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Post by luscen on Jan 24, 2020 20:33:11 GMT -6
It was approaching sundown when Casmir finally chanced to slip back out into the alley. His sharp, mismatched gaze showed no signs of Law Enforcement, nor any trace of the vampire, banshee, or gorgon. For the moment, it seemed, things were relatively quiet. His caution sated, the Hunter gently closed the door behind him, having restocked and re-armed; this time with some Colt King Cobra revolvers, a combat knife, a pair of stun knuckles, and a few other tricks. He didn't like leaving his short sword behind, but after having lost one to the red-haired thief, he didn't want to risk the others unless he absolutely had to. The Hunter only had so many of them, and they weren't exactly cheap to replace. As it was, his modified arsenal would be much better-suited to the Flashbulb and the Magpie pair if he were unfortunate enough to happen across them again.
That said, he still had the very real problem of losing his only solid lead on Atol's whereabouts; Delphi simply couldn't trace him with her scrying. After what had happened earlier with the Agents she had tried again, hoping that being in the same city would provide a better result than her last attempt. Unfortunately, much to their chagrin, it seemed the red-eyed man was one step ahead of them even there. Delphi had found Atol's Thread easily enough, but trying to learn anything beyond that revealed nothing- no details on what he had been doing, no hints of where he might be going, what he could be after... It was as if his Thread were a painting that had been covered by a tarp; she knew it was there, but she couldn't see any details underneath the cover. Casmir thought the conclusion frustrated her more than it did him. It was bothersome, to be sure, but not unexpected- after all, if Atol were that easy to track, they wouldn't have spent so long trying to catch up to him with nothing to show for it in the first place.
Either way, the red-eyed man was beyond their reach at the moment, and they had precious little other info to work on. So, while Delphi continued to find some new leads to work with, Casmir had decided to try and collect some information the old-fashioned way: namely, bar crawling and fishing for rumors. This was a big city after all, full of rare and exotic paranormal phenomena. Surely someone must have come across a man with red eyes and blonde hair that was intent on ending the world as everyone knew it? Wasn't that usually how Cults worked?
Casmir snorted derisively. Out of habit he reached for his pack of cigarettes, looking to take some of the edge off of his mood. Unfortunately, however, it had been among the things that Dust had nicked from him; along with his wallet, utility belt, gun barrel, and sword. He wasn't too concerned about the pocketbook itself, as the IDs within was fake. Even if they weren't, the information wouldn't have been too useful to whomever might wind up trying to look for him with the information they provided- Casmir wasn't staying in a hotel, after all, and he left no paper trails to follow.
What did concern him, on the other hand, was that almost all of his spending money had been in that wallet: $2000 USD worth of money, in fact. Admittedly, it may have been a tad too much to carry around, but the idea that anyone could have filched something off his person was one Casmir hadn't thought possible, before today. And besides, he didn't want to have to casually break the laws of time and space to enter his Safe Room should he need a little extra cash for a bottled water.
'As ridiculous a concept as that is. Bloody Americans...' Casmir growled to himself, putting the desire for a cigarette out of his mind for the moment, instead mulling over the absurdity of charging money for something as prevalent as water. Ridiculous notions aside, the fact was he had precious little capital to work with, and he simply couldn't justify wasting that on bad habits. 'I'll just have to find an odd job or two,' the Hunter concluded, deciding to find the local docks and see if there was room for an overnight worker. If not, then there was always a mark to be found on the Jägermeister BBS*. He had options to replenish his funds, he told himself, so long as he knew where to look and kept his head down.
For the moment, however, he had other things that demanded his attention; his wandering had led him to a rather ritzy-looking club with a flashing neon sign denoting it as Velvet Vibes, with a wine glass and a pair of lips blowing a kiss into the enchanted night sky. He could hear some high-class jazz music from a live band inside, rather than some cheap radio station or jukebox. “Classy,” Casmir remarked with a wry twist of his lips. A local nightspot might be a good place to begin his search, and this place was certainly sprightly. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, happy to not have to deal with a line at the front. “If I'm lucky, they'll have some Żubrówka in stock...”
[*- BBS: Bulletin Board System. An archaic application for sharing brief messages via electronic communication. Hunters often utilize the app to find jobs and receive payments for bounties.]
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Post by tsukikoko on Jan 25, 2020 11:16:54 GMT -6
Velvet Vibes was one of Sara's favourite clubs to work; the people were lively, the atmosphere friendly, supers were obviously welcome, pay was good and the free food and drink for working the stage even better. Quite often the shifter would spend an hour or two after a gig with her fellow musicians and the club owner, chatting over essentially a banquet of food laid out in the back rooms. She could honestly say the people she'd come to know were among her friends, a notion cemented by how concerned they'd been when she'd arrived ashen-faced and trembling.
Not that she had told them of her altercation with Strid and no-one had pried too deeply, already aware of the shifter's brush with death and how tumultuous her state of mind had been. She would tell them in time, if she felt comfortable, but if not that was fine too, was the general consensus.
Offers to cover her slot had flooded in, food was placed in her hands and she was gently, but firmly, instructed to eat before she keeled over. Looking as faint as she had done on arrival, the couldn't really blame their reactions. But with warm smiles and reassurances, Sara had assured them she still wanted to play, that she was alright and the music would do her good. Which was true, she truly did wish to play, despite how her conversation with the Genasi still lingered in the back of her head.
In the end, they'd all settled on a plan that moved Sara's slot a little later into the day - a time just as evening dipped through the soft colours of sunset and settled into night.
She stepped onto a familiar stage, saxophone in hand and tail neatly hidden. While the establishment was completely open and encouraging where supernatural were concerned, courtesy of locale, the shifter took a certain level of delight in seeing the expressions of newcomers to certain aspects of her routine, when they didn't know she was being aided by a certain large, scaled limb. Not only that, she'd gotten into the habit of wearing her charm more often as of late. Given recent... events, it seemed a pertinent idea to keep her most obvious trait hidden and allowed her various shapeshifts to better blend in. Still, she did miss seeing it.
The stage was rather large; built to accommodate supers of varying proportions, allow for dance troops or larger bands and had a central section extending out into the crowd, in case an act wished to get more up close and personal with the audience. A myriad of lights could be co-ordinated and controlled from a booth off the left hand side, anything from a single spotlight to multicoloured rave lighting, depending on the function being hosted. Sara intended to use the whole area to its fullest potential.
