|
|
Post by Julian McAllister on Aug 21, 2012 1:10:45 GMT -5
The night of the new moon was always such a suffocating thing, the darkness thick like an unbreachable tar that threatened to swallow all things with an ounce of breath left in them, to take them down into an unseen world that promised nothing but misery, pain and torment. It was not terribly unlike the daylight really. Animals forced into the shape of men, to hide themselves in eternal shame, was sort of like that- a world of pain and darkness and misery and what not. How terrible a life that was to live, trapped in a body and a mind that was not your own, not the truth of your nature, forced to be what you never could ever hope to achieve- civil, a man. It stung like a wound, smelled like an illness that rots and decays, and it always seized the lycan by his bones when he was finally set free.
Men had one major fatal flaw that wolves could always find in them- emotion. They had no idea how to cope with the surge of hormones that followed a fight or a terrible scare or a massive onslaught of grief. They could not express it, could not release it, and instead it consumed them like the darkness itself and left them hollow, empty, broken, completely ripe for the taking, even if only a few moments. They were so few and far between that even five minutes of time free from that hairless skin was precious to the beast, and he reveled in it, couldn't help himself, standing at his full height on long, muscular legs tipped in massive clawed paws, sleek head tilted toward the sky and his eyes closed in a silent bliss that many would not expect an animal to be capable of feeling. Oh but he felt, just as all animals did. Just as men did.
A howl threatened to rip itself from his deep chest, desperate to launch itself into the moonless sky, but the lycan held it carefully at bay, distracted from his moment of peace and sudden freedom by the sound of shoes slapping against wet pavement. Blue eyes turned downward to the form crouched in his shadow- a man, someone supposedly civilized and greater than any of his kind, lay on his back in the mud and trash, scrambling backward on his bum like some sort of wounded animal. But the lycan had not touched him. Not yet anyway. He took the time to first peel was what left of his clothing from his muscular form. His jacket clung in tatters to his wrists, burst open at the back and left to dangle by only the ends of his sleeves, forgotten and unnecessary. Only moments ago, it was the only thing shielding that sensitive human form from the heavy rains that pelted the city in the night. But now, massive paws tore the leather to shreds, ripping it from his bony wrists like it was nothing but paper, useless compared to the long grey fur that kept the moisture from him now. Beside him, the human male was still clinging to his dark coat, as though the fabric provided some form of protection. But as the lycan effortlessly ripped the remains of his shirt away with just the flick of a single dark claw, it was proven a pretty hopeless delusion. Only what had once been a pair of pants remained, and even then it clung to his thighs in strips and tatters. Only a flick of his short tail was needed to free himself from the last of his human confines and, in almost celebration, the lycan paused to give his entire form a good hefty shake, spraying water in all directions as he let his fur slosh from side to side.
He half expected the mugger to take off in this moment. Yes, this foolish probably homeless man had attempted to steal the wallet of a werewolf. What a terrible decision that had turned out to be. Although the wolfen half of his mind could not fathom what he had been doing out here, the taste of fear and helplessness was still fresh on his tongue, and somewhere his civility lay curled in a heap inside of his mind, whimpering and scared for its life. It had been so easy to take over in that moment. Now the criminal's knife lay worthless in the dirt covered wooden floor of the dock-side alleyway, his body scrambling away from it and the beast that stood before him. Ironically enough, he too was whimpering pathetically, a litany of 'please, don't' and 'omg I'm gonna die'. The lycan scoffed angrily, and dropped to all fours in one swift, smooth motion, stalking toward his helpless victim. Stupid men. They were all the same, weren't they?
Even him.
[/color][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by Jesus Kincade on Aug 21, 2012 22:19:24 GMT -5
Jesus heard the radio paging over the grunts of effort as the trainees worked out on the docks. He always liked it out here with the cool breeze, the salty air and plenty of space to workout and train. Looking at him as he walked over to the radio, they all stopped what they were doing to see why someone was calling. Turning to them as he picked up the radio he snapped, "did I tell you all to stop?!" quickly making everyone return to there activities at an increases pace. Walking around a corner to answer, Jesus simply replied, "yeah?" Vaughn then lay out the mission for him, telling him he could take as many of the kids that he had with him. There was a total of 7 trainees there but Jesus figured he only needed a few of them. That way the less experienced ones wouldn't get killed off to quick.
