Londoners Against Darkness- A Spooky Victorian Adventure O/A

[Woken Tox]

_-| Isaac Hawthorne |-_

The reason you fear the dark, or the light that illuminates it?

As Isaac stepped out into the front of the church, he squinted his eyes and glared upward as a grey cloud slithered across the sky, making way for the silver, glowing, spherical master that hung in the sky and hazed down on Isaac. The look of hate in the detective's eyes as he stared the b*****d down could have been compared to the venomous gaze of the devil himself forced towards holy ground... though it was more like being dragged into Hell itself.

Isaac could feel it beginning. He'd turned more times than he could count and it would be a quick transformation for him unless he fought it back, which was ineffective and wouldn't last. Isaac had learned a few techniques over a human lifetime to give him a last moment edge under the full moon. He looked around and sank back into the church, the doors closed as he backed into the hallowed building. No one could see him turn.

He, however, was slave to no one or anything. He would remain as defiant as possible so long as his mind kept even a slight grip over himself. He swallowed and his eyes rolled back as he felt a shocking feeling shoot up his spine and back down again, causing him to groan and stiffen, but he retained composure. He reached behind him and from a pouch on his belt, he pulled a few items.

The first, in his pocket, was Sparks. He cocked his arm back and flung it out a nearby window into the alley. He would find it later. He couldn't risk it falling into the hands of the church, especially if they were in league with those responsible for the knight commander's disappearance. The second was the morphine given to him by Cynthia. He readied the syringe and shoved it into his arm. It wasn't for the pain, nor the feeling it gave him, though hopefully it would hinder the wolf's activity. If the police found him naked in the streets, yet again, they would find traces of the drug on him and it would be his cover. Third was a small knife. He'd planned on having Wink put him down before he turned, but this was not how he'd planned.

The blade of the knife was edged in silver. He kept it near the full moon as a contingency. He drew in a breath and pressed the blade to his forearm and he dragged it down, nearly to mid wrist, until he lost grip. The knife fell to the ground and he fell to his hands and knees with it. The cut he'd carved into himself was slight, but the silver still had effect, even if just a little. It was like poison to werewolves, even a strong werewolf like Isaac would fall sick with the right wound.

He watched as the bones in his hands shifted, popped out of place and extended and reconnected. Claws shot out of his fingers and they gripped cleanly into the wooden floor below. His mouth hung agape and his eyes strained as they clinched tightly shut, he shivered, as if he should have been screaming in unimaginable agony, yet no sound emitted from him.

His clothing began to tear and fall from his limbs, his flesh expanded and tore as silver fur began to sprout from almost every inch of his body. He could no longer hold in his pain as he steadily released a howl of seething pain, of unbearable torment. The horrific sound echoed through the church, steadily lowering in pitch, as if unwinding the string of an instrument while dropping it in tune. He groaned a bit, holding onto himself as desperately as he could, until his eyes shot open and a devious grin spread over his face while his teeth sharpened and his face began to elongate. His groans almost became rhythmic, as if he were laughing.

Suddenly, however, he went silent as his senses sharpened. That smell again. Dread filled him as he came to a realization. A female. A female of his kind. "Oh, no...", He said, and a final scream shot out of him and quickly found itself replaced with primal groans, growls and roars. He fell to the floor and writhed for a moment before the large, silver animal came to a pause.

Isaac Hawthorne was no more...

The air stood still. There was silence. The beautiful, terrible creature as pale a silver as the moon itself pulled itself onto its clawed, pawlike hands and finally, it let out a breath. A cloud bellowed out of its mouth with the hoy air from it's lungs meeting the cold air of an approaching winter's night. The scent filled it's nostrils. The scent of it's kind. A female. A companion. A potential mate. The white wolf growled and hauled itself up before leaping onto the drapes that decorated the walls of the building. It climbed up with unnatural haste, a silver blur to human eyes, until it reached the support beams above, which it navigated expertly until crashing up through the relatively weak ceiling.

It pulled itself onto the roof and looked out over the city, homing in on the direction the scent came from. A trail. There was a trail. Not that it needed it. A howl, faint, but clear all at once, sounded from not so far away. The wolf now had direction. It stood up on it's hind legs and extended it's arms out to it's sides as it returned a howl into the sky, towards its large, glowing master in the sky.

The hunt was on...

The wolf leaped down to the ground and took off as soon as it made contact, swiftly weaving through the alleys and back streets as he followed the scent, which lead it in the direction of the howl. There was no time for hunting, for prey, this was evident as the beast ignored every human that could have been a potential meal.

It clawed it's way up a wall, kicked across to an adjacent wall and back again until it was once more on the rooftops. This was a much clearer method of travel. As it sprinted on all fours towards it's target, it collapsed and fell forward onto it's shoulder, rolling forward and coming to a sliding stop. It whined a bit, looking down at it's bleeding leg. A small numbness began to creep over it and it's eyes fluttered, but with a defiant growl it lifted itself up and started off again, taking a moment regain it's speed.

_______________________________________________________________________________

'Howl, so that the angels can hear you. Yeah, catch me if you can...'