Hence, when Casmir made his way through the narrow entryway of the Velvet Vibes, a dark wood panelled, otherwise unassuming corridor, he was greeted by the melodic notes of piano and an accompanying saxophone, in a stripped back version of a late 80s hit he might recognise. Should he round the corner at the far end, he would be greeted with an interior of dimmed lights that bridged the gap between cigar lounge and nightclub. Two circular bars, surrounded by stools, their shelves lined with a variety of both alcoholic beverages and soft drinks, stood at opposite ends of the room. Softly lit with glows of purple and blue, neither detracted from the show on stage, but still allowed staff and patrons both to utilise the bar. A large section of the floor on the far side was comprised of a hard material that indicated a dance floor, rather than the plush carpet currently beneath Casmir's feet. Cushioned seating, leather chairs, booths and underlit tables were scattered about the room, with a great many currently occupied by supers of different varieties, as well as humans (or, at least, creatures that looked outwardly human).
With so much of the room darkened, lit only by the aforementioned underlit tables, attention was drawn to the centre stage, where a ginger-haired figure engaged in an interesting blend of sensual dance and saxophone playing. Her hips swayed, hair flicked, one leg lifted as she slowly pirouetted in a show of remarkable muscle control, only to tip backwards at an angle only made possible by the aid of her invisible tail. As she rose up, the song reached its chorus and Sara lifted the saxophone from her lips to smile at the gathered crowd and sing a few lines. The shifter's singing voice was a pure, softly lilting sound that was very pleasant to listen to. Coupled with the way she seemed to hold an onlooker's gaze, as though singing just to them, it was safe to say Sara held the attention of more than a couple of patrons. She returned to the saxophone in between her bouts of singing, and that vibrant emerald gaze remained ever sultry throughout.
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Post by luscen on Jan 27, 2020 10:53:03 GMT -6
Casmir discretely ducked into the club, stepping past the curve of the entryway in a measured stride so as to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to himself. He was just another patron, after all... Or so he thought, until he got a proper view of the club's interior. The spectacle shocked him for a brief moment, leaving him taken aback by what he saw; he had been in a few of the unseen cities that were home to the Abstract and the Impalpable, so he had been expecting something more... archaic. After all, those places were the ancient stone-wrought dwarven megalopolises, the sprawling boroughs of the Dryder's Underdark, the majestic ethereal courts of the Fae- places one would only expect to see in dreams or storybooks.
This, however? This was not at all what the Hunter could have anticipated: put plainly, it was as if someone had taken the eclectic aesthetic of the 80s, used it for nightclub theme, then proceeded to invite anything and everything that could have been found in a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales inside for some rum and shimmy. He saw the tell-tale traces of magic surrounding human wizards, the feathers of peryton, the scales of Yuan-ti, the horns of satyr, and countless other beings of the Nawia. They laughed, mingled, caroused... they were listening to the bloody greatest hits of the 80's, for god's sake! Aside from the cavalcade of oddities, one would think he had simply stepped into a kitschy themed night spot. 'Bloody hell,' Casmir thought to himself as he passed the cigar lounge, waving off the cigarette girls' attempts to offer him smokes. He tried not to think about the fact that they had cloven hooves and horns. 'I'd almost rather be dealing with the Flashbulb and his pet Magpie...'
He stepped onto the main floor, hanging back and observing the proceedings: the crowd seemed to be enjoying the performance on stage, whooping encouragement at the singer currently coaxing a familiar tune out of her saxophone. Casmir let his eyes drift upwards to take in the songstress' attire- red of hair, with a cut that looked vaguely like David Bowie's, she was currently sporting a rather revealing ensemble that left little to the imagination. A rich black silk halter top that left her sleeves bare, as well as most of her back, he noticed when she happened to turn to her side or back to the audience. Beneath this was a few thin strips of fabric twined around her navel in an eye-catching way, then a pair of slightly loose daisy dukes that were ripped and frayed along the edges, which showed off her long, slender legs. As the red-head strutted and pirouetted in her trendy black leather ankle-high boots, the Hunter noticed how the crowd would cheer and applaud every time she played at being a contortionist; something he himself was only mildly impressed with, as he could see her using her strange, crocodilian tail to balance her little dance. Nothing worth that much applause, surely...
'Or maybe I'm seeing something they're not...' the scarred man considered, tilting his head slightly and looking back up at the woman on stage. He closed his right eye, the one that allowed him to see through enchantments, and sure enough, looking at the songstress through his normal eye showed nothing but a very vigorous, very talented, very tailless danseuse-cum-saxophonist. That explained the spirited appreciation for her act, beyond just her musical and vocal talent; she was also an excellent showman, by the measure of things.
“Waiting for a Star to fall~” came the melodious, lilting vibrato. A familiar tune of the 80s, sung by one George Merrill, Shannon Rubicam, and Susan Boyd from the band “Boy Meets Girl.” A very well-done cover, actually, if Casmir were being honest. Given the impressive saxophone solo, she was reaching the end of the tune. “And carry your heart into my arms! That's where you belong in my arms, baby, yeah~!”
The pianist offered his accompaniment, grinning and tickling the ivories enough to match her energy, his billy idol-esque mane swaying with the motion of his playing, small birdlike wings quivering in excitement at the vibe that was humming along the stage. The singer grinned and continued playing on her instrument until the pair finished with a dynamic, thunderous crescendo, earning a roaring applause from the crowd. Casmir was hanging back, arms folded and leaning against the circular bar on the end closest to the club's entrance. While the ginger's performance was more than a little impressive, he wasn't here for pleasure- business was the order of the day, and he needed to find out what he could about Atol's movements. Given the colorful cast of people here, surely someone must have seen or heard what he was doing. All Casmir needed was a good lead to tug on.
“See anything you like, handsome?” a sultry voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. Casmir looked over, seeing the bartender sidling over to him. Now that the performance was over, the onlookers were returning their attention to each other, along with their own pleasures. Or perhaps business, in this woman's case.
“I have a special discount for guys with a strong jaw...” she suggested, raising an eyebrow at him. Casmir eyed her up and down, catching the faint traces of a Siren in her seductive tone. He supposed it made some sense; a bartender's job was to encourage you to keep drinking as long as possible, and who better to suggest another drink than someone who could bewitch with their words? Still, he had to wonder about the ethical side of this arrangement...
