purpose through the small crowds trying to get feed and order restocks so they could return to their pastures as soon as possible. Grey clouds blew in overhead, blocking out the sun and threatening more rain for the already damp down. White little buildings lined the streets, small alleyways allowing little in terms of space between them. Slanted roofs let residual rain water drip down from the second stories, hopefully onto the flower boxes in several of the second story windows than onto the people below. Simple structures, small stone stoops, little box windows. The clinic near the end of the street nearer to the woods was marked with an old looking sign, though it was now unreadable. It bore what looked like a picture of an old medicine jar and a depiction of a poultice painted on the worn hanging wood. Thankfully, there was also a clear sign beside the door. Inside was a small and deserted waiting room, two wooden benches shoved against each side wall, the left of which kept the area closed. The white curtains were drawn over the two front windows. Given the size of both the town and the building, there was only a small writing desk which was currently attended by a young blond man, the clinic’s only nurse. He was busy punching patient information into a laptop, connected to a land line between the filing cabinets lining the wall behind him. There was a small hallway that led to the right past the front desk. Dark wood floors were a bit creaky with age and the low ceiling could be called claustrophobic if not for the lights that kept the space well lit. Along the left were two open entryways, wide enough to fit a stretched or rolling bed through. Blair resided in the first. The room was immaculate, but then it was a clinic. The white tiles on the floor shone and the wooden panels making up the walls were dulled and dark with age but still managed to shine. Nine small hospital beds that looked more like cots lined each wall. Three to the left, three to the right, three against the far wall with one under each square window the room possessed. Each was separated by a rolling divider with an opaque white sheet stretched across the opening for some semblance of privacy. The cold light let in from the dreary weather outside gave the room a cold feeling. To the left, there was an older man with a cane speaking softly with the town doctor, a rather round man in his early thirties. At the back wall stuck right in the middle was Blair. The eight year old was tucked tightly beneath the white sheets up to his waist so that he could still sit up. He had shoved the dingy looking pink blanket to the foot of the bed, deeming it too warm for it to be necessary. He wore his own pajamas since the clinic was too small to have any proper hospital attire for him. Blair was pale normally, but following the incident he now appeared almost on death’s door despite being anything but. He hadn’t slept much, eyes resembling the dark hue of the loch appearing slightly sunken with the deep circles under his eyes. Short, black hair looked a mess, like he’d just woken up and hadn’t cared to brush his hair yet. His gaze was set on the notepad in his lap, left hand scribbling away at the sketches he felt he needed to show the team. His right arm was hidden beneath the sheets at his side. Blair stared sullenly at the images he sketched slowly on the page. He’d been at it since early in the morning. Sleep eluded him and on the off chance it drew near, he chased it away. He didn’t want to sleep. He saw Tam in his sleep. Sometimes he would be standing in the shallows waving to him. Sometimes he would be floating dead in the water. Other times Blair would see his last image of him, beneath the cold depths growing further and further away from him, holding his breath and unable to even reach for him. The lead of the pencil snapped and Blair clicked the end viciously to reload it, lips diving into a grimace that hardened his features more than should have been impossible for a child. He sharpened the eye sockets, added more definition to the hollow cheeks, lightly added the final wisps of hair. The image of the real thing was fresh in his memory. The awful noise rang in his ears and Blair shut his eyes tight, eyes suddenly burning. Don’t cry. You can cry after they kill it, but not a moment sooner, it wouldn’t be right and Tam would laugh. He shut the notepad with more force than was necessary, shoving it along with the pencil to the side. He bit down on his lip hard enough that he drew blood from the corner of his mouth, lowering his head into his left hand. Blair would have made a fist with his right if it were still there.
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Post by Spike Gatling on Aug 14, 2014 8:39:23 GMT -5
This was it. The two Shibusen students had arrived at the site of their first mission where they would take down their first corrupted soul. Spike was wearing his usual navy pants and jacket over a red and white striped shirt. His white shoes were sure to get muddy from the recent rain but he wasn’t exactly concerned about that. Despite the long plane ride from the U.S. to the U.K. and the bumpy carriage ride through the country, Spike was full of energy and anticipation. His right hand was calmly tucked in his jean pocket but his other hand was absentmindedly playing with his grandfather’s dogtags which he always wore wrapping the chain around his finger and then letting it twirl. He very much excited. But he also felt a tiny little knot in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake.
As he laid eyes on Milton, the knot seemed to tighten. But once the two crossed the old stone bridge into the village his feeling was forgotten for the moment. The friendly smiling faces of the shopkeeps, the children playing and laughing in the streets, and the generally cozy feel of the village wasn’t exactly how Spike would have imagined a place where a kishin egg attack would occur.
As the pair made their way down the street Spike spotted an old sign that looked like it belonged in a medieval videogame. It was worn from age and any fine detail was lost but from the pictography you could quickly identify it as the clinic. “I think this is the place. We’re meeting our contact at the clinic right?” He said pointing at the sign.
The smell of breakfast being made wafted into the main road in front of the clinic from villagers’ houses which made Spike’s stomach rumble. Spike opened the door to let his partner go first. “Hey Cyrille. How about we catch some breakfast after we meet with the contact?”
