cape_kore | 020 ✳ day 221 ✳ audio/action

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020 ✳ day 221 ✳ audio/action

So, stop me if you've heard this one before. An orc walks into a bar with a parrot. "That's neat," says the bartender, "where'd you get it?"

"In a cave," says the parrot.

[Despite the joke, Fortescue is terribly unamused by the situation. Her breathing is on the heavy side, labored by some heavy bruising from being slammed into a tunnel wall by a baby dragon. On the plus side of that whole debacle, she's fireproof when she wants to be.

On the minus... well, there's a lot of minuses. She's tired, needs a drink, and the best weapon she has is a sword. Which she's not really trained to use, but it's better than nothing. Because her own personal hell is stalking through these tunnels. She can hear them occasionally, and she's kept on the move to try and stay ahead of them.

Speaking of which, a loud, echoing click comes from somewhere behind her — probably — and she stumbles back into a brisk walk. All the color's drained from her face, which is why this is an audio broadcast. Still, she can't help her shaky tone. Bad memories come with every click.

Jazz is curled tightly around her shoulders. He's extremely at risk in this situation.]

Anyone find something interesting in here? Other than our fellow captives, of course. They're very interesting, what with their trying to rend our flesh from our bones. I've never cared for centipedes and I like them even less when they're big enough to wrap around my leg.

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I don't suppose these tunnels are easier to navigate than the hallways?

( Aka hey, need a buddy? Buddy's looking to find you )

Where are you at?

[He just glosses right over her question for the time being -- this has been going on long enough that he knows damn well people should be sticking together, and no matter what kind of face Fort might be putting on for the sake of sounding like she has it together, he knows the signs. Heavy breathing, that sharpness at the edge of her voice--

None of them should be on their own, but he's especially invested in Fortescue's wellbeing. For reasons.]

Cracked an exoskeleton or two open already. Suckers didn't make it easy, and they make one hell of a mess, but that's what they get for tryin' to take a bite out of people.

[Oh, does she ever need a buddy right now.]

That depends. I suppose they've a bit more detail to them, and there are... two sorts of tunnels that I've seen, so far. But they do seem to shift more often.

[She thinks. It's impossible, apparently, to actually see a tunnel arrange itself, much like in the Center. Gate, she hopes this is still the Center. Fortescue doesn't want to live here.]

[She gives her surroundings a distracted look, still walking at a quick pace. Sword in one hand, device in the other. Ridiculous... in any other place but this one. Really, the only good thing here is that there are plenty of shadows to utilize if she gets into a very tight corner.

Fortescue does smile, though, even if it's a tiny smile due to what's behind her. Benny's voice is a welcome one.]

Oh, I don't know, I just passed some sort of... store room full of empty barrels, a while back, and a warm pool of water. [Which she'd gotten away from quickly, because that hadn't been an empty pool. As thirsty as she'd been.] Met an angry lizard a few feet away from there who decided I looked nice. Give me a troop of bloody Nazis any day—

[There's a shriek behind her, and she freezes in place to listen. One click. Two clicks. Three clicks. Three Criers. It's her day, apparently. Fortescue resumes walking, squinting ahead of her.]

Looks like there's some sort of threeway-junction up ahead, if that sounds familiar.

Then it would be difficult, and perhaps more dangerous to try and locate another.

( More dangerous if they got trapped in the tunnel. If they shifted more frequently it would be even easier to become lost or turned around )

I don't suppose there's anything distinctive around you?

Depends on what you find distinctive, I s'pose.

[It's a joke, because everything in this place is both distinctive and monotonous compared to the rest of it, and she gives a tentative chuckle. At least the Center had walls and ceilings in disrepair. You could navigate by those, on a short basis.]

There was a library with a lot of wrecked shelves back behind me. But I don't recommend trying to find it. D'you hear that clicking? Stay away from it, if you start hearing it where you are.

Then you should move, and now.

( Maria hasn't heard the clicking in person yet, only what she's hearing now over the network from Fortescue, but if the woman's telling her to run it's worrying )

What's causing it?

Hopefully this passage won't loop back on me.

[She's smiling in a tense, grimacing sort of way, though it can't be seen. It's only just a smile.]