[Princess Araeni]

The snarling beast's ears twitched as she heard another, mournful howl off in the distance. Every minutes she stayed in the room, the more angry the beast was getting. She threw her head back and answered the howl with another furious one of her own after she heard the second howl. She tossed her head around, looking for a way out. The monster headed for the door and lifted a savage, clawed paw and gave a vicious swipe at the wooden furniture blocking her path. With a yelp the wolf jumped back, nearly losing her balance as she did. There was now a burning sensation on her paw where she'd touched the furniture. She moved forward again, hackles raised as she gave the barricade a weary sniff. The smell burned her nose as she recoiled from it once more, turning to find another way. She tried the window with the same effect. Angry, the wolf turned to the side door and charged it, hitting it square in the middle with her shoulder. Again, the beast howled with pain and fury as the stench of the wolfsbane filled her nose.

As useless as it seemed to the giant, grey she-wolf, she could not sit still. She tried the barricade again, this time swiping at it angrily with a beastly growl. Her paw seemed to shred right through the antique wood of the barricade. Encouraged, the beast continued to shear off pieces of the furniture blocking her path. Suddenly, she froze, sniffing the air, listening. She turned, trying to figure out what was tugging at her senses. She tried to climb atop of what remained of the furniture, but the surface burned her paws still. She snarled and howled again, her rage evident in the wild sound from her throat. She shifted her weight and shouldered the barricade with the force of her brute strength, shoving with her claws dug into the stone floor. She began to aim for the bottom rather than the tops where she kept getting burned, ignoring the horrible stench that made the werewolf want to run away. She snapped her jaws shut around a splintered piece of wood and shook her head savagely, sharp chunks of wood flying everywhere as she did so.

The werewolf had eventually taken to sprinting around the room on the walls as if her objective were to destroy the building from the inside out if she could. Her claws were leaving deep gouge marks on the walls and whenever she ran over the wood boards on the windows or the wood pile at the barricade, she left a little less of it each turn. A splintery pile of sawdust and kindling was collecting around the doors and window. The werewolf jumped to the ceiling, digging in deep with her claws as she sneered, saliva glistening on her white fangs as she struggled to maintain her grip, trying to get out. When she dropped to the ground, she became eerily silent, listening again. Then..

Thump! The werewolf turned toward the sound near the front corner of the building, springing toward the sound with a snarl, her hackles bristling again. She sprinted and rammed the front door with enough force to destroy what was left of the barricade in a puff of dust and splinters. She backed up to the far wall and rammed it again, creating quite a ruckus. with each hit, the iron hinges creaked in protest, threatening to bust from the wall where they were fastened. The wolf's claws raked against the door and the walls, ignoring the sharp pains that lanced up her arms whenever she brushed her paw over a spot of wolfsbane.

[Tyber Septim]

Duke Bartholomew Mulberry the IV of Essex
Or
THE EMISSARY

"...it is easy not to believe in monsters, considerably more difficult to escape their dread and loathsome clutches." - Stanisław Lem

One is a bore, two is a pair, and threes a crowd. Mr. Mulberry held great affections for crowds. They were easily lead, lumbered about, and all sense of individuality were lost in their clamor. A man could aspire to be a monster, crowd became such with ease. Humans always looked to each other to know how to be human. They silly little things. A crowd took no head in morality, in cares or consequence. They were often lured out and led by men like Mr. Mulberry. Men who'd learned the power of a crowd. What on man would find immoral as a sole creature, as a crowd he'd act a soulless creature. While there was hardly a crowd mushed together in the antiques store the mentality was in the air.

Take Ms. Dawkins for example. The way her tongue oozed forth pleasantries for her hopefully new patron. Her eyes held an alluring hunger within as she spoke. She desired to devour both the mystery and the money tied to Mr. Mulberry. Like any crowd she charged onward uncaring of the lions den in which she was making her bed. So blunt in her actions, it took all of Mr. Mulberry's eldritch pride not to blue. "Is it that obvious, not the handsome bit of course, my dear Ms. Dawkin's, or the longwinded as I'm currently proving, or even the ancient. But, eldritch," Mr. Mulberry spoke the word with disdain. To have ones entire character summed up in a single word. A word manufactured by scrawny apes. One's ego could only so much of a beating. "Is it so evident? It seems I've left my all subtlety at home on the nightstand."

It seemed he wasn't the only one. Patience was another trait rarely found in crowds. Something the esteemed Mr. Croft shared with them. Ever since his arrival the albino giant had been to the punch. It seemed he intend to take that metaphor literally. Thankfully as he protested the exasperating nature of conversing with Mr. Mulberry he revealed he was not all barbarian. The Albino revealed his holstered gun. Holstered, that was the most important part. Not that Mr. Mulberry had an allergy to bullets mind you. Just that it was a bother to explain to the constable why there were bullet holes in your vest, and why there wasn't blood coming out of those holes. Mr. Mulberry eyed the piece and then the scowl on Mr. Croft's place. With care the duke pulled back his own jacket side to reveal nothing. No gun, no weapon of any sorts, just pockets. "To the point, which its better then to the bullet, which is almost as bad to the death. As for putting human's in danger. They do that enough themselves, they really don't even need my help these days. No, I just need your help to return something I've lost."