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Post by Cyrille Lécuyer on Aug 14, 2014 10:20:32 GMT -5
The town of Milton was a pleasant place. The people went about their business in such a happy manner that it was near impossible for the same attitude to not rub off on anyone with a poor mood. This included Cyrille. Normally a bitter person, Cyrille was a bit more upbeat today. Only slightly, of course. Infact, one wouldn’t notice it unless they knew him very well.
Though this happiness might have also been hard to notice due to how focused Cyrille was. He had quite a few things on his mind. First off; he was making sure to avoid any possible women that populated the crowds of early morning Milton. Thinking about running into one was beginning to stress him out. He really did not want to come off as pathetically weak before he had even completed his first mission. The second was what this kishin might be like. All the description had said was that it was a monster of some sort, yet such words could be used to describe just about any kishin. Cyrille wasn’t strategic enough to be able to think of well thought out methods of attack in the heat of the moment, so knowing what the creature was capable of would have been useful. Perhaps the contact would give some more information in that regard. And lastly, the damp terrain proved it might be troublesome. Slipping and falling was never fun, and while Cyrille didn’t particularly care if he got mud on the faded red jacket he wore, it would be easy for the kishin to be upon him if he had fallen down. Plus; it looked like it was going to rain more. Perfect.
Cyrille also had to make note of his partner too. He seemed a tad tense too, but Cyrille didn’t bother asking why. Perhaps Spike was something to be worried about to. As nice as his weapon form was, it was not the kind of weapon Cyrille was used to. He had never actually fought anything with any kind of gun before. It seemed straight forward enough, after all. Wouldn’t it be nice - especially against a kishin - to get close range and use a soul purge or two, though? Eck. Whatever. Cyrille would worry about that when the time came.
Soon enough, the two had come across the clinic. Though Cyrille didn’t notice it, Spike brought it to his attention. ”Yes.” He said simply, in response. Cyrille believed there to be only one clinic, so this had to be it. Spike then opened the door for Cyrille to enter. Normally Cyrille would have thanked him for this kind gesture, but then the boy had to ask something Cyrille deemed to be a rather stupid question. ”Or, we could kill the damn kishin like we’re supposed to.” He said, his voice soft as no one other than Spike heard it, though still stern. The next few words were muttered under his breath. ”Besides, I hate restaurants...”
Cyrille seemed to hate a lot of things as of late. But it was hard to blame him. Being scared of roughly half of the population took it’s toll on the things Cyrille could enjoy. At this point he just liked being left alone.
Only two people stood in the main room of the clinic. Their contact, Blair McCrae, was a mere child, correct? That meant neither of these people could be him. Best ask where he was, then.
But that was when Cyrille had a thought. With how vague the description had been of the kishin, couldn’t it be possible they were being tricked and the kishin was just an ordinary looking person? Eck. That thought proved worrisome. But, wait. Cyrille was beginning to learn the basics of soul perception, so couldn’t he just check? The boy stood still for a moment, having moved not much farther from the door, and closed his eyes for a second.
And then he realized he was not nearly adept enough to actually use Soul Perception. Ah. Whatever. There was probably too much on his mind to be using it anyway. So, Cyrille continued forward and then spoke up to the blonde on the laptop, ignoring the fact he was obviously busy. ”Excuse me, and apologies for the interruption. But, could you please show us to Blaire McCrae?” Cyrille spoke in the same stern voice as he usually did, with the same french accent clinging to his words. He honestly was not sorry at all for the interruption, as he just wanted to get the talking bit of the mission out of the way.
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Post by The Sidhe on Aug 14, 2014 12:38:14 GMT -5
To be fair, the blond behind the poor excuse of a front desk had actually finished inputting new patient information a half hour ago given how small the town was. He was actually writing up a list of recommendations of where the McCrae family could take Blair to be fitting for a prosthetic, if of course he wanted to be. Taking him away from home could be potentially be jarring for someone who had experienced such an awful event, both physically and mentally. He would still need to be transferred to a larger hospital regardless to be sure he didn’t need further surgery to right the end of his wrist. Douglas paused in typing to shut his eyes for a moment and sighed. Poor kid. He couldn’t even imagine what he was going through at such a young age.
Douglas only spared a glance to the opening door initially, hearing the small bell above the door ring. He did a double take though, grey eyes blinking at the two that just walked in. Adjusting his glasses, he then remembered about the team and how Blair insisted they list him as a contact. Saving the draft, Douglas swiveled in his chair and leaned with his forearms on the desk as they approached, offering a small smile. As he thought, they asked for Blair. He waved away the rather effeminate looking boy’s worries about disrupting his work. “Don’t worry yourself. I don’t have a lot to do in such a small town; it’s nothing I won’t finish by noon.” He moved back front the desk so he could stand and then nodded, the smile slipping a bit as sympathy starting to creep back in. “He’s just down the hall if you’ll follow me.”