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Post by tsukikoko on Jan 27, 2020 13:32:30 GMT -6
"Oi, Steph! Lay off the new blood already, that's cheating!" Came a shout from the other side of the circular bar, not all that long after the siren's comment. She rolled her eyes but, with a good-natured smile to accompany it, apparently she didn't mind the reprimand all that much. She opened her mouth to say something else, gaze locked back on Casmir, until a frowning blonde of decidedly human extraction peeked her head around to glare accusingly in the siren's direction. Supple, deliberately enticing lips drew together once again, 'Steph' inhaling her words and flashing Casmir a look of false fear, though mischievous glee was plain to see in her eyes. It seemed this was all a well-worn game. "Sorry about that sir," the second bartender said hurriedly, "-we had a friendly bet going and she's cheating. Not to mention breaking the rules around customer interaction." "No rules were broken, I assure you," the siren replied with another easy smile, "I was only using my words, nothing else." The blonde snorted, clearly not believing her coworker.
She looked about to respond again, despite the fact Casmir and a few other patrons were still in need of actually being served, when a whirlwind of ginger hair and energy descended upon the bar.
The excitement and vigour that accompanied Sara was like a physical presence in and of itself, preceding her arrival and swirling around the shifter in a manner that turned heads and leant a sincerity to her beaming smile. She flopped across the bar, a laugh in each slightly panted breath; having come directly from the stage and with that being the first full performance she'd made since recovering enough weight and muscle tone to do so, the redhead was a touch out of breath. "Cor blimey you two! Ya know I luv ya, but wind ya neck in, 'ave lads waitin' tah be served while ya bickerin', like!" There was a lack of heat to the woman's words, even as she berated the two bartenders, which meant Sara's words landed well enough to be met with joint tongues stuck out at her and soft a soft 'yeah yeah' from siren and human both.
Green eyes turned in Casmir's direction as the shifter turned her gaze on him, joking, "Divvint mind them luv, just 'ave tah remind 'em they're workin' sometimes. Lover's quarrel." That last comment earned a derisive snort from the blonde, which Sara winked at. Then, she held up her hands, realising what she had interrupted. "Reet, sorry, ya were abowt tah be served like, divvint let me git in-" the redhead's eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly as she regarded the man before her.
Or, more specifically, his cheek.
While the bruising was only just starting to darken and against the soft lighting of the bar was harder to make out, she didn't fail to spot the injury. Concern flickered across her expression and crept into her tone, despite not knowing who this man might be. "Oof... Y'alreet luv? Need some ice for-?" She indicated her own cheek, on the same side that Casmir's injury would be and leant towards him for a slightly closer look. "Divvint git it in the ring, like, 'ave ya?" This wouldn't be the first person that had stumbled into this particular club after a bout in the cage fighting ring. Given the proximity of the establishment, many a fighter would come here to drown pain and sorrows, or spend a wad of recently earned cash. The bruising looked fairly new, based on the colouration, so it would make sense if he had come from there. Since she knew and had treated a great many of the fighters by now, to Sara, extending an offer of her help was second nature.
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Post by luscen on Feb 1, 2020 7:33:17 GMT -6
Casmir blinked as the singer from before had practically thrown herself onto the bar, laughing in the way that only someone in high spirits could have. 'Good lord, if she were beaming any more, I'd need sunglasses...' the Hunter thought, his eyebrows raising slightly.
Given her performance on the stage, he had thought she was well-practiced at such displays of vigorous showmanship. Her familiarity with the bartenders certainly seemed to suggest as much. And yet taking in the subtle signs of her physical state, he began to wonder- she was sweating and breathing a little heavier than she should have been, even for that display, denoting a weaker stamina. Her cheeks seemed a little sunken, and there was a slight tremble in her hands, denoting having been a little malnourished, at the very least. That said, there was a sheen in her eyes that wasn't the cause of any kind of drug. Rather, the exhilaration of having successfully finished a set is what led to her current endorphin-high. It was hard for the Hunter not to smile slightly at the sight.
At least, until she turned her attention towards him. Casmir kept his expression polite, but he was already putting up his guard. People like this were often unpredictable, and had a bad habit of ignoring others' personal space; he didn't want to have a small panic attack at being touched, as that would draw too much attention to him, so he needed to make sure to mentally prepare himself if she seemed like she would try stepping into his personal bubble. When she gestured to her cheek and asked the Hunter if he was alright, Casmir's brows lowered in bemusement, and he brushed his fingers against his cheek, flinching at the brief sting of pain he felt. 'Must have been from earlier...' he thought with a mild grimace. Back when the Magpie threw him against the wall.
“I'm fine,” he replied, shaking his head politely. “Though, I'm curious about this 'ring' you mentioned...” he asked, giving a brief look around. This didn't seem to be a place that had a boxing ring of some type, but then again appearances tended to be deceiving around here. 'Especially around here...' he mused, his eyes flicking down to redhead's invisible tail. While scoping out for this possible fighting ring, he happened to notice a few proverbial persons of interest- one was an albino near the other bar, chatting with some fellow. Resting atop his forehead was a faint, glowing horn. It wasn't like a unicorn's, however, which could only mean the fellow was a Kirin- a bit of an oddity, even in Japan, much less here. Casmir'd have to keep an eye out for that one, as he'd likely be a target for any local Hunters if they could figure out what he was, and Kirin were usually peaceful and content to be left alone. Not something that needed to be run down by someone looking to make a quick buck.
The other figure that caught his attention was much less endangered, and a bit more concerning- he clung to the shadows of the far wall, stealing furtive glances in Casmir's direction. It was harder to tell in the darkness he was using as a figurative cloak, but the thing looked like a werewolf, or a coyote. Some form of canine, at least, but something about its demeanor seemed... off. 'Skinwalker,' The Hunter realized with a small frown. Very unpleasant creatures- He'd fought a few, before, and they were very slippery, and very loathsome. He wasn't sure why that particular Walker was stealing glances at him, but Casmir decided to keep an eye on him; a Skinwalker in a crowded area never boded well.