As the fury of the crowd roared to life like a gunshot in bustled Ms. Hanniver's sanity. She shook a finger at the crowd. Then with an impatient tapping of her foot her sanity asked what all those pitchforks and torches was about. The crowd mentality that had filled the store sheepishly fled under her questioning. What a woman this Ms. Hanniver was. She was so neat with her fear. Oh, she felt it that much was certain. She felt it, embraced it, and invited it in for tea. A strange and queer thing she was. "I was planning to burn London to the ground, but that's for another day. I'm here for another reason my pet ha-give me a second." Mr. Mulberry flashed her a smile as he spoke. The smile died as quickly as they would in three months time.

Mr. Mulberry raised a hand and flicked his wrist. From the back of the store came the sound of something crashing and the panic filled scream of Clive. "If its broke that's coming out of your allowance," warned Mr. Mulberry loud enough for his nephew to hear. With the boy distracted there was little time to spare. "My pet has escaped. Well, pet is an understatement," as he spoke again Mr. Mulberry edged closer to the trio. The air of pleasenrty withered away. He didn't skip, he glided forward. His shadow turned a darker shade, his jacket which once hung lose clung to his form like folded wings, and his eyes could have frozen the stars. "Its a mass of flesh made from dead orphans. It currently wanders the London streets eating small children. It seeks to fill the void that is engulfing its, well soul is the best words to describe it. It only attacks at night, hates being seen, believes itself to be hideous. Which it is, mind you. I'll pay of course," Mr. Mulberry march came to a halt. He reached into the abyss of his jacket pockets and produced a obese wallet. "980 pounds is a good starting price." The alien horror plastered on his face shifted into one of genuine horror, "or is that to small, I've never mastered monetary matters."

Callie Blackwell

Ariana Shayde

TheHooliganist

[HooliTheFormer]

Impatient, perhaps, but rash Croft was not. Listening to the others, Mrs. Bea trying to get to the gist of things much more diplomatically than he, the artificer swallowed his weapon back into the folds of his coat and returned a studious gaze to this patron of the dark arts. Well, at least there was no present danger from him, though his story spoke of a different threat entirely.

"It would seem then, Sir," he drawled, "that if you're so powerful you could keep your pets on their leashes."

He made no effort to hide that this statement also included the bumbling young man making a mess of things in the back of the store. Though he had more than a hunch that a great deal of this little charade was merely for the foul entity's amusement. What penance was it to him should the lives of humans be sundered by his ill-fated flesh golem. This blasphemous atronoch was more than probably of little affection to him besides the cruel game he could draw from it's infectious suffering.

"Camille, are you listening?" he thought out over their private connection.
"He is quite the frightening one, of that there can be no doubt, Sir. Do you want me to delve into his thoughts?"
"In that wretched pool I feel you would surely drown, Lad. No, instead I want you to depart back to Dr. Alchemilla and explain to him just what's been made known here. I'll keep you privy to whatever else comes up at a later date."
"As you wish, Mr. Croft. But do be careful."

With that, the little grey man was gone, his mental presence disappearing from Croft's mind and out into London through, what he felt, must've been a window.

----------------------------------------------------

"Well," he started, "I'wouldn't totally agree wit' y'there, Ms. Edie, though I m'self am not th'biggest fan of organized religion. I've met some of th'most genuine people alongside some of th'fakest. It's not all hypocrisy, I'dare say."

Just as he parted his lips to continue, Wink couldn't help but notice the physical response he got from Edie each time he embraced her book. The observation halted his words at a soft annunciation trailed off into a curious hum. What was she doing? Visually tracing between Edie and the book in his hands as though there were some invisible tether that only he could see, Wink's eye widened a bit and his cheeks flushed a little. Could it be that she could feel whatever was done with this text? Surely she'd say something, if that were the case, considering how he'd been hugging it against his chest this whole time. Deciding to test his theory, Wink kept an observant eye on the little ghost girl as he reached up and began slowly running his thumb down the spine of the book.

"No, no," he corrected, "nothin' like that, I'promise. I'd say you're the one in charge here, Ms. Edie, considerin' I'just joined th'club in th'wee hours of last night."

His footstep falling in a small puddle, rippling out like a miniature tide, Wink went rigid, his eye leaving Edie and glaring off into the steadily darkening shadows of the alley. He knew this feeling, this dread feeling. Something supernatural was approaching. No, more than that. He felt before him a coming shade, but behind him was a primal fear, animalistic and lusting, yet it was all at once familiar.

Clutching his fist tightly, Wink said, "Ms. Edie, stay close," his voice uncharacteristically weighty.

Focusing his vision on what felt more immediate, he began to discern a silhouette amongst the darkness; however, the longer his gaze fell upon it the more he perceived that it was darker than shadow, seeming an unnatural black, sapient and deep. Like a man, slender and tall, with what appeared to be a chimney pot hat atop it's head, but beyond that was simply a void making play at a person.

"Would that be our friend?" he asked quietly, before shooting straight as a loud howl ripped through the quiet London stars.

"Would that be our other friend?"

Callie Blackwell

andeer nightshade

Toxic Roboticl

Ariana Shayde

[Ariana Shayde]

TheHooliganist

Edie felt her heart lighten at Wink's input. "The place I grew up was very small," she acquiesced, smiling fondly at the memory despite lingering traces of bitterness. "And libraries are not churches. Perhaps religion is more than I knew it to be. I have heard that city pastors give grand and terrifying sermons. I should like to hear one someday -- when we are not otherwise preoccupied hunting down the evils of London."