It was a short walk. At the first room on the left, the young nurse paused and looked to them. “If you could give me just a moment. I’d like to give him a heads up if that’s alright.” Douglas tried to be quick at least. As he entered the room, he noted Doctor Moore still conversing with old man Leary and took a tentative step towards them. “Excuse me, doctor” he said softly as not to alert Blair too suddenly, “the team’s here.” The round little man spared a glance back and then nodded to Douglas before turning back to his patient. “Do you mind if we perhaps move to the net room, Leary?” The old man nodded after glancing back at Blair. Doctor Moore stood to help the hobbling man with a cane out of the room slowly. Douglas watched them go before attending to Blair.
Seeing the boy with his face buried in one hand worried him. Moving to his side quietly as not to startle him, he kneeled at his bedside and spoke softly. “Blair, the team is here to see you. Are you ready or do you need a few mo-“
“Send them in.”
Blair didn’t lift his head, but Douglas could see one cold eye trained on him. He didn’t think a child could look so incredibly frozen, but he didn’t think a child would lose a hand to a monster in their little town either. Nodding slowly, he stood. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”
“I won’t.”
The urge to scold him for that was apparent in the way Douglas had to bite his tongue to keep the words back. He’d done that to almost everyone who’d visited. There were flowers on the bedside table from his classmates at school. He wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone and told his parents he didn’t need them pestering him with their concerns. He’d spoken to his older brother for a while the day previous, but not for long, and the eldest McCrae boy had left with a grim expression regardless. But scolding wouldn’t help Blair heal, so Douglas turned and exited the room.
Once outside the open doorway, he regarded the team with an expression that was more pleading than anything else. “If you can, go easy on him, eh? He didn’t just lose his best friend. He lost a hand trying to save him too. He’s a little…” Douglas trailed off if only he didn’t know quite how to describe Blair accurately. Bitter. Cold. Silent. All fit, but weren’t entirely all-encompassing. “Well, you’ll see for yourselves, I supposed. He’s in the very back right in the middle and the only one in there now to give you three some privacy. You literally can’t miss him.” Douglas gave them a nod and then moved past them to return to his post.
In the meantime, Blair combed his fingers through his hair as he straightened up from his hunched over position, more from stress than in an attempt to look more presentable. He didn’t give a damn if he looked like hell since he sure as shit felt like hell. Turned slightly, he pulled closed notebook back into his lap, though he left the pencil deserted still by his pillow. He let his left hand rest over top of it. His bandaged right wrist remained hidden. Blair turned to the left to look out the far window and the cool, grey light the made the room seem chillier then it really was as he waited for them to approach. Blair needed to know they would massacre the damned thing good and proper before they left or he would never be satisfied.
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Post by Spike Gatling on Aug 18, 2014 15:09:35 GMT -5
Spike’s stomach seemed to growl in protest to Cyrille’s harsh answer. But he was probably right. But maybe Spike could grab something on the way out to the fight real quick.
After Cyrille entered Spike followed him into the small waiting area. While the boy with pink hair was talking to the person at the tiny front desk Spike plopped himself down on one of the benches in the waiting area and looked at the light from outside filter through and from behind the curtains on the window. He was still thinking about how peaceful this place was despite the kishin egg attacks, the fingers of his left hand still playing with the chain of his necklace. Before he was able to think too deeply about this the nurse at the desk got up and told them to follow him into the hallway. The nurse entered a room and after a little bit of talking that Spike didn’t really pay attention to the nurse and two other people exited the room. The blonde gave a last warning to be easy with the kid which Spike thought went without saying.
The student went past the blonde nurse and into the contact’s room. He stopped for a second when he got sight of the contact. The kid looked younger than Spike expected. ‘This kid is our contact? The one that lost his hand and his friend?’ Spike’s eye’s went wide for a split second and that strange feeling in the pit of his stomach flared up but he regained his composure quickly and continued in the room. Wouldn’t want to give the contact the wrong impression.
He approached the bed and took a seat at the foot of it and began rolling up the right sleeve of his jacket. “Hey kid. I heard you had a monster problem. My friend and I are here to take care of it.” He said facing the contact.
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Post by Cyrille Lécuyer on Aug 18, 2014 19:04:30 GMT -5
The smile Douglas had offered was not returned by Cyrille. The french boy rarely ever smiles, honestly. There was not much to be happy about, now was there? Of course, this lack of happiness didn’t mean Cyrille looked sad all the time. Oh no, no, no. Cyrille simply looked stone-faced all of the time. Hopefully Douglas wouldn’t be upset by this lack of emotion.
Soon enough Douglas had asked the two to follow him down the hall to where the contact was. Without saying another word, Cyrille followed. He didn’t bother to make sure Spike had followed either. He simply assumed that his partner would follow him. Perhaps if he liked the boy a bit more he would have double checked.
Douglas then asked for the two to wait a moment as he made sure Blaire was ready for the team. Ah, right. The poor boy was probably injured, huh? Not to mention the emotional trauma he had probably experienced from the attack. Eck. Though Cyrille might have not been as young as the boy when he had been through a similar experience, he certainly knew how the boy must feel. Or at least imagined he did.
But Cyrille would make sure not to mention that. There was nothing more painful than being patronized, though being pitied wasn’t much fun either. Cyrille probably just wouldn’t mention it. Douglas returned to allow them to enter, as well as to tell them to go easy on the kid. Fair enough. He probably wasn’t the happiest camper, after all. He also mentioned that the boy was missing a hand. Ah. That must have been the injury Cyrille had thought of, then.