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Post by tsukikoko on Feb 1, 2020 11:44:44 GMT -6
Noting the way he looked around the establishment after expressing interest in the ring, Sara chuckled and leant one elbow on the bar. "Ain't gan find it 'ere luv," she told the scarred man, taking the opportunity when his gaze flickered down (though she did wonder what he might be looking at... perhaps it was just shyness) to get a better, curious look at him. He seemed human enough, but looks could be deceiving, herself proof enough of that. The scar was intriguing, his mismatched eyes even more so. If he was human, he was clearly well versed in the existence of supernaturals to even be in the Underground in the first place. Perhaps a magic user?
Then there was the air about him; a stoical watchfulness that she'd come across in soldiers, law enforcement and other such individuals. Suddenly his interest in the ring took on a potentially different meaning. After all, Sara wasn't exactly sure the... legality of it all. If this chap was looking to find it from a law or private investigation point of view, she didn't want to land any of her good acquaintances in the firing line. She might not always approve of their choice to fight, depending on the reasons, but she wasn't going to get them dragged over the coals for it either.
Whereas, if he was truly interested in getting involved... the shifter wasn't sure how she felt about being the one to introduce him to it. There was something to be said about a good, voluntarily entered fight - a raw energy that could be enthralling. But, inevitably, people got hurt. More than once, Sara had been the one to pick up the pieces.
Still, she grinned and indicated the bar with a nod of her head. Always one to think the best of people, Sara figured she'd see what this man was like, before anything else. "Come on luv, I'll git ya a drink an' ya can let us know why ya curious abowt the ring, like." She quirked both eyebrows. "Maybe even let us 'ave a look at that 'fine' cheek I saw ya flinch at just by touchin'." Apparently she hadn't failed to notice the man's reaction to touching his face and wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Perhaps the offer of a drink might swing his decision, at least a little. The siren glanced at Sara, catching the mention of drinks and clearly listening out for what might be ordered. "Steph pet, when ya 'ave a sec, could ya grab a whisky for us? An' whatever the chap 'ere wants, like." She thumbed in the man's direction, earning a nod and an indication of 'two seconds' from the bartender.
The skinwalker, meanwhile, slid his gaze from Casmir to the crocodile-tailed woman beside him. It's head tilted, just a little and it's nose twitched in a markedly animalistic fashion. A single, slow blink. Then, another glance at the man. It began to step back, melting further into the shadows with each passing second. But the eyes never left Casmir. It's mouth spread in a wide, rictus grin. A demented imitation of the true human expression that lingered even when the rest of the body had vanished into the dark and crowd of the club.
Before long, the smile too, was gone.
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Post by luscen on Feb 5, 2020 8:19:36 GMT -6
Casmir's attention was drawn back to the redhead at her chuckle. He glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in the ease with which she regarded him- her smile was a natural fixture on her face, it seemed. As though the very idea of being without it was something of a foreign concept. 'Shame more women aren't like that,' he thought to himself. Earnestness of that sort was a rare thing, these days. Would that it was more common, but such was the way of things, it seemed. It was far easier to accept a measure of bitter truth than blissful ignorance.
Or perhaps not-so-ignorant, after all; the songstress teased him about his cheek, not diverted by his attempt to brush the bruise off. The Hunter raised an eyebrow, turning to look at her directly. “Is it common around here to offer strangers a drink and health care?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning away from her. He tempered his attitude with a wry half-smirk. “Should I be worried you're going to liquor me up just so you can get me to agree to an American Insurance packet? Because I didn't bring a drinking buddy to keep me from making horrible, alcohol-induced commitments with your backwards medical model.”
Casmir turned slightly to the bartender. “Żubrówka if you have it,” he requested, the polish vodka's name rolling smoothly off his tongue. “Sobieski if you don't.” He took the opportunity to steal a glance in the mirror case behind the bar, his brow narrowing when he didn't see the Skinwalker. It must have melted into the crowd, but surely it wouldn't have left; not with the way it had been staring at him so hungrily.
A stray thought crossed Casmir's mind, and his eyes darted once again towards the redhead, seeing her tail trailing down towards the ground, invisible to everyone else. 'She's still keeping it concealed, but why?' he mused, considering the implications of such an out-of-place decision. 'And why did she come over here, now?'
It could just have been a coincidence, but the Hunter tended not to believe in those. The Skinwalker stalking the area didn't help his paranoia much, either.
Putting his suspicions to the side, Casmir turned to the woman, leaning forward slightly. “I suppose I might let you look at my little boo-boo,” he said, keeping up the act of an amicable barfly. “Since you bought me a round. As for why I'm curious, well... don't spread this around, but I happen to enjoy fighting in the ring." He pantomimed a few jabs, adding in some sound effects for good measure. "I'm not exactly too shabby in a scrap, and it's good money. You know, as long as you're the winner,” he gave her his best charming smile, though he was watching for any tells, any clue that would give her game away. After his brush with the gorgon and the banshee, earlier, he wasn't very keen on being taken off-guard again. “What about you? What's your experience with the ring, miss...?”
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Post by tsukikoko on Feb 11, 2020 7:16:09 GMT -6
Sara laughed at the man’s comments. A genuine, humoured sound that didn’t poke fun at him so much as imply his comments legitimately amused her. She side-eyed him, leant upon the bar as she waited for her drink, a wide smile curled onto her face. “My backwards model? Ha’way man, I’m from ol’ Blighty, England, like, I ‘aven’t the foggiest ‘ow the medical insurance works ‘ere, I’m still used tah the NHS. Couldn’t sell ya a ‘deal’ if I tried, like.” Midway through her response, the shifter’s tail curled against the back of her legs and swept around across her feet, as she suddenly remembered what an invisible trip hazard it would be to any who passed by behind her. She wasn’t used to hiding it, especially here, but given recent events and what a blatant feature her scaled limb would be to any told to look out for it, the recommendation from a number of people had been to hide it. “Though…” she mused, raising the recently placed glass of whisky to her lips, “-meet be an idea tah talk tah someone who can, if ya serious abowt the ring, like.”
As his own drink was placed before him, Sara turned fully towards the scarred man, one elbow propping her against the bar. At his lingering ‘miss’, a question implied, the shifter responded automatically with, “Summers. Sara Summers,” before a berating voice (in Aaron’s tone) reprimanded her for giving away her full name. She was so used to politely giving said name and not having to worry about it, that the consideration hadn’t crossed her mind until it was too late.