If it's what I think it is — and it sounds like it — then the source is called a Crier. Well, that's what we called them; I don't know what they're called in any kind of native tongue, or where that tongue would be from. The boys in uniform called them Shovelheads. They're as large as people, with multiple legs. Cave bugs. I'm sure they love it here. They've got exoskeletons that have a nasty tendency to reflect ammunition. The Inveterates — and the Nazis, come to think of it — used them as shock troops, originally. They clear out a populated area in no time at all.

This place is a regular tourist trap. I dunno, I was still kickin' topside when the Nazis were in full swing, not sure I'd ever invite them--

[The shriek halts them both. His run-ins with the Criers have been limited so far; he's managed to slip away without much damage being done on account of being strong enough and fast enough to strike quickly and run-- but he's already figured out that he's gotten lucky. As far as this place is concerned, he hasn't seen anything yet.

He exhales, gritting his teeth as he presses forward.]

I'll find it. Got more than landmarks on my side.

[Once a vampire has someone's scent, it's for life, but he doesn't say so just yet. He's fully aware of the fact that most people think that particular trait is invasive -- or gross.]

[Fortescue won't ask questions. Not at the moment. It's looking a gift horse in the mouth, if someone actually has a method of navigating this place other than blind luck. She actually misses the white, depressing hallways of the Center's usual decor. It's easier to see irregularities in them. The tunnels? A complete mystery to a city girl from London.

She keeps forward at a steady pace now. One Crier is bad enough. Two is pushing her luck. Three? No way in hell is she getting out of that alive.]

Oh, they weren't so bad. You know, most of them. [Not compared to an Inveterate, anyway.] They liked their parties.

[She hadn't even meant that pun.]

None of them ever tried to eat me. ...in that way. They did have a problem with keeping their hands to themselves.

[Well then, lucky for her, Benny's on his way to even the odds.

It takes a moment, but he's able to pick her scent out from the others that would lead him elsewhere in the tunnels. She's closer than he thought, which is a relief, though that moment is short-lived -- his heightened hearing picks up the sound of those Criers in the distance, that tell-tale click he knows means nothing good for anyone.

He'll have to hurry.]

Think I'll have to take your word for it. Sit tight, alright? Think you're closer than I realized, shouldn't be long.

[He wrinkles his nose at the innuendo despite her not being able to see him, though he's more amused than anything. Maybe better to focus on that, try and keep the situation light until he gets there.]

Sounds like stiff competition. I gotta measure up to Nazis now? My mama'd be so disappointed.

[She reaches another cross in the tunnels, three ways this time, and decides to stay there. At least for a few minutes, or until she spots something that wants to rip her apart and feed her to its eggs. Being able to see in the dark means that her line of vision is pretty extensive, in this place, though still not perfect. But being a magus absolutely has its uses. She just never imagined that she would use it in a bunch of old stone tunnels, being chased by monsters.

Fortescue chuckles. It's a tad shaky, but her rambling is usually what calms her nerves. Her ability to turn everything into innuendo is, strangely, a gift in high stress situations. Even if it can be distracting for other people.]

Oh, don't worry. You're far more courteous. I lost track of how many times a bloke offered me his arm and acted like it was a gift from on high.

[Wearing a snappy leather coat did not make you deity's gift to women. Especially not with the sneering expressions she'd had to put up with. Sadly, a lot of the time, she'd had to cozy up to them anyway, for information. But if she'd had her own way, she would have tripped them and never looked back. Or maybe thrown her drink in their face. Cleaning those uniforms wasn't fun.

And yet, the Nazis were still a cake walk compared to Inveterates, the ones pulling their strings. From time to time, she wonders how fast their organization crumbled, after Fortescue had snapped their leaders' neck. She hadn't been able to stay long enough to find out.]

What do you think this place is, anyway?

Good to know I'm comin' out ahead already.

[He sounds vaguely distracted; there's a faint reverb to his voice that extends beyond what transmits over the feed. He's getting closer, though there are enough scents other than hers in these tunnels to keep his path from being as direct as he'd like. He slows to a stop near a four-way intersection of his own, sighing as he pauses to try and get his lead back.]

Don't rightly know. Never seen anything like it, not even in Purgatory.

[That had been nothing but endless woods and the occasional cave, though the monsters were pretty on-par.]

Whatever this place is, it's old -- ancient. Feels old. You can smell it.

[Speaking of. He catches the scent again and takes a hard right turn, and it's a matter of moments before he's heading her way from one of the off-shoots of the crossing she's waiting at. Anyone else might have had to squint through the darkness to see her, but he doesn't -- he spots her from a distance and breaks into a run, careful to avoid running straight through any puddles. Just in case.]