As the two entered the room, Cyrille immediately noted the boy’s appearance. It was basically what he had expected. To put it simply, the boy looked like a mess. Disheveled hair, dark rings around his eyes, etc. It wasn’t a look fitting of such a young boy. Cyrille made sure to not make direct eye contact with him, as he might come off as pitying the kid. Eck. The french boy wasn’t familiar with how to handle people in these situations. He simply knew what they felt like.
To Cyrille’s content, Spike spoke. Good. Cyrille wasn’t in a talking mood. Sure, the weapon could have worded the question a bit better. Monster? Seriously? That probably wouldn’t put the greatest impression on the kid. Not that he could do anything now, though Blaire or Spike might have seen the meister’s distaste for the wording as his eyebrow twitched once. He brought a hand to his face as well, trying to hide any emotion that might have. They were also further hidden by the fact the boy seemed to be avoiding any and all eye contact.
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Post by The Sidhe on Aug 19, 2014 16:39:31 GMT -5
Blair bit the inside of his lip. He went through the details he needed to pass on in his head one more time. Unable to sleep properly without being dragged roughly out of nightmares, he’d sat up and thought through the most important parts of what had happened, the most accurate way of describing the ordeal, which directions would lead them to the Loch the quickest. There was pressure gathering behind his eyes that Blair recognized as the beginnings of a headache, but the boy couldn’t bring himself to care. He had better things to do than worry about a little pain, and it didn’t even compare to the pain he’d already felt the day he’d come staggering back to the town in dazed tears holding his bleeding wrist.
He heard the nurse speaking softly and then more footsteps drawing closer. Blair slowly lifted his head and watched them approach. There was no sign of any emotion in particular on his face. Just a dull but still piercing gaze out of eyes the same color as the Loch itself. Blair wasn’t sure what he expected. The older boy that sat at the foot of his bed looked the part, but the other Blair had thought was a girl when they first entered. He almost cocked an eyebrow, but he had other things to worry about than pretty people.
Blair glanced between the two of them, deciding to lock eyes with the boy sitting near him than the other. “You’d better be. I’m half an inch away from nabbing a scalpel out of the medicine cabinets and going after it myself.” He adjusted his grip on the notebook in his lap but didn’t open it yet. He’d show them the pictures last. The story was the most important part. Tam was the most important part. “I’ll waste as little time as I can. The more I talk, the more time that thing has to draw breath that it doesn’t deserve,” he bit bitterly, “It won’t take long either way. It all happened very fast.” There was a brief moment where the grim look stamped on Blair’s face wavered with something sadder, but it was gone in a flash as he began to recite his tale of terror.
“There isn’t much to do in town, so Tam and I would go down to the Loch and mess around after school and chores. Splashing each other in the shallows, fighting with sticks. That day we decided to play hide and seek since it was too cold to be in the water. I counted down from ten while Tam ran and hid. There’s plenty of trees around, so hiding was easy, but I’d only began searching for him a little while before he shouted for me. He said he’d found something.”
The boy’s expression hardened and his voice lost the bitterness in favor of coating his words in nothing but cold. “When I found Tam, he was standing next to a beautiful white horse hidden in a thicket of trees nearer to the water. Tam’s family runs a boarding stable, mine breeds draft horses. It was too slight to be a draft horse so I knew it wasn't one of mine, so we thought maybe it had gotten loose from Tam’s place. We decided to take it back just in case since it was so cold out. I gave Tam a leg up onto its back.” Another pause as Blair’s eye contact faltered, flitting to the covers before returning to the boy in front of him. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“I had my right hand on its shoulder to keep it steady in case it tried to bolt with Tam on its back. I noticed something weird with its coat, but then I realized it wasn’t just the coat that was wrong. It’s skin and fur both turned grey and started to rot, falling off in pieces and stinking to high heaven. We both tried to pull away, but we were stuck. Tam couldn’t get off its back and I couldn’t pull my hand away no matter how hard I tried. Half its head turned into nothing but skull and when it did, it reared back up and made an awful noise. It lifted me clear off the ground and Tam started to scream for help, but there was no chance of anyone in town hearing us, we were too far away.”
“It turned around and started towards the water, fast. I tried to help Tam off, I tried to pull myself away, but its skin was like glue. I…” Blair trailed off for a second, eyes falling again to the covers to stay there as he spoke more softly. “I always have a work knife on me, just in case I need it on the farm. I didn’t want to die and I knew I would if I didn’t do something fast, so I...I pulled it out of my pocket and started cutting.” Blair shifted his right arm under the covers. Sometimes it still felt like his hand was still attached. The doctor said that was normal. Blair just wanted it to stop.
“It pulled us right into the water. It was freezing and it dragged us quickly. The water made it harder, but I felt a snap and then felt weightless after I was loose. All I felt was cold and pain but I managed to keep my eyes open. I saw red starting to meet the water, and I saw Tam looking up at me as it kept pulling him deeper into the Loch before I forced myself back up so I could breathe and get back here as best I could. But that part isn’t important.”