It was fine though, probably. Besides, she hated this whole being wary around new people that had been creeping in. More than 9 times out of 10, there was nothing to be concerned about, why let the few bad ones spoil it?
So, she continued with the conversation, answering another of his questions, “Me experience with it is mostly patchin’ up those who’ve been battered in it, like.” She didn’t divulge her occasional visit to said ring, instead deciding to keep that little tidbit to herself. Instead, she said, “Speaking of which…” Sara stepped forward then, placed her drink on the bar and motioned for the bruised man to lean down a bit more so that she could look at his face. Not that she especially needed him to, the shifter was relatively tall for a woman as it was, but her gesture served to warn him that she was about to follow through with inspecting his injury and gave him one final chance to say no.
Presuming he allowed her to do so, Sara very, very gently took hold of the man’s face, avoiding placing her fingers on the most obvious areas of swelling. With light pressure, she turned him in the direction of the brighter bar lights, so that she could better see what she was working with. The shifter pressed along the line of his jaw, up along the top of his cheekbone and near his eye socket on the injured side, asking periodically if he experienced any sharp, sudden pains. She then asked, “Could ya look up an’ around for us luv? Any pain when movin’ ya eyes, like?” The excitable bubbliness had been replaced, for the moment, with a calm attentiveness and focus. The redhead was patient and thorough in her assessment. Clearly, this wasn’t her first injured cheekbone inspection.
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Post by luscen on Feb 13, 2020 5:51:48 GMT -6
“Funny,” Casmir quipped, keeping up the smirk. One the Hunter found himself falling into far too easily around the red-haired woman, much to his disquiet. “With your flavor I would have had you pegged for a 'Spring,' not a 'Summer.'”
The scarred man gave her a brief nod. “Peter,” he introduced himself, taking the Sobieksi, only mildly disappointed they didn't have his preferred spirit. “Peter Armstrong.”
Casmir took a brief draught of the vodka, savoring the small hints of fruit mingled with the spicy undercurrent of rye, keeping a discrete eye on Sara's hidden tail as he tipped his head back- his mind kept coming back to that odd detail: why, in a bar specifically made for Supers, would one hide a trait like that? No matter how he sliced it, it didn't make a lick of sense to him. And now that she had curled it around herself, he knew she had experience keeping it hidden, not wanting to trip up others with it. His brain ran through some of the reasons, but none of them seemed to add up in this particular setting.
That was, until a stray thought crept into Casmir's brain: 'What if she was hiding it because she didn't want the people here to know she had it?' It was a possibility, but why would that be? Unless... could it be that this wasn't the real Sara Summers? The bartenders knew her, the crowd loved her, she had an outgoing personality that seemed to dictate a desire to make friends with everyone she met... So if she started chatting up someone she'd never seen before like they were old friends, no one would bat an eye at that... but why? Why him? Why here?
The Hunter's mind momentarily went to the Skinwalker. There was no mistake that it was watching him. And while that could have merely been because it had taken a liking to Casmir – in the worst possible fashion, that is - he kept thinking over his brush with the gorgon, vampire, and banshee. He knew that Atol had put them up to that, even if he didn't know the how of it. Was this another assassination attempt? Was Atol keeping tabs on him? It wasn't beyond belief: after all, if this were a simple glamour or enchantment, Casmir's eye would have pierced it. But there were ways around that- a shapeshifter, for example. Or a transmogrification potion of some sort. How Atol would know to use one, Casmir wasn't sure of, but he didn't want to risk his life on the odds that the red-eyed man didn't know how the Hunter's eye worked. And that damned tail was too bloody suspicious.
'This whole thing stinks of a set-up,' Casmir thought to himself. The more he dwelt on it, the more logical it seemed: what better way to get at the Hunter without drawing attention than by having someone pose as an affable local at a night club? Cozy up to him, draw him in, then spring the trap when you got him to lower his guard. It simply made too much sense to him.
Speaking of which, 'Sara' had stepped closer to Casmir, giving him an expectant look. The Hunter tensed, the only visible sign a set in his jaw. Warning sirens went off in his head, but he couldn't risk drawing her suspicion by suddenly becoming shy. 'Besides, if I play along, maybe I can get a new lead to make up for the gorgon...'
“Alright,” The scarred man answered with a shake of his head in a mock long-suffering way, putting his drink down on the bar. Casmir leaned forward, keeping the small smile from slipping, though not without some effort. “Besides, I can think of worse things than having a pretty girl running her fingers all over my face,” he quipped, wincing mildly when she touched the edge of the purpling, tender flesh. Apparently the magpie had bashed his head harder into the side of the building than he had thought.
“You know, I once got looked over by an gruagach with a nursing license, of all things," he continued as she asked him to look up and around. "Those boar-men have THE roughest fingers... Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not actually sure if it was a guy or a girl... said their name was 'Ale-by,' like that was a great help...”
As Sara leaned in closer to get a better look, Casmir's red eye swiveled down sharply towards her. The crimson color was exceptionally bright, almost as if the iris were lit by some glow from within its depths. Around the pupil were two small layers, separated by thin lines, with a very odd set of symbols winding around them. Anyone familiar with study of philology would know the text as being Elamite*. The detail was beyond impressive- such small script made with such flawless form could only be attributed to a master craftsman, or a very precise computer algorithm. Either way, it was quite obvious at this distance to see that the Hunter's eye was a fake, rather than simply the result of heterochromia.
He kept her gaze for a long moment, remaining quiet- much to his own surprise, he found that her touch was less agitating for him than he would have expected; it lacked the clinical sterility of a medical professional, but neither did it bear the sensual caress of a predator looking for an opportunity. It was almost... motherly? Yes, that was it. It was a sensation he had long forgotten, and it took him a moment to remember what it felt like.
“So, what's the word, Doc?” he asked eventually, trying to ignore the strange sensation that was currently at odds with his usual haphephobia. He needed to keep up appearances, if he wanted to out this woman and whatever schemes she had for him. 'This is just a well-rehearsed act,' he reminded himself. If anything, it meant that this impostor had spent their time studying the real Sara Summers' mannerisms to try and mimic them as best they could. He used the thought of the real woman being held captive somewhere - if indeed she weren't already dead - as a focusing brand, keeping his mind zeroed in on the brightly burning tip of his mental poker. "Do I need some work done, or no?"