When a soft finger traced the leather of her spine, Edie flickered rapidly. Her mouth made strange shapes, her face purpled with uncomprehending shock. "I… That is… Mr. Talbot, there must be - there are - for heaven's sake, there are limits!" she managed to bite out, trying not to hyperventilate. There was a reason Edie's book was usually hidden away in the study. She could try to distance herself from the book with intense mental focus, but echoes of sensations always pushed their way through. Standing here, watching the curious Wink gently, purposefully, touch her -- He knew, she could see that he knew -- why would he -- how dared he?

His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. Calloused, like Cynthia's... but Wink's skin felt unbearably alive.

"If I am the one in charge, why are you t-t-t-touching -"

That sentence would never see an end, for Edie felt the air change. Moonlight filled the alley, and she huddled closer to her infuriating but (so far) reliable companion. Strange malevolence encroached upon them, thick like a cloud of smoke, and she held her breath to avoid letting any of it into her lungs. A man, stood there, but not a man. A bitter, angry creature, not unlike what she had faced in the library one hundred years past. But this man stared at her, eyeless patch of void that he was. His stare was a command, and his eyes promised a thousand years of torment should they choose not to follow.

"This is he," she agreed, and something in this statement satisfied the creature. It sprung towards and past them, floating overhead. Slow enough to follow, and Edie was beginning to think that was exactly what this creature wished of them.

Not moments later, a howl split the air.
Isaac.
"Oh… oh cuss!" Edie spat, her composure too shaken to find a politer turn of phrase. "What a wicked fool! Does he expect us to-"

But the void cloud was drifting on. It would not stop for them to follow Isaac. Edie stared back and forth, distressed. Finally, she stuck out her chin and looked Wink dead in the eyes. "Isaac can handle himself. We have a city to save. Come on!"

She flew after the creature, unwilling to compromise their mission for a renegade teammate.

[HooliTheFormer]

He'd of never guessed a ghost could be so lively as poor Edie at the caress of her book. Ah, so then he was right in his hunch. Of course he had no way of knowing, now that he thought of it, what parts of the books anatomy correlated to its occupant's. Thinking about this, Wink's face turned a brilliant red and he immediately ceased stroking the spine and instead chose to holster it within the inner pocket of his peacoat.While all in all he strove to be a gentleman, in the end Wink was a teenage boy, and often times a young man acts on instinct without reflection on such sensitive matters.

"B-B-Beggin' y'pardon, Ms. Edie," he stammered, his cheeks practically glowing and his accent growing thicker by the syllable, "I'wasn't sure if y'were actually connected t'th'book like... well... like that! I'wished y'd told me that from th'beginnin'!"

And to think this whole evening he'd been clutching and practically cuddling the thing like it were an old flame from Manchester. He felt like a proper creep now. Though he had only a moment to reflect on the awkward feeling before their encounter with the shadowy entity in their path.

Torn between which one, the ally or the target, he should be chasing, Wink didn't have to ponder it long before Edie shot past him like a rocket.

"Isaac can handle himself. We have a city to save. Come on!"
"Ms. Edie! Wait!"

It was a fruitless plea, and on she went. After this entity that he could so clearly tell was goading them on in it's wake. Growling in frustration, he rushed after her into the streets in front of the church. Unfortunately the outside was still being crowded by a panicky mob of once-peaceful churchgoers.

Bumping, shoving, and stepping over one another, they paid no courtesy to Wink as he tried to slip through them as peaceably as possible. In an instance he was knocked flat on his back, landing on the damp stone of the streets with a thud and a grunt. The pain was negligible; however it served to distract from something crucial as he got up and rushed after the fleeting ghost...

A lone book left laying on the sidewalk amidst the turmoil.

------

Good thing he could see her, otherwise Wink would've never caught up with the little ghost, but catch up he did, if still at a loss of ground, considering he was quite corporeal and had to still rely on avoiding obstructions to get where he was headed. Calling out, he waved after her as he said, "Ms. Edie! You have to slow down and think! If he's leading us he's not going to let us fall too far behind!"

Smile C I E L

Toxic Robotic

Ariana Shayde

[Ariana Shayde]

TheHooliganist

She huffed as he pocketed the book, beginning to breathe normally once again. "This isn't the sort of thing one just mentions, Mr. Talbot," Edie chided, "This is the sort of thing one must imply. That book, well, it… it holds my immortal soul." She flushed at the admission, but did feel guilty for having neglected to explain and so chose to plow on. "I did not exactly have a… that is -- I-do-not-have-a-corpse." There, that was done. Thoroughly distressing, but done.

"The book you hold is quite literally my physical form. Without that book, I don't exist. Which is very awkward to explain to company."

Admitting such things ached in a painfully visceral way, and Edie much preferred to focus on the more savoury aspects of her eternal existence. Still, it was important that he know this, so he might understand what she said next.

"It had to be you who carried my tether, Wink, because you need to know you are valuable to us. To-to me, at least. I trust you. With whatever's left of my life. And I look forward to trusting you with that text for a very long time."

She was glad, then, for the interruption of their top hatted friend. Edie might genuinely mean what she just said, but that didn't mean she wanted to stay still and listen to Wink's response. Already her admittance had taken its toll, flushing Edie's wan cheeks and making that imaginary heart beat double-time.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Edie shook her head. "He's erratic," she yelled back over the wind. "I'm not sure that this individual is entirely in control of his own actions. He moves like a puppet resisting his strings."