Blair finally removed his right arm from where it rested previously out of sight. His forearm appeared fine, but the end of his wrist was wrapped tightly in gauze. He moved it beneath the notebook to better hold it in place as he flipped it open to find the pages he needed. “The best way down to the Loch is to follow the main road you came in on past this clinic. You’ll walk a little ways and then you’ll see a small dirt path to your left. Follow that all the way down and keep going through the woods even after it disappears. Once you see the Lock, turn left and walk alongside the trees. It’ll be somewhere around there.”
He flipped through blank white and messy sketches, some nearing detailed, until he found what he’d been working on. “I know you’ll find it since it’s hard to miss a white horse in the middle of nowhere. But here’s what you’ll be seeing.” Blair looked up at the boy at the foot of his bed again and turned the notebook around to push gently towards him so he could see what he’d drawn for them.
They drawings were lifelike to a point that seemed unfair in having been done by an eight year old. On the left page was a normal horse, white and beautiful. On the left was a monster. Rotting skin that peeled and left holes. Bits of ribcage could be seen, and the entire left side of its face was gone despite both eyes remaining. Its ears were tattered, its mane stringy. Its teeth appeared sharp; its hooves jagged like the ends had been broken against rock. It looked like it would jump off the page, and it appeared every bit the monster Blair had described.
The boy folded his remaining hand in his lap, resting it gently over his right wrist. Blair didn’t look at the pictures he’d drawn. “I can’t imagine you need to know anything else, but I’d ask a favor of you when you do find that monster.” The bitterness was back. The look in Blair’s eyes as he looked at the boy across from him was icy. “Make it hurt.”
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Post by Spike Gatling on Aug 25, 2014 16:14:37 GMT -5
Spike sat there listening to the boy’s recollection of the events gathering all useful pieces of information as he listened. He could tell that the boy was sleep deprived probably having problems with nightmares. Hopefully a job well done, or overdone, will bring this child some peace.
Abnormally sticky skin. That means close combat is a no no. Not a problem at all. And since it’s a horse crippling it would be easy enough. But from his experience they knew nothing of its abilities in a combat setting. Spike couldn’t understand why he was feeling so anxious about fighting this horse. The strategy seemed pretty straight forward. So why was he feeling so nervous?
“That goes without saying.” Spike replied flatly after listening to everything. “But how about you do us a favor as well. Promise to live a good life.” He said patting the child on the head, “I know that seems impossible right now but I think that’s what Tam would have wanted. Wounds of the heart will heal in time but only if allowed to. From now on your job is to rest and get better.” Spike’s right forearm was swallowed by a bright blue glow and morphed into the spinning barrels of a minigun which slowly came to a stop, “Leave the rest to us.”
With that he got up off the bed and headed towards the door. His arm transformed back in a blue flash and he placed his hand back in his pocket. “I agree Cyrille. Breakfast can wait. Shall we be off, good sir?”
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Post by Cyrille Lécuyer on Aug 25, 2014 23:46:02 GMT -5
Listening to Blaire’s story proved to be a bit more difficult than it needed to be for Cyrille. The story in of itself was hard enough to listen to. What made it even more difficult was the fact a little kid was telling it to him. And what made it even more difficult was the fact Cyrille was having a hard time focusing on the words that he spoke. He kept finding his mind drifting to events he’d rather not think about.
Anyway, the thing was a horse. A horse with gooey skin. No close combat, and that was fine. Spike wasn’t a close ranged weapon, thankfully. Of course, it would have been nice to see exactly how much of a boost his Soul Purge got against kishin, but he wouldn’t complain. Having an optimal weapon against the foe was always nice. Though Cyrille hadn’t any experience fighting horses, it shouldn’t be too hard. Especially with a gun. It’d be easy enough to cripple it. Unfortunately for the kishin Cyrille had no problem throwing cheap shots against beings who didn’t respect chivalry themselves.
Cyrille tuned back into the story just as Blaire mentioned cutting his hand off. Eck. Such an experience was far too painful for a kid his age. Though Cyrille had kept his eyes avoiding any others in the room, they shot down at that description. He rolled his left shoulder back as well. Cyrille did not want to listen to this story. He did not want to believe such horrible things could happen to people. He wanted to think he was the only one who had ever suffered so much and been so miserable and that everyone else was always content with their lives. Maybe that was selfish, telling himself lies like that. Lying in of itself was selfish, hence why Cyrille tried to avoid it. But, this was too much...
The kid then told them how to get to the place. Cyrille repeated what he had said in his head, not having faith in Spike to remember it. Then, it seemed Blaire was about to show the two what the kishin looked like. Hm? How could they have possibly taken pictures? The kid must have drawn it. Cyrille shifted his gaze to lay it on the drawings. Rather good. A bit too good. He had to shift his eyes away again, fortunately he had looked at the picture long enough to get the general idea. The creature was terrifying. He’d feel no remorse pulling whatever stops he could on the thing.
Cyrille brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head a bit. The story was all over now, so he didn’t have to worry about trying to keep his mind on something. That always made it harder to ignore whatever else his mind decided it wanted to think about. Once he had given up on trying to get his mind to clear itself, Blaire spoke again.