[*Elamite: A dead language belonging to the Persian Empire circa 2800 - 330 BC.]
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Post by tsukikoko on Feb 17, 2020 8:35:33 GMT -6
Sara chuckled at the story and let the pretty girl comment slide over her without acknowledging it, though she made sure not to turn her gaze away from the task at hand - wouldn't want to hurt him further by pressing on the wrong thing! "'Ave tah take a gander at the back an' neck," she said, lifting one hand away from the man's face to indicate a line running from the back of her own head down her back, "-males 'ave a stiff mane of 'air, like." Only as she was returning her attention for a final check of his injury, did the shifter realise the man's very red eye was currently swivelled to look at her. She paused, momentarily transfixed by the glow and the swirling symbols, unable to keep the burning curiosity out of her expression. Her mouth parted as though she might say something, only for Sara to blink sharply and remind herself that it was rude to stare. Not that the reprimand stopped her mental questions from rampaging their way through her head; where had the eye come from, what did the script mean, was he a warlock, what could the eye do? It wasn't the sort of questioning you foisted upon a man at the bar, even a supernatural one.
His question returned her to the present, settled her thoughts for the time-being. She clicked her tongue. "Hmmm... some light bruisin', possibly 'airline fracture, 'ard tah tell withowt an xray, like. But no major breaks, eye socket looks alreet. Just divvint blow ya nose too 'ard for the next few days, maybe git it checked owt proper, ya know?" Yet, she didn't step back yet. For a few seconds longer the shifter regarded his cheek, one eyebrow quirking and she made a low 'hmmm' under her breath. Then, with a sudden 'oh!' she said, "Blinkin' 'eck, nearly forgot, like. Best treatment for a boo-boo, as I believe ya called it." Sara lips ghosted over the healthy skin just to the side of Casmir's bruise, a barely-there touch that was gone almost as quick as it came. The over-the-top sound that accompanied it, made to replicate the cartoon sound of a kiss, showed the joke motherly gesture for what it was.
Now she returned to the bar counter, tongue poking out from behind a grin and a wink. Her eyes again flickered to the bright red side of Casmir's heterochromia and held there. Sara's curiosity became so intense that she had to take a sip of her drink so as to break eye contact and not plague him with a barrage of questions about it. Instead, she apologised with another smile, far more sheepish this time. "Sorry luv, I shouldn't stare, like. Too curious for me own good." One hand ran through the hair on the back of her head. She glanced up, glanced away again. Puffed her cheeks out. In the end, she couldn't help herself. "Reet crackin' lookin' eye ya 'ave though."
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Post by luscen on Feb 21, 2020 2:42:45 GMT -6
The Hunter's eyes widened, nostrils flaring as “Sara” quickly leaned in, her lips just brushing across the skin of his cheek. The gesture, meant as a joke, took a moment to register with him, his mask of nonchalance slipping momentarily. Even after he managed to recover from the brief lapse, his breathing was a little heavier.
“I'll have to be sure not to hang out around any cats,” Casmir replied with a forced smirk, taking his vodka in a grip so hard it was a wonder the glass didn't give way with an audible "CRACK!" and knocking back a generous draught of it. 'Get a hold of yourself,' he reprimanded once he started calming down. He took a few steadying breaths and tried not to think of all the different ways you could kill someone in a crowd, without even using the obvious implements like a gun or a knife. Supers had lots of nasty ways they could do you in, after all...
Since he didn't feel his skin cracking and turning to dust like parchment, his thoughts spiraling away from him, nor the insistent pull of unconsciousness, however, the blonde could only assume that the red-haired woman's playful peck was just that- an innocent gaff to put him at ease. He'd almost find the act endearing, if it weren't for his particularly strong need for personal space. Nor his suspicions that this was all an act to throw him off-guard.
He looked back over at his barmate, taking note of the way the redhead was trying not to stare at him. His eyebrow raised a fraction, and when she asked him about his eye, he couldn't help but chuckle.
'So, that's how it is,' he thought to himself, taking another, smaller sample of his drink. 'Something Atol wants to know? Or just something she might be able to use to try and get a bigger bonus?'
Aloud he gave the woman a wink with his crimson eye. “This tacky thing?” he replied with an easy smile. “I thought it'd make me look more impressive in cage fights. That and maybe serve as a conversation-starter. Looks like its doing half of that, at least- not a single bloke I've come across in the ring has bothered to ask me how I got it, can you believe it?” he let out a sigh and a shrug, then looked over at “Sara” to see whether or not she found his obvious yarn endearing or not.
A sudden thought occurred to him: if she was after his eye, then maybe he could use that to his advantage. While in this crowd, he had precious little safety if she did pull some nasty trick on him, while he couldn't openly defend himself. Not without drawing some unwanted attention, anyway... But if they moved to a more secluded spot, then perhaps he could take a more proactive approach, and turn the tables on her before her little troupe could come to collect him.
It was a risk, of course: she might be leading him on to make that call, then take him around the corner only for the Skinwalker and whoever else was waiting in the wings to pounce on him. But the longer he stayed here, the more risky his situation- it was a crapshoot, either way.
“If you were curious about it, though, I suppose I could tell you more about it?” he suggested, taking another drink of his vodka, raising his eyebrows at her. Let this Delilah think that his responses would be sluggish due to alcohol consumption if a fight broke out, to sweeten the deal. “Though, its a bit loud in here, don't you think? Maybe we could talk somewhere quieter? If you don't have a problem with that, of course?”
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Post by tsukikoko on Feb 21, 2020 19:14:56 GMT -6
"Looks like its doing half of that, at least- not a single bloke I've come across in the ring has bothered to ask me how I got it, can you believe it?" "Noooo-" Sara gasped with apparent astonishment, "-proper 'andsome chap like yaself? Thought they'd be trippin' ower themselves tah ask ya!" With an amused glint in her eye, she went to take another sip of her drink. She didn't believe for a second it was just a 'tacky thing', not with those inscriptions, but she wasn't about to grill the man for answers he didn't want to give. She was a stranger in the bar, after all.