The wind did buffet the man of void harshly, jerking him left and right, as he strained to run and was thrown back. Again did he run, and fall, an endless cycle.

"If you can hear us," she called to their unresponsive guide. "Would you please slow down?" A groan, a hiss, but no concrete response. Their friend raced ever onwards, like a man possessed. Up a street, down an alley, over a fence and through someone's clothes line. The path was erratic and nonsensical, but they followed nonetheless.

[Woken Tox]

_-| The White Wolf |-_

Lay down, heaven can wait...

The mixture of the pain and numbness coursing through it's veins and limbs disoriented the wolf, made it's vision hazy and it's movements slightly less graceful than usual. Being a wild beast without it's human counterpart's brilliant mind, the power of logic didn't bless it and all it could do was follow instinct and find the other of it's kind that it hunted for so desperately.

Finally, back on the ground, the wolf came to a skidding stop on the moist cobblestone as it rounded a corner to have eyes fall on a relatively isolated construct. It fell on it's armlike front appendages and circled the building slowly, listening to the chaos within and inhaling the scent. It had found her. A low growl emitted from the wolf as it reared itself back. It's teeth bared, the fur on it's back stood up and it's tail raised before it charged at the door and threw an astounding amount of impact into it, cracking it from the top right corner to the center.

The wolf was not at it's strongest, and as soon as it had bounced off the door, it fell back with a high pitched yelp as it scurried back against the nearest wall, swiping at it's nose and shaking it head violently with sneezes. The most foul, powerful and burning scent had flown through it's nostrils and almost felt as though it had set fire to the inside of it's skull.

Soon, the scent of the cool, moist air, oncoming rain and the female returned it's senses and it pulled itself up, weakly, the incision from the silver blade taking more effect every passing moment. The morphine usually wouldn't have done more than annoy it, but already weakened and fighting stronger than usual on pure instinct, it was close to dropping unconscious.

Another scent crept through the air and the sound of footsteps echoed right to the wolf's ears. It's head shot in the direction of the oncoming anomaly and it paced back and forth impatiently, as if a wolf defending it's den from an intruder. There, rounding the corner, was a stumbling, dirty, foul scented human who appeared quite surprised at the sight of the wolf. It growled and crept towards him, causing him to back up and swear a fee times, confused, shocked and inebriated. He stumbled and fell back onto his rear end and the wolf charged at him with a roar at the sudden movement.

The man screamed and ran off to find help, not that the wolf could understand him. Once he was awarded off, the wolf stopped and watched him vanish from sight before huffing and returning to the building that trapped the other. It was limping, now, wobbling on it's feet to maintain balance. It's vision was beginning to blacken and it's body could no longer feel temperature or the wet, cold stone beneath it's feet.

Slowly, it found it's way to the door it had damaged and it could hear the other inside, trying to tear it's way out. It whined a bit, but then growled adamantly and roared as its claws hacked into the door with as much force as it's arms could allow. The wooden splinters flew in every direction as it tore into it, weaker with every swing. It stopped a moment to catch it's breath, fighting it's eyes to keep them open. Another, half-hearted swing, which barely scraped the heavily damaged wood.

Finally, it's ears flattened and it whined repeatedly as it's form dragged down the door and dropped, hard, onto the stone below. It's eyes fluttered closed as they rolled back and it let out a final, desperate breath before falling into silent unconsciousness...

_______________________________________________________________________________

'Howl, so that the angels can hear you. Yeah, catch me if you can...'

[Princess Araeni]

Isabelle the werewolf had trashed the inside of the room and was now tracking huge, bloody paw prints around the room on the stone floor. Her breathing was labored as her tongue lolled out the side of her jaws, hot saliva dripping on the floor. Between breaths she let out a high pitched whine as she stalked the door as the other wolf on the other side of it shredded it to bits himself, finishing the work she'd started. The smell of the male wolf mixed with the burning smell of the wolfsbane had the hair on her neck and hackles standing on end, and as the door disappeared splinter by splinter, she caught glimpses of his white fur through the other side.

She stood in front of the door beyond the line of the wolfsbane she'd laid down before her transformation. She growled, smelling the stranger as he approached from the alley beside the barred window. She ran to it, hearing the other wolf giving his hostile warning to the man. She reared up, her paws on the window as she growled and snarled, giving a warning of her own for him to stay away, guarding her own territory fiercely, ignoring the burning on her paws again as she bashed her paws against the window, jarring the bars and shattering the glass. As the man ran away from the threat of the other, larger white wolf, she whimpered, jumping away from the window again. She heard the other wolf make his way back to the door, continuing to demolish the heavy oaken wood with his claws.

The female shook her head, trying to thwart the dizzying sensation she kept feeling from the poison she'd come in repeated contact with. Her human counterpart had been wise to use wolfsbane as a precaution, especially for such a small building. Isabelle must have known that she would try desperately to escape from her prison which might have been possible with the wolf's perseverance, but having come into contact with so much of the poisonous plant would be sure to put the wolf down, and leave her in a weakened state when she finally recovered. Isabelle knew she too would feel ill and in pain when she became a human again with it still in her system, but it was better than bloodying her hands with the blood of innocents.