“Make it hurt.”
The gaze of Cyrille once again shifted back to the kid, but soon shifted away again. He looked an awful lot more stern and cold and bitter now. His head nodded slightly, though the action would have been quite easily unnoticed. Especially with the words Spike had said. Good intended as they were, they’d probably just tick Blaire off. Couldn’t blame the guy, though. At least he was trying to help the kid. The same could not be said for Cyrille, who hadn’t said a word to the boy.
Then Spike’s words were directed at Cyrille himself. ”Right. Let’s.” He said, forever a man of few words. Cyrille got ready to leave, provided Blaire didn’t say anything else.
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Post by The Sidhe on Aug 27, 2014 15:30:35 GMT -5
They seemed to listen well, or at least the one at the end of his bed did. Blair couldn’t tell if the pretty one had heard a word he said, but if the look on his face was anything to go by he hoped that he had. Either way, his request would be honored even if he didn’t see how he could possibly do them a favor – You’ve got to be kidding me, not this again.
Blair wanted no sympathy or encouragement. He had refused comfort from both his fathers, and his older brother had wound up the more solemn one after failing to cheer him up. Blair felt a glimmer of guilt for being so caustic with him, but only because they were close. The doctor at least knew to leave him be, but if Douglas tried to comfort him one more time Blair was ready to crawl out a window and just run home until they transferred him.
All this made the boy stiffen at the pat on the head he was given, already dark eyes seeming to blacken almost. He just barely avoided rolling his eyes. Crueler words formed on his tongue he for once was the one taking pity. Regardless, Blair lifted his right arm very slightly from where it had rested in his lap. The bitterness still soaked his words. “I promise nothing. After all, the world’s made a point to show me that it really isn’t up to me.” Wounds heal in time, stay and get better, blah, blah, blah. He’d heard it ten times over from everyone, he was so sick of them feeling the need to repeat it every damn time they laid eyes on him. He didn’t even want to think about how he would have to listen to it all over again once he went back to school. Either way, Blair didn’t answer. There was no need for him to. The barrels the boy showed him let him know he didn’t need to worry. That would do just fine. He watched them go, he glanced at the drawings he’d shown them and slammed the notebook shut. He thought of Tam, he swore he felt his right hand still in the form of a linger ghost.
Blair lay down and yanked the covers up over his head so the emptiness of the room wouldn’t see his face contort into one laden with the pain he was determined to suppress until it was all over.
Outside the clinic, the weather hadn’t improved any. The clouds gathered closer and a light drizzle had begun to fall, just enough to be annoying. Any children that had been running about had vanished, taking refuge into their classrooms to begin their lessons. Neighbors conversed with the shopkeepers, a few lingered outside the little bakery window shopping at the pastries on display, the small café was relatively quiet still. The town itself was charming. As they left a man looking to be in his early thirties made his way towards the clinic, dressed in clothes meant for hard work and a hard expression on his face, but the concern in his eyes ruined it. Despite the age difference and scruffier appearance, he looked just like Blair as he passed through the front door and disappeared inside.
The main road out of town was to their left. The stones laid out before them led on for a surprisingly short distance. A few buildings that were clearly little more than townhouses lined the streets, and ended in what looked to be small storage sheds. From then on, the path gradually grew narrow, barely wide enough for two people. It led clear out of town towards woods, dips and shifts in the tree line visible. The waters of the Loch appeared as a sliver of shining dark in the distance.
Stone became rather uneven, worn with age and shifted over time by rain, footfalls, and mud. It led on for a long while, nearing the trees considerably and leaving the town only just visible behind them. Around them was washed out grasslands bathed in weak light, farms in the distance with sheep and horses dotting the pastures. On the rocks, drops and spots of dried blood lingered just barely after the rains had nearly washed them away completely. The dirt path appeared where they halted. It was even more narrow than the one they followed, likely forcing the team to walk single-file. It led down into more of a valley, though it was hardly steep at all, allowing for a gradual descent into the woods.
The woods were hardly difficult to navigate; tall pines spread several feet apart and their branches beginning far above their heads. Low lying bushes welcomed their feet; green needles cast dim shadows from the weakened sunlight attempting to break through the clouds. It was a gloomy place, though not unwelcoming, peaceful in a way. Once the creature they hunted was no longer hiding within it, the woods would live up to their appearance even more.
Dirt hit rock rather suddenly, the trees coming to a halt in an uneven line to reveal the Loch. Pebbles mixed into grey sand led up to the shallows of the infamous Loch Ness, deep and dark waters obscuring the green tone almost entirely. The gentle waves the wind blew lapped on the shore quietly, gently reaching for land. It stretched on between dips and rises of drop-offs and aspiring hills. Once again, it appeared more silent and peaceful than threatening, though the clouds above gave it that same gloomy feeling.
To the left, Blair had instructed. To the left the shore narrowed and widened, leaving little or ample space for walking depending on where the water landed. The trees shifted in kind, pines beginning to be intermixed with more tenacious looking bushes and trees not nearly as tall and boughs with wider reach holding true leaves. A large stump lay nestled in between a cluster a ways off.