Then he mentioned talking somewhere quieter and the shifter's smile dropped. Before the alcohol could reach her lips, she paused, glass still raised. The line of her mouth pursed and a low, thoughtful 'hmm' escaped from between her lips as she considered his request. It was true that some individuals were far more comfortable talking about their powers, magical artifacts or other such 'supernatural' things in private; while Wathais, the Underground in particular, were places of acceptance, many came from countries and cities where that was not the case. Despite his good grasp of English, the man beside Sara was clearly not native born. Twinges of his accent, the fluent manner in which he had requested a clearly foreign vodka... she could guess Central Europe, but not exactly where. Old habits of his might die hard. Her gaze settled on his scar, a rather prominent feature of his face. It wasn't too much of a stretch to believe he'd had negative experiences in the past.
That or it was a chance to flirt with her more overtly. It certainly wouldn't be the first time - her own fault, really. Not that it would be a problem, necessarily. She'd just explain he wasn't going to get anywhere, apologise if her over-friendliness had given the wrong impression and maybe they could go on having a nice conversation regardless.
Or, a anxious voice chimed in the back of her head, he could be trying to get you alone to hurt you.
Sara swallowed, a flutter of nerves building in her stomach. Could he be-? But, no, she shouldn't think that about people just for wanting a quieter place to talk. She could give him the benefit of the doubt. There would still be other patrons and a smaller manned bar in the second club room, even if it wouldn't be anywhere near as busy. On a night like tonight, with nothing going on in there, from experience she knew there would only be a few people wanting to escape the loud, hot throng of the main room for a while. Or randy couples finding a quieter place to make out. But still, there'd be other people, just in case.
"Alreet Peter," the redhead said, raising both eyebrows as she looked at her companion from the rim of her glass. In the pause before she finished her sentence, Sara knocked back the entirety of what remained of her whisky in one go, then slid the glass back across the bar counter when she was done. She thumbed over her shoulder, "-we'll 'ead tah the other room, be 'ardly anyone in there reet now, like. Should be able tah 'ave a proper natter." Turning away from the bar, Sara beckoned with one hand for the man to follow, weaving her way through the crowd with her tail now curved up and draped casually over one slightly raised arm. At a glance, it looked to the average observer as though she were keeping a hand up to avoid anyone colliding with her, whereas in reality she didn't want to trip anyone with her dragging, invisible tail. While she could lift it up against her back for short periods, resting the limb on her arm was easier and more comfortable.
Sara filtered through the crowd to the edge of the room, where the press of bodies was thinnest, before glancing back over her shoulder to check the scarred man was successfully following her. A number of doors spanned the length of the wall she now stood waiting against. Private, for-hire rooms designed to hold small functions and parties, some clearly labelled as having their own karaoke machines inside.
Once Casmir was close enough, the shifter began to walk again, heading for the hallway she knew branched off from the current club room to the smaller, quieter side room. Now that she wasn't having to navigate through a multitude of bodies and with the noise at least slightly reduced compared to the centre of the crowd, Sara slowed enough to walk only a pace or two in front of the scarred man. Close enough to look over her shoulder and say, "So, ya been in Wathais long luv?" A pretty standard question, a conversation lead-in should he wish to take it, before they talked more about his eye.
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Post by luscen on Feb 22, 2020 9:09:06 GMT -6
Casmir watched the redhead down the rest of her drink, mildly impressed. It seemed she knew how to hold her liquor, given that she didn't even have a flush on her face. 'She'd fit right in with the boys back at the Ogre's Nest,' he thought to himself, not unfondly, recalling the spirited bunch of Hunters who called that particular pub in Dublin home. It was one of the few places where it was safe for people in his profession to gather freely and speak to one another, the establishment run by those who were thankful of his kind's efforts to keep them safe from the creatures of the night.
He realized his smile was more genuine than he had intended. 'Stop that. This isn't a date- you're here for a reason. And who knows whether or not the real Sara Summers hasn't been killed by her, anyway.'
He stood, tucking his hands into his pockets and followed the redhead, his mismatched gaze locked on Sara's back with an unerring focus, following her motions as she made her way through the throngs, tail draped over her arm. 'Definitely too familiar with that tail to bother hiding it in this crowd, if this was the genuine article,' Casmir deliberated, jaw clenched. His thoughts turned to the real woman, possibly hidden away in some dark cell, bound and gagged, terrified by the idea that no one was coming for her. All to get to him. All because of this stupid game of Atol's.
'Well, I'm not about to let you have your way,' The Hunter thought to himself, clenching his fists, the fires of his determination smoldering in his gut. He'd broken Supers like her before- what was one more chip on the pile?
The woman looked back at him as she slipped through the last of the thinning crowd, stopping in front of an adjacent hallway. Casmir's stony expression shifted into a friendly smile to avoid arousing her suspicion, keeping his hands in his pockets and stepping closer to her. His eyes drifted along the side rooms, taking note of the karaoke machines.
'Likely soundproofed,' he thought, mind already working. If he could get her into one of those, he could interrogate her properly without worrying about being interrupted. The rooms likely had cameras recording them, however, so he'd still have to be discrete.
“Sara” was walking away, again, asking Casmir if he'd been in Wathais long. He couldn't be sure she wasn't leading him straight into her friends clutches; after all, there was no guarantee the Skinwalker and whatever else was on hand wouldn't attack him in the quieter secondary club room. But he needed to act fast- if he let too much distance settle between them, he'd look too suspicious trying to drag her back into the private rooms...
Making a snap decision, Casmir grabbed the redhead by the wrist, pulling her into the nearest private room- being so small, she offered little resistance outside of a startled yelp. He quickly snapped the door shut, wrapping an arm around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. His boot, meanwhile, came to rest on the tip of her tail; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold it down and keep from thrashing. “First thing to know about my eye,” he said quietly, his voice losing its warm humor and taking on a cold, steely edge. “It lets me see things.” There was a soft click as he drew his revolver and set the hammer, pressing the barrel against “Sara's” back, where the camera wouldn't be able to see it.
“Like that tail you have hidden, Ms. Summers.”
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Post by tsukikoko on Feb 22, 2020 23:24:38 GMT -6
Sara had only taken her attention away from the scarred man for a second, so as to check ahead of herself and not accidentally walk into anyone. But, as it turned out, a second was all it took.