As the male destroyed what remained of the door, she sprang to the doorway and snarled, hair bristling as she was so close to him. She licked her teeth as she bared them to him, her tail soon drooping as she watched the other whine weakly and drop heavily to the ground, unconscious. The female normally wouldn't pass the doorway where the majority of the wolfsbane had been pooled around the base of the door, but as the other beast fell, she flattened her own ears, a growl low in her throat as she leaped outside over the burning poison and hesitantly approached the other wolf. She was growling deeply but softly as she shoved her nose in between his legs and beneath his tail, sniffing his scent in a primal manner. She nudged him with her nose and licked his cheek before she threw her head back and gave a piercing, mournful howl to the moon.

The female wolf slowly eased herself to the ground beside the other unconscious wolf, smelling his wound and giving it a few licks. The taste his blood left in her mouth made her sneer and stick her tongue out again, a wolfy expression of displeasure on her face. Finally, the wolf lowered her grey head to the ground, her breathing labored and with an occasional high pitched whine of pain as she lay vigilant at his side as if guarding him from the night, her yellow eyes open, waiting.

Toxic Robotic

[Callie Blackwell]

Ariana Shayde

TheHooliganist

andeer nightshade

"Subtlety is an over rated quality," she said with a soft little cluck of amusement at that and his comment on bullets. Not quite a chuckle, now really wasn't a time for laughs, looking at the people gathered it wasn't hard to believe she meant that. Ariadne was normal perhaps. If you didn't know her well.

Beatrice took note of London's deadline, but didn't comment beyond a slight knitting of her eyebrows, a concerned frown. She had no doubt there would be actual fires if Mulberry got his way, she expected he would do far worse.

She looked away at the crash. Temporarily distracted by a more pressing concern. No furious ghost was chiding the boy, it meant nothing could be broken. Jeffery wouldn't tolerate that, eldritch guests or no. Her attention returned immediately to Mulberry, to the darkening of the room, she bristled involuntarily. Mulberry explained his pet and Beatrice too dropped any pretense of friendliness.

Pity anyone who picked now to go antique shopping.

"I see," her tone was careful, even, letting out exactly as much disdain as she wanted everyone to see. "Did you kill these orphans yourself? Or did you just find this poor creature." It was not a question, rather a last chance for Mulberry to retain some esteem, some respect.

Beatrice had a great deal of tolerance for a great many things, but people who were cruel to children, who chose to prey on anything weaker then they were, on creatures who were so wholly defenseless. She gave them no quarter.

The ice in her gaze matched his, the money went ignored.

[Ariana Shayde]

TheHooliganist

Callie Blackwell

andeer nightshade

Croft's dark murmuring over Ariadne's taste in men set her to quiet laughter. His discomfort was far more flattering than that of sweet little Clive, for she could sense that his pride burned as he shifted away from her aggressively feminine persona. That could be arranged, she thought to herself, not displeased by the shape of Croft's face or form. However, there was a time and place for such things, and it certainly wasn't while the strange Mr. Mulberry blustered about pretending at humanity.

When that same Mr. Mulberry chided her for bluntly calling him handsome, Ariadne flashed her teeth with a delicate laugh. "Why bother playing at subtlety, Your Grace? Whatsoever brought you to London -- well. If it's a need L.A.D. may have the capacity to fulfill, then there's no harm in giving us a few key details." Of course, then, he had to posture, make menacing remarks. The sense of sickening discomfort which came from being around Mr. Mulberry had faded through the day, and now it was nearly bearable. Revealing his empty pockets was an unnecessary show, and she doubted anyone fell for the 'unarmed-and-harmless' shtick, but the pretense was almost polite.

Mr. Mulberry flicked a wrist and Clive screamed. The only wonder there was that he had remained alive for this long, and Ariadne idly glanced to her left for an expanding puddle of blood. Nothing. Alive still, then, whatever good it might do him to be alive in current company. The threat they were to be hired for was an abomination, but did not surprise her. Ariadne remembered what it was to be a small, starving child, filled with sharp longing. Likely that, then, but bigger. Smart and slow, probably uncommonly strong -- but the sum offered was definitely significant. Despite her urge to nod agreement instantly, Ariadne deferred to Bea. LAD was the older woman's baby. Ariadne just showed up on occasion to bother Jack and eat their biscuits.

Ah, Bea would be taking the moral high ground then. She hid her disappointment.

Barely.

[HooliTheFormer]

Croft could feel Ariadne's eyes slowly drifting across his face and body. Despite his best efforts to push it out of his mind, the knowledge that there was a young woman appraising him made him altogether off-kilter. Without any real effort to do so he found himself keeping the scarred side of his face turned away from her.

His partial disfigurement wasn't something he was usually all that concerned about concealing, not that he could've anyway; however, females of a more... liberated sensibility--such as Ms. Dawkins--tended to bring it to the forefront of his attention. A holdover from a time when he wasn't quite as durable as he was now, and an ever present reminder of why creatures such as the one described by this Emissary had to be stopped.

Focusing his mind on that aspect of his scar helped him to repair his resolve. This was what he traded his humanity for: the ability to protect mankind from the corporeal nightmares.

"That's a question I'm also eager to have answered, Mrs. Hanniver," he added sternly, turning his gaze back to their guest.