Fort! You alright?!

It's certainly musty enough.

[She doesn't have Benny's nose, but there's also the decor in the rooms to go by. It's medieval, according to her own world. One never knows how that translates to other worlds, but 'ancient' is a good bet.

A few clicks down one hallway make her turn, staring into the dark to see if any of the shadows are moving. This is perfect Crier territory, and they're close if those noises are anything to go by. Fortescue's staring so hard that she visibly jumps when Benny calls her name from the hallway behind her.

Well, that's one hallway that's probably safe. She backs that way a few steps, before turning to meet him with a few stolen looks behind her every so often.]

I'm intact. [She smiles tightly. Jazz growls, still wrapped around her shoulders like an angry scarf. Fortescue knows she's going to have deep scratches from his claws, but it can't be helped. This attire doesn't have the pads she'd sewn into her clothes back home.] You seem to be, as well. I have a feeling this place doesn't want its occupants to live very long.

I'm guessin' you're probably right. Not much friendly about it.

[Understatement. His first instinct is to reach out and give Jazz a comforting pat on the head, but he refrains -- no use poking a tiger when he's being reasonably tame, and Jazz doesn't seem all that social at the moment. Unsurprising, given the circumstances.]

In that case, I'd say we're both doin' pretty well for ourselves. Wasn't able to find much in the way of weaponry, but I did find this.

[He lofts a weapon that looks more like a broken bit of tunnel wall lashed to what might have once been part of a chair leg. One edge is reasonably sharp, but it looks like it might be a better bludgeon than a blade.]

Figured now's as good a time as any to be resourceful.

[Purgatory survival skills.]

[She observes his weapon with the shadow of a chuckle.]

Impressive.

[Not many have bothered making themselves weapons, or have thought about it. This is what Fortescue gleaned from her first day. Most of those she met were far too confused to think that far ahead. Grabbing a sword from a bedroom wall had filled her with relief, even if she's sort of rubbish at using it. But a blade is a blade — a blade coated in black gunk, now, from her more recent encounters.]

I think that's the heftiest thing I've seen. Though I did see a mace in one room. But yours has more character. [Exploration had been the name of the game. And shifting into Shadow to do it, to prevent being cornered by anything. But she can't do that forever. It's far too tiring.] I'm trained in knives, not swords. I feel a bit ridiculous.

[But only a bit. It's sharp, and heavy. Good enough. Jazz growls again, shifting his head to glower behind her. She imagines it's a glower, anyway, given his general attitude. Then he outright hisses, and she frowns, turning to squint down the tunnel.]

You'd better not be hissing at rocks again, fuzzball.

Figure it'll do the trick until I find something better.

[He'd seen a blade or two on the walls, but swordplay wasn't his forte. He could use one fine, and he was damn good with a knife, but here with unfamiliar monsters? Something heavy was exactly what he needed, something that he could use to its fullest extent by putting his own strength behind it.]

Knives are more my style, too -- but there's nothin' ridiculous about doing whatever it takes to defend yourself. Looks like you've figured out how to use it well enough.

[The blade's covered in gunk. That's as good a sign as any. He opens his mouth to say something more, but Jazz's hissing directs his attention elsewhere, and he peers through the dark for any sign of movement.]

That cat of yours is pretty damn smart. Think we'd better brace ourselves -- or find somewhere to hole up.

He likes to think so. Maybe we sh—

[Jazz has always been an intelligent creature. Her shrink, during her stint as the Black Magus, had pointed out that the exanima process on living creatures tends to boost their more intelligent qualities, according to what studies had been done on it. Qualities were sent in both directions, he'd said. Fortescue isn't sure if she's inherited anything from Jazz — maybe he's part of the reason it's so hard to wake up in the morning. Part of her really doesn't want to think about it.

Fortescue had opened her mouth to suggest finding somewhere else, anything but this hallway, when an ugly, shovel-shaped head rears itself around a corner. For all their size, Criers move with relative and truly disturbing quiet. This is the environment they've evolved to hunt in, and they're very at home. But the silence doesn't last, true to their name. The thing reaches out mentally to find a noise she finds disturbing and distracting, and instantly the sound of a terrified, sobbing little girl rends the air.

And not just any little girl. Fortescue's hands white-knuckle around her sword, and she lifts it up as one of the Crier's pack-mates scuttles into view behind them, searching for its own noise even as it sluggishly charges them.]