Her cry of shock was lost to the music and the slamming door; the sudden movement, a change in her trajectory from an outside force, took the shifter by such complete surprise that she didn't even register what was happening for a good few precious seconds. Made no attempt to fight back.
When her new situation made sense she found herself caught; arms trapped, tail pinned, a low, menacing voice in her ear and the heat of an unwanted male body pressed against her back. It was similar, too similar, and as Barney's face swam before her mind's eye, reminded her of his wants, the terrible promises he'd snarled in her ear, a bolt of panic shot up Sara's spine. Adrenaline coursed, a shift threatened, rippled across her skin in a manner most unsettling but never quite taking hold - in the midst of her terror she remembered Barney's threat on Aaron's life and continued to hold herself back as though the risk still applied. Logic and sense soon hung in tatters, so potent was her fear that she near began to thrash like a maniac despite the very real threat of the gun at her back. She had to get away. She couldn't let them take her. Yet the man's grip, a vice of steel around her midriff, held her fast.
From beneath her captor's boot the shifter's tail flexed. Not in an attempt to attack him, but instead trying to curl between her own legs in some vain attempt to place a barrier there. She clamped her thighs together, even attempted to cross her legs. Even though some small part of her brain registered that this man wasn't Barnes, still the urge was so powerful, to protect herself from his desires, that she tried anyway. "No- no stop-" she whimpered desperately, quivering in Casmir's grip, "-divvint give me back to 'im." But what did it matter? This man wouldn't care, Zramek didn't care about her suffering or anyone else's. For what else could he be but Zramek? The deliberate mention of her tail, a limb she thought safely hidden but which they had found a way to see and more easily identify her, hammered home that he had been after her specifically. Strid had known she was in the Underground, now here she was a few hours later, dragged out of sight, trapped and held at gunpoint.
Hot tears bit behind Sara's eyes, pooled forth and ran uncontrolled down her face. Each breath was a shuddering gasp. Her voice became a frantic, screaming sob, each word punctuated by rising, very real terror. "Git off me! Git off! What do you people want with me?!" Because she still didn't know. The 'bad things', the terrible, meaningful look shared between Aaron and Koji when she had nearly been taken before, still she didn't know what was planning for her. Had been too scared to ask again when the ordeal had ended. Now that unknowing hung over her like a physical weight, the threatening blade of some unseen guillotine.
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Post by luscen on Feb 27, 2020 3:48:35 GMT -6
The red-haired woman went very still in his grasp. 'Good,' the Hunter nodded mentally. 'Maybe this won't be so-'
His thoughts abruptly cut off as he watched “Sara's” skin seem to... come unglued, for lack of a better word. Her appearance began to undulate and squiggle, like looking at something through the filter of a heat wave. Worse, it seemed to be growing more aggressive, her breathing becoming more erratic by the moment – loud shaky breaths going in and out through her mouth – which caused the bizarre visual effect to appear more and more disruptive, almost like she was building up for something. Was it possible she was going to unleash some kind of magical explosion? What if this was their game!? Lure him into pinning her down, then take him out in some form of magically-induced kamikaze attack? The blonde's mind raced, ready to kick her away from him and dive out the door in the hopes of avoiding an unpleasant and messy end to his hunt.
Before he decided to cut his losses, however, the strange phenomenon just... stopped. Though the red-haired woman's distress hadn't lessened a whit from the loss of it. “I don't know what that was-” Casmir began, only to cut off again as she tried to pull her tail out from under his boot, jerking about in a desperate attempt to break his grip. “Stop thrashing!” he ordered, gripping her tighter. If she didn't quit moving, he might accidentally shoot her at this rate!
"No- no stop-" came the pathetic, pleading whimper. "-divvint give me back to 'im."
The Hunter stopped cold at the sound. The words were ones he'd heard before - though the last time lacked the Mackem accent - and the tone was disturbingly familiar. It was a young girl- the human form of a papanok bird. He had been tasked to retrieve her for a client who claimed to be the creature's father, a wealthy man who'd claimed he'd earned his fortune trading stocks and antiques. He'd come to find out later that the human had had the "good luck" to find her in a pet store, and once he'd learned of her ability to manipulate luck, kept her caged and away from the eyes of his neighbors, neglected and mistreated until he needed her. And whenever her gift didn't produce the results her owner had wanted... well, suffice to say she had also pleaded with Casmir not to take her back, and the Hunter had agreed not to, instead returning her to her home in the Phillipines. His client hadn't been too happy with him, but he made it very clear what he thought of the man's displeasure, as well as his "parental skills."
Casmir carefully scrutinized Sara's body language, re-examining her with a less-suspicious eye, this time. It was true that some demons and spirits and other less-friendly Supers would often turn to a more vulnerable state in order to lower their victim's guard, but no matter how convincing, there were certain tells and signs that simply couldn't be fabricated, no matter how good the actor; Trembling body, trying to hunch down into itself. Legs pressed together, to protect a particular area from being touched. Hot tears running down her face, accented by choking, desperate, terrified sobs. Skin paled to almost deathly white in abject fear... This was no act- it was the behavior of a woman who had been the victim of some unspeakable abuse.
Casmir's stomach turned. 'I've made a terrible mistake,' he thought to himself in disgust.
The Hunter opened his mouth to tell her was going to let go of her, only for Sara to start thrashing again, more wildly than before. Alongside this was demands he release her, and questioning what “his people” wanted with her in hysterical screeches that he was glad were muffled by the soundproofed walls. Apparently this wasn't a case of a single, sick individual; it was some type of group effort that was out to capture her- someone with an agenda that he doubted was very altruistic.
Still, this knowledge wouldn't do him any good so long as she was acting up like this. Mindful of his weapon, he tried to diffuse the situation; given recent revelations, he wasn't sure anymore if it was him the Skinwalker was after, now. “Calm down, calm down!” he tried to tell her, unwilling to let her go in case she tried attacking him in her agitated state. He still wasn't quite sure what that...ripple from earlier had been, after all. For all he knew, she could still blow him up to kingdom come.
'Goddammit!' he growled, adjusting his grip on her so as to constrict her lungs, slightly. It wasn't exactly the most tactful way to handle this, but if he could cut off her air flow a bit, just enough for her to calm down due to lack of oxygen, he could explain the situation.
And perhaps apologize for being a paranoid ass.
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