Rejoining the group of new recruits, Jesus yelled, "Ok! You are done for the day. Gather your shit and head back for the compound. Gonzales, Clarke, Stevens, you come over her with me for a moment." These were his favorite of his students. When he was initially given a group, Jesus was not too happy about being responsible for all these new hunters but had taken them without arguing. The three that he had chosen were his best and brightest so he figured it would be a treat for them to go on a mission. Though the others seemed confused, they left quietly after a few minutes while the remaining trainees waited anxiously. "Good, now that they are gone, we have a target to hunter tonight," he said as the others expressions turned to one of excitement and anticipation.
Gonzales was a Hispanic man that seemed to shave his face and his head with the same razor, keeping both clean and shiny. Clarke was the first female recruit that Jesus really respected. Her hair was kept in a military cut and she was as built as several of the smaller guys. Finally there was Stevens, a skinny white boy that you would rarely see without a ball cap. All had the stuff to be great hunters but Stevens was an expert marksman beating all the scales for shooting. Gonzales was a brutal fighter and a great tracker, even doing things as crazy as rubbing pheromones from werewolves on him to confuse them and hide his scent. Finally Clarke was exceptional in hand to hand combat, able to disarm or disable much large and strong opponents with quickness and skill.
Filling his crew in on all he knew as they geared up and changed, they nodded along, claiming there own gear and checking there supplies. No one had been carrying a lot since today was simply supposed to be training but they would have to make due. Jesus had brought his crossbow and a box (20)of silver tipped mechanical broadhead bolts along with his pistol with a clip of each specific ammunition. Sliding the silver nitrate rounds into the pistol, he handed it off to Stevens who had only brought a hunting rifle. 'the crossbow would due tonight he thought as he handed his silver machete to Clarke to round out her arsenal. Though people with her fighting style didn't last long, hopefully with plenty of ranged support she would be helpful. And, as usual, Gonzales was ready with a M16 and a couple clips of silver bullets as well as a couple of clips of UV. He didn't bring any gas grenades but it was one new Werewolf so hopefully this would be quick.
Satisfied that everyone was adequately armed, Jesus spoke once again. "Stevens, you stick with Clarke. Gonzales, you are with me. All we know is he is supposed to be in this area and that unable to control himself," Jesus said, slightly twisting the bosses words. Jesus would find an easy excuse to kill this monster no matter what his alignment was. " That is why if you find him, I want you to turn on one of these," he said handing out tracer tips. They were meant to be used for when you hit a deer to follow it through the woods even when you lost sight. Mechanical Broadhead crossbow bolts were known for digging in an causing massive internal damage as the blades flipped open on impact. This also made them difficult to dig out without surgery with made them the perfect pieces for tracking. Pulling out a little handheld device he turned one of the trackers on with showed up as a blimp on the device. "Understand? Good cause we are splitting up," he said handing each a tracker of their own.
Motioning with a head motion the groups went their separate ways, Jesus leading the way towards the docks as the other two headed for the shipping containers. Loading a tracking bolt into this crossbow, he marked the number on the tracker as he began listening carefully for any abnormal noises. 'If he is new then this shouldn't take long,' he told himself as they reached the water front. 'On the other hand, this place is fucking huge,' he grimaced as he looked down the dock.
|
|
|
|
Post by Julian McAllister on Aug 22, 2012 20:16:31 GMT -5
Though moving on four legs was the faster way for the wolfen to travel, the beast took his time stalking over to his current victim, who continued to scramble backward along the pavement weakly. It was a pathetic attempt at escape really. An Olympic sprinter at full speed wouldn't be able to outrun a lycan, let alone the pot-bellied sorry excuse for a man scooting along on his bum. But scooting seemed to be his only means of escape, fear gripping his lungs like a pair of cold hands, causing him to pant and wheeze loudly in pure panic. It was a satisfying noise, and the lycan relished in it for a moment, the way the light sound tickled his ears, just loud enough be heard above the waves lapping at the dock pylons behind him somewhere. It all came together to form a symphony of whispers on the wind that likely only his kind were really keen enough to hear, like a friend sharing a hushed secret, the sound was soothing.
The wolf paused to run a pink tongue along the edge of his jaws, flattening his white whiskers for a moment before they sprang back into place with their own sense of life and excitement. The movement sent a bit of spray up his nose, and he