—too late!

[It's hard to think, with the noise of Mirabelle Fortescue sobbing, but she mentally reminds herself of that weak spot they have, and that Benny might not know about it. Her voice is strained and tight as she speaks over the sobbing.]

There's a point under their heads, just underneath the neck! Their armor doesn't quite meet there.

[But to remind the one that's charging that it's made some bad choices in life, she simply strikes it hard in the head with the flat of her blade. With all of the shadows down here, Fortescue can augment her usual strength quite easily, and she makes use of that as the tunnel seems to get just a bit brighter.]

Aim for the throat.

[His voice is almost too calm as he confirms, turning his back to her and preparing to strike the incoming Crier that's attempting to force them into a pincer attack, swinging his homemade weapon with all his strength and catching it beneath the chin, if it could be called a chin, forcing it fly backwards just enough to expose that weak bit of flesh beneath it's head.

Beautiful.]

Got it!

[He goes in for another strike, hesitating for just half a moment as a familiar scream echoes through the tunnels, followed by the cries of someone he knows can't possibly be there-- a woman's voice, her sobs panicked, but no source in sight other than the Crier itself.]

You son of a--

[He swings hard, connecting with that weak spot and feeling the makeshift blade puncture flesh. Yahtzee.]

[A heavy blade is a heavy blade, but what Fortescue wouldn't do for a gun. Bullets, when fired in the right place, can shred the thing's internal organs faster than the sword can. But she doesn't have any choice in the matter. It's a sword or nothing.

She swallows back the shudder her body wants to make when it hears Mirabelle's sobbing, that time she got lost in the woods and cried for hours before anyone could find her. Barely more than a baby at the time, Fortescue had held her all the way back home in the car, listening to the stern lecture of her parents from the front seat.

She's your little sister. She's your responsibility, too. You need to watch her.

That's what this thing wants. For her to become so wrapped up in memories that she gets careless. Fortescue grits her teeth and dodges to the side as the Crier attempts to snap down on her shoulder, quickly thrusting with the sword to plunge it beneath its armor. To her relief, those stolen sobs turn into panicked gurgles from the insectoid monster. It flails its other legs at her, one of them striking her in the side, but she ignores the heavy blow as best she can to further sink the blade in. And in. The gurgles are becoming softer, the legs slowing down. She has it.

These are only two, though, she reminds herself. Where's the third?]

[Benny's thoughts exactly. He turns, wild-eyed, searching the encroaching darkness for any sign of the third-- he knows he'd heard more than one, and what's more, even over the foul smell of the Criers' insides as they go soft and bleed out, he can smell one more out there, moving, still going strong.]

Two down. Where's--

[He catches a glimpse of something in the darkness, its exoskeleton gleaming softly in the dim light as it moves towards them at top speed.

God damn. He'd seen all manner of monsters down in Purgatory, even seen his share topside, but he's not sure anything had been quite as stomach churning as these.]

There! [He points it out even as he moves forward to put himself between her and the Crier, prepared to swing the moment it's within range, find that soft spot and drive his blade home so that the damn thing's legs collapse beneath it and it doesn't get back up.] Come on, you son of a bitch.

[There's certainly a reason the labyrinth had chosen these from Fortescue's memories, taken from several missions of dealing with them when they'd slaughtered entire units. Entire towns. Figuring out their weak spots, how they reproduce, everything, all while she and her colleagues had kept their own discomfort in check. Barely, in her case, due to getting lost in a forest full of egg sacs and hatching larvae.

They're even uglier when they're little.

This one's definitely angry about its hunting party getting slaughtered, and so it alternates between Benny and Fortescue for its horrible noises, front legs rearing up to strike as it charges forward.

Fortescue, jaw tensed, yanks her sword out of the dead Crier and holds it up, ready to provide Benny with any or all of the backup he needs so that they can kill this one. She's ready for this to be over, especially as Mirabelle's terrified shrieks cut through the air.]

[Shutting the noise out is only growing more and more difficult as time wears on, the Crier itself growing frantic as it continues to rage. Glancing over his shoulder just once to make sure that Fortescue is back to being armed, Benny launches himself forward, putting all of his strength behind his swing as he aims to crack down on the Crier's head.