----------------------------------------------------

Settling himself neatly into a comfortable damask fainting couch, Dr. Alchemilla scribbled some notes into a little leather research journal before snapping it shut happily. This had been a truly fascinating exchange. He always loved trading scientific discoveries with someone as brilliant as the enchantingly astute Ms. Grimes.

Turning his attention back to her, the doctor positively buzzed, "Absolutely fascinating! A pistol that fires weaponized aether! I myself had attempted to devise a similar line of weapons for field researchers associated with the Promethean Society after reading some journals of the late Ewald Georg von Kleist. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite seem to make them functionally reliable. The quintessence condensers I developed just couldn't seem to hold together under extended use. I must say you are quite the brilliant young woman, Ms. Grimes."

Oh he was really growing fond of this one. It was so rare to meet someone he could discuss the development of gadgets and wax scientific. Camille, bless him, understood a great deal but he was, after-all, a child and therefore generally disinterested in things that weren't fun or overly exciting. Croft, on the other hand, had little patience for the flower-man's chattering and ego.

"Tell me," he hummed, "what else have you come up with?"

It was not long after that the little grey man came buzzing in through the window, coming to light on the arm of the settee by Cynthia. He took a moment to catch his breath before he began excitedly chirping out the message as per Croft's orders.

"There is a strange entity at Mrs. Hanniver's shop. He was quite well and removed from any human description, but he has made it quite evident that he's set some abomination loose on the streets of London: a being composed of an amalgam of orphaned children."
"Good Heavens, how ghastly. Are we needed?"
"No, no. The situation was stable when I left. Mr. Croft said to simply be prepared for anything, particularly a summons after he decides on a course of action. There was also a human woman there with, if you'll pardon my saying so, quite the coquettish demeanor. Along with a clumsy young fellow who seemed to be of some relation to the dark gentleman I described."

There wasn't really any reason to censor it. L.A.D. would inform Cynthia of much the same when next they spoke. Camille figured he might as well save them some trouble and just act as messenger for both factions: fitting, since Cynthia had dual affiliation.

----------------------------------------------------

Listening intently as Edie expounded on the nature of her existence and the intimate importance of her book, Wink's expression softened with each word. He had known the book was important, but this gave a depth to his task he hadn't nearly comprehended. He suddenly felt at once both honored beyond reply and overcome with doubt that he should be trusted with an item of such precious value.

He had never had someone's life literally in his hands before. The closet he ever came was when he had to take over his father's role as provider after the accident. When his mother slowly wasted away from an illness he felt was entirely treatable Wink decided then and there that he was no one to rely on.

"Edie," he softly said, "I... I'm not..."

That sentence would never meet it's conclusion, however, as just then their errand took a dramatic twist.

....

Well, here was yet another night going totally off-course. Trying his best to keep up with two ghosts, Wink thought he was managing rather well, at least until they ducked down a nearby alley, forcing him to begin jumping over and ducking past all sorts of obstructions. This was yet another scenario were foresight was a marvelous help. Even still accidents can happen. His boot catching on a dislodged brick in the walkway, he fell forward before diffusing harmlessly into a roll and resuming the chase.

That short delay, unfortunately, had been enough to give Edie and her quarry a considerable lead as they crossed into the yards of a district of Tower Hamlet. Focusing his mind, he used another little trick he'd developed over the years to quickly construct a short-range, scale map of the surrounding area using his sixth-sense. Figuring up a number of shortcuts, Wink adeptly chose the most prudent one and jumped across a stone divide, clambering up the metal downspout of a rain-gutter before leaping over a brick wall and landing at Edie's metaphorical heels with a tense grunt.

"I'm fit, Ms. Edie," Wink warned, "but I'm human fit. I'll get worn out eventually if this keeps up. We've got t'have a'plan."

Callie Blackwell

andeer nightshade

Ariana Shayde

[Ariana Shayde]

TheHooliganist

Their top hatted compatriot moved so quickly that Edie lost herself. She ran faster than she'd ever run in her life, forgetting to stand on her own feet. She became a blur, rocketing through the air and savouring the thrill of superhuman speed.

Wink's reproach brought the little ghost to an apologetic halt. "I-I'm sorry, of course you're right, but - oh! There!"

The top hatted individual they were following, less a person and more like someone had cut a person sized swatch out of the Earth itself, swarmed up some stairs and through the back entrance of a townhouse. The door was unhinged, but Edie flew straight through it. She felt unnaturally giddy, barely able to maintain the presence of mind to keep Wink in sight. There was a thrumming in her, as though Edie had become a tuning fork for the whole wide world. She pushed and pushed, feeling it shudder and give, shivering with delight.

Then came the scream. A man's voice -- deep, rich, filled with pain. Bypass the stairs, through the door, but too late.

The top hatted man was gone.

A nondescript man, forty perhaps, lay sprawled on the ground in front of Edie. His arms were stiff, and the room around them showed signs of a brief and brutal struggle. He was in a three piece suit, top hat clutched in his stiffening hands. The blood was everywhere. The poltergeist had removed… had removed…

"His heart," she whispered, shaking and clasping both hands over her mouth. "He took the heart."

But the heart lay on the floor, discarded not far from its previous owner. On the nearest wall, a message had been gouged into the wood by ghostly hands.