A glimpse of white that did not belong in the dreary surroundings could be seen from just around it.
The head of a beautiful white horse would become apparent from the left side after progressing half way, dull blue eye looking at nothing at all, water dripping slowly from its damp mane.
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Post by Spike Gatling on Sept 2, 2014 0:21:28 GMT -5
Spike stepped out of the clinic into the street. The boy could feel tiny, cool droplets landing on his face. “Neither of us brought umbrellas, huh? Let’s just get there quickly.” He turned toward the pair’s destination and started to walk briskly just as a man with similar features to their contact passed. Spike assumed he was a relative. As bad as it sounded he knew that the man wouldn’t have much luck with helping Blair either. Spike knew the only way this kid was going to get better was if the two of them took down this monster.
“The kid had a point you know. In chess it doesn’t matter if you defeat your opponent or not. At the end of your game all of the pieces go back in the box. Without exception. If you want to you can think of us students as Shinigami’s pieces in a game between him and madness. However, I do believe that Death wants us to s-“
Spike’s thoughts were stopped abruptly as he slipped and fell on the uneven slick stones of the walkway. Without getting up he said “Okay. I’d be a bit of a liability beyond this point.” Spike’s body was enveloped in a bright blue light. “Switching to weapon form.” Spike’s body seemed to contort and flow around Cyrille for an instant before resolidifying into the shape of a minigun in the hands of his meister with a tombstone shaped ammo pack affixed to his back. A second later a face appeared on the tombstone and appeared to start talking. “You know it feels kinda cool to be wielded by a meister. I’m still trying to get used to the sensation of weightlessness.”
The rest of the way to their destination Spike went over all of the things in his head that he told Cyrille about wielding him making sure there was nothing he overlooked but nothing came to mind. When the loch was in sight to the pair Spike decided to add, “Hey, so you should say something cool before you fight it. Just sayin.”
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Post by Cyrille Lécuyer on Sept 2, 2014 20:50:26 GMT -5
”Called it.”
As expected, Blair wasn’t exactly content with being talked down to. Of course, Cyrille didn’t say anything. Blair’s words were not something he’d protest against, but he also wouldn’t protest Spike’s kindness. Ah... why couldn’t everyone just talk a lot less? It certainly made things easier.
Soon enough, the team had exited the clinic. Raining. Joy. Not enough to the point Cyrille would actually be worried, but if it worsened it’d be easy enough for him to lose his footing while fighting. Oh, wait. No it wouldn’t. Cyrille shouldn’t be moving around too much. He had almost forgot Spike was a long range weapon, as opposed to the short ranged weaponry he was used to. Well, that shouldn’t be too bad, then.
Cyrille barely heard the umbrella comment his partner made, as his eyes had instead focused on a passing man. Looked similar to Blair. Father? Ah... There was so much pain in his eyes. Such a familiar look. His own father had refused to look at Cyrille any other way for at least a year. He’d ignore that. The french boy needed to keep his cool, and thinking about such nonsense would not allow him to do that. Cyrille continued to walk where he was supposed to go.
Uneven path, Cyrille watched his footing. Spike was going on about something. Something Cyrille didn’t want to hear. Oh, he heard it. Certainly wasn’t helping with how Cyrille was trying to avoid getting even more worried over nothing. He was nothing more than a simple pawn, wasn’t he? That’d explain a lot, but such a truth was not one Cyrille was fond of readily accepting. Fortunately, these unpleasant thoughts were put to a halt when his partner slipped. Cyrille halted to make sure he was alright.
And with that, Spike had switched into his weapon form, a minigun now appearing in Cyrille’s hands. The meister let out a soft “Hm.” after Spike had spoken his comment about feeling weightless. He could recall Ophelie saying something a bit similar, the more he thought about it. Must be an interesting feeling.
After traversing the surprisingly soothing forest path, Loch was in Cyrille’s sights. Spike spoke up yet again. More nonsense spewing from him. ”Or, we could try to get the upper hand by remaining qui-” The boy begun in an unnecessarily harsh tone, but he cut himself off.
Huh. Spike seemed to be doing that a lot. Quite a bit of the stuff he said that Cyrille would normally pass off as nonsense he recalled Ophelie saying. Or at least saying something similar. She was always telling him to loosen up, as well as try to be a bit more badass. Perhaps no harm could come from accepting Spike’s suggestion. It’d probably make his weapon like him a little more too. Cyrille was kinda easy to hate. ”Ah... sure. Why not?”
Go left. That’s what Blair had said. Cyrille didn’t need to go very long before he saw the white horse. He quickly ducked behind the cluster of small trees. Probably not good enough cover. The kishin had probably seen him already. Ah. Actually, Cyrille best make sure it was indeed the kishin. He closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them trying to identify the horse’s soul. No dice. He wasn’t sure if it was too far away or if he simply couldn’t use the ability to save his life. Oh well.
Open firing kinda seemed like a good idea right now, but first Cyrille wanted to make sure the thing had indeed not seen him. If it had, he’d much prefer to counter an attack than take the offensive right away.