Dazed, he might get a chance to strike at the weak spot, but it doesn't go exactly as planned -- the beast retaliates by clamping down on his arm and causing him to let out a guttural roar as he feels it tear into his flesh, wrenching his weapon from the injured arm with his left hand and using it to knock the Crier away from him, causing it to release and skitter backwards, stumbling as the blow to the head catches up with it.]

I'm gettin' real tired of these--

[He cuts himself off with a growl and moves forward to strike, burying his self-made hatchet just below the Crier's head.]

[The screams of her sister cause a flood of so many memories and bad experiences — just what the Criers are after — that Fortescue is slow on her feet. She's at least glad that she isn't in the shape she was when she returned to the Center, bleeding profusely and hallucinating, but still. Her legs are only good if she uses them.

Benny's roar finally jolts the sluggishness and dread out of her system, and she darts forward with her sword in hand. The Crier is twitching and dreadfully wounded from Benny's strike, and Fortescue plunges her sword fully into that chink in the creature's natural armor. She doesn't stop until the hilt is clicking against the chitin, and by that time the creature is sagging to the ground.]

And stay down, you ugly bastard.

[Her heart's still going a million miles per hour as she mentally berates herself for letting the things get to her like this, though her expression is much more neutral — and concerned — as she glances at Benny's arm.]

How deep did it get?

[She's seen what those teeth can do.]

[It's not until the beast is on the ground that he lets himself go, slumping back against the nearest wall and letting out a soft grunt as he slides to the floor, dropping his weapon in order to cradle his arm against his chest. The wound is bad enough that he's lost a decent amount of blood, something that's rough even for the undead -- makes healing slow.

He winces before glancing up at her, forcing a smile.]

Down to the bone, just about. I can heal it up, but--

[He exhales, and it comes out shaky.]

It's bad enough I might need a little help. Even I ain't invincible.

[Fortescue smiles back as she crouches next to him, but it's an unhappy smile when she sees how much damage the Crier managed to do. That's going to make this rough. On the other hand, Benny has an advantage, because if Fortescue had been bitten instead, this would be a very different situation. She has him to thank for taking the blow instead, and she knows it.]

No one is, love.

[That makes it very easy for her to make a decision, by the time she stands up to look up and down the tunnel. One thing about Criers — they tend to eat all of the other predators worth worrying about. That means they probably have a very decent window of time to sit here, at least until the bodies begin to decompose and death is on the air.

Satisfied that they're alone, with Jazz effectively standing watch, Fortescue crouches back down again. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket.]

We probably don't have too long before other things come to investigate. [The reason for the handkerchief becomes apparent as she, quite calmly, holds out her arm.] Here. I don't have any horrible diseases that I'm aware of.

[Quite the opposite, as Imperian citizens have almost uncomfortably clean DNA and bills of health. The States have raised eyebrows about eugenics more than a few times. Her smile is less murky now — encouraging. The sooner he gets his strength back, the sooner they can get out of here.]

Damn near, usually.

[It was one of the few perks to being what he was. Generally speaking, he hated his own kind. Hated the constant violence, the thirst for blood, the diminished view of human life and its worth, the unspoken hierarchy that somehow built itself up over centuries and made the younger vampires slaves to their masters. The durability, however, sometimes helped him to forget just how much he wanted to be done with it all -- more now than ever.

He'd survive, but it would take some doing. If he'd still been human, that wouldn't have been an option.

He realizes she's caught on before he could explain, and for a moment, he just stares at her arm, like he can't quite process the offer. He shakes his head, just once.]

Not sure you know what you're really offerin', darlin'. [Even though he'd admitted that he needed help -- and he was almost positive there were no blood bags handy.] It ain't gonna be two neat little pinpricks. It ain't-- ain't like the movies.

[There's nothing elegant or romantic about what he has to do to stay alive.]

Good. The movies are completely ridiculous.

[Fortescue quirks a sympathetic smile, alongside her attempt to lighten the atmosphere. She's only seen maybe two or three movies with vampires and had just rolled her eyes, honestly. Anyone who's owned a cat know that teeth don't really work like that. Not teeth of any size, at least.

She raises her hand to brush her thumb softly against his cheek. The fact that he's so hesitant to do this makes her feel more secure in actually offering.]

This arm's seen its fair share of trouble. Don't worry about it. You came to help me, love — let me return the favor.

[Fortescue also has a pain tolerance a mile wide, but she doesn't mention that part. It's going to become apparent, anyway.]

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020 ✳ day 221 ✳ audio/action

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