Only a worthy soul, it read, an unspoken sneer at the heart before her. A puzzle, a clue, a something, because there had to be a reason, this had to have a point, because otherwise… otherwise…

"M-Mr. Talbot!" Edie wailed, balling her hands into fists and pressing them against her eyes to sear away the image lying before her. "Mr. T- T- T - SIMON! SIMON!"

[HooliTheFormer]

Wink was relieved that his ghostly partner was finally beginning to heed his words and ease off the pursuit. They would need their brains as well as their legs for this kind of work. Still, it was only a fleeting reprieve. No sooner than he slowed his run to a more easy pace did the specter break into a nearby residence and send Edie flying off once more ahead of him.

That was when a fell tide swept through Wink's soul. He knew this feeling. The deep, black touch of death took grip of his heart, it's cold, bony fingers digging into the recesses of his soul. Some life was about to be stomped out.

The resounding wail that followed didn't surprise him, it wasn't until he heard Edie call him out by his forename that his guts twisted. It brought a fierce, primal determination to his veins. Rushing after her, he cleared the steps with a few skipping jumps and burst through the doorway to the horrific scene inside. Stopping just behind the ghostly young woman, Wink scanned the room, taking in what-all he could in the moment. Primarily, he wanted to make sure the threat wasn't immediate.

He was no detective, but a few things definitely caught his eye. The room was a mess, suggesting they'd fought. Not surprising, but what it meant was valuable. One cannot struggle with an intangible being. More so than that, the contents of the man's fatal grip was of vast importance: a distinctive chimney-pipe hat. This meant that were it not tangible by default, then it must at least have moments of such a state. A being you can touch is a being you can capture. That much was comforting.

Still, something seemed off. There was more here to be seen. The more his mind settled the more Wink discerned. The hat wasn't the same one their target had adorned himself with. No, this man was in evening attire and the hat was a fine match. On his way out, or perhaps returning, but that wasn't important. What was important was the message, and the message wasn't confined to the morbid text on the wall: the entire room was the message. The only people who write are those with something they wish to convey, and this hat was the punctuation to a grim sentence.

Once he felt sure they were safe at present, he moved over to Edie and reached out his arm to her. It was a futile gesture, he supposed, but it was instinct. Closing his hand just short of her shoulder, it gently hung in the air for a moment before he stepped closer and cooed reassuringly, "Hey now, Lass. There now. It's okay, Edie. You're okay."

With that he moved to place his body between her line of sight and the ghastly scene before them. He spoke slowly, soothingly, trying to bring her attention to his voice instead of what she'd seen.

"I'need your head, Edie. Try t'quiet your feelings 'n clear your mind. Can y'do that for me, Li'l Flitter-mouse?"

He had theories, but uneducated guesses could do more harm than good. He needed Edie's experience, and more than that he needed her firsthand knowledge of specters like herself to validate his ideas.

Ariana Shayde

[Callie Blackwell]

TheHooliganist

Once things had settled down a bit, everyone who actually ate had eaten, everyone who want some rest had been ushered to the guest rooms and Croft had been set to work on the door the morning had settled into something thoroughly enjoyable. Alchemilla and Camille were gems and she relished having a fellow scientist about. Not that she thought poorly of her fellow L.A.D. members mental facilities. They were all exceptionally sharp in their own ways. They certainly appreciated her genius. But that wasn't quite the same as having someone she could really talk to about it. Eventually even Jack would loose interest in the minutia of her work. Alchemilla was a refreshing change of pace. And he was so complimentary.

"Well, the condensers gave me some trouble too at first, less the actual task of condensing the energy into something powerful enough to use as a weapon, more keeping it contained, the most recent model has gone two years without needing a replacement, so I think I've fixed that. I'm planning on sharing my results at the next symposium. It's the first time I've had something to talk about that isn't reanimation in years." She finished looking exceptionally pleased with herself. Although by this point she worried she was repeating herself, they'd discussed eachother's work at length over the course of the day.

She let out a thoughtful hmm at his next question, wondering where she ought to start. "Well, I have an elephant gun that runs on the same principal. Still very much under development, Beatrice feels we might need something with a little more oomph, given how often we end up dealing with non corporeal foes. Or would you like to see what I have so far on the carriage? It's really just a glorified box right now, I have everything I need to put it together, but I'm still working on a means of locomotion that will go as fast as I'd like."

She stood up as she spoke, straightening some of the papers and journals she'd brought out to share and gathering up an armful. Cynthia was a tidy person by nature and hated to leave her study in any sort of disarray. She was about to put them back in the spaces they normally occupied on the shelves when Camille came hovering through the window, did aliens just have something against doors? First Jack, now Camille. Of course the latter didn't come busting into the room with the intent to startle her, still she jumped at his entrance. Perhaps she'd never get used to people flying through windows. Finding some place to set her papers down temporarily she listened to him explain. A slight frown forming as she mulled over exactly what that meant. Alchemilla may get to see the elephant gun yet.
"If there are children involved I doubt it will stay stable for very long," she muttered. Beatrice wouldn't drag her along on an expedition hopefully, but she would surely stop by to explain things.
Of course she had a hunch as to who the other woman might be.
"Was the woman a red head by any chance?" Beatrice had mentioned something about Dawkins when she woke up hadn't she? Cynthia sincerely hoped it was, this sounded like the sort of thing they would need help with. Besides that, if Dawkins was being herself, well, Croft deserved whatever awkwardness the redhead might bring for that comment about her trousers.