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Post by The Sidhe on Sept 3, 2014 14:39:36 GMT -5
Tiny drops of water continued to fall from the pale grey clouds. If there was to be a storm, it wouldn’t be a bad one. The muted and dirty looking rocks that made up the shore of the Loch grew slicker, beginning to shine. The wind blew a little harsher, distrusting branches and drawing a soft sound from them. The small movements of the dark waters grew more intense, shoving against the rocks with new purpose before the breeze waned. There was a chill in the air, mild though it was. The white horse cared not about what the weather brought, though.
Dull blue eyes, the color of ice but milky and glazed over. Its white coat appeared glossy to it like it was damp from recent rain, water dripping at a sluggish pace from its similarly color mane and tail. When the footsteps began, one of its ears shifted to one side, listening. It remained still, though, curious as to whether whoever visited the shores would spot it, venture closer. The sound switched and its head turned mere centimeters to spot movement. But that was about all it could spot from such a great distance through severely blurred vision, so much of the world seen through grey and white.
Its ear tilted again, seeing if it could spot any more noise. From such a distance, apparently not. No further movement caught its poor eyes. It breathed slow, smooth breaths, slight vapor emanating from its nostrils with the air just cold enough to warrant it. The white horse couldn’t smell anything from its hiding place behind the stump either. Unfortunate. There was a possibility that they were smarter than the boys, or less inquisitive. Perhaps they were taking an alternate route to get to it, trying to avoid the thick wildflowers and ferns.
Or they knew the boy who got away.
Movement was generally unnecessary, but risking it could prove vital to its survival. Snorting, it turned it head slowly. It still could see nothing that was not immediately around it, and even then it could only see darker versions of blurred shapes and muted colors. It seemed unnecessary to move too far. The white horse took slow, graceful steps, but traveled only a few feet from its former resting place, obscured further behind two trees. If there was no food or threat, it would remain still in its knew position and continue to wait until nightfall when it would return to its home in the Loch.
What a shame that the little one’s corpse hadn’t lasted it longer.
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Post by The Sidhe on Sept 3, 2014 14:40:34 GMT -5
Tiny drops of water continued to fall from the pale grey clouds. If there was to be a storm, it wouldn’t be a bad one. The muted and dirty looking rocks that made up the shore of the Loch grew slicker, beginning to shine. The wind blew a little harsher, distrusting branches and drawing a soft sound from them. The small movements of the dark waters grew more intense, shoving against the rocks with new purpose before the breeze waned. There was a chill in the air, mild though it was. The white horse cared not about what the weather brought, though.
Dull blue eyes, the color of ice but milky and glazed over. Its white coat appeared glossy to it like it was damp from recent rain, water dripping at a sluggish pace from its similarly color mane and tail. When the footsteps began, one of its ears shifted to one side, listening. It remained still, though, curious as to whether whoever visited the shores would spot it, venture closer. The sound switched and its head turned mere centimeters to spot movement. But that was about all it could spot from such a great distance through severely blurred vision, so much of the world seen through grey and white.
Its ear tilted again, seeing if it could spot any more noise. From such a distance, apparently not. No further movement caught its poor eyes. It breathed slow, smooth breaths, slight vapor emanating from its nostrils with the air just cold enough to warrant it. The white horse couldn’t smell anything from its hiding place behind the stump either. Unfortunate. There was a possibility that they were smarter than the boys, or less inquisitive. Perhaps they were taking an alternate route to get to it, trying to avoid the thick wildflowers and ferns.
Or they knew the boy who got away.
Movement was generally unnecessary, but risking it could prove vital to its survival. Snorting, it turned it head slowly. It still could see nothing that was not immediately around it, and even then it could only see darker versions of blurred shapes and muted colors. It seemed unnecessary to move too far. The white horse took slow, graceful steps, but travelled only a few feet from its former resting place, obscured further behind two trees. If there was no food or threat, it would remain still and beautiful in its knew position and continue to wait until nightfall when it would return to its home in the Loch.
What a shame that the little one’s corpse hadn’t lasted it longer.
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Post by Spike Gatling on Sept 9, 2014 23:19:12 GMT -5
Spike was astounded. It really did look like a horse! So a man or woman ate some souls and took the shape of a horse. Wait. Spike had to keep in mind that that was just camouflage. The true monster was in the second picture that Blaire showed them. And besides being sticky and knowing how to walk he knew nothing of this kishin egg, other than it must be destroyed.
This was it. His first fight with a meister. Spike’s heart was racing but his thoughts were calm. It was time to play a game. From his weapon form Spike observed the kishin egg and his surroundings closely. The slick rocks, the rain, the lapping waves of the loch licking the rocks of its banks.
“It should be okay to talk from this distance if we keep our voices down. This rain should drown out the noise.” The horse had moved behind of a couple of trees. Damn. “We’re going to have to change locations to get a good shot. We can either cut through the trees and stay hidden or run straight at it and just start shooting, you’d just have to keep an eye on the slick footing. Either way our biggest priority should be keeping it from going back into the lake so if possible aim for the legs to cripple it. I’ll help with the aiming where I can.”
“Remember that once you pull my trigger there will be a delay while my barrels start to spin before I can begin firing and the kishin egg will probably be able to hear it. But it probably won’t know what it is so we should be okay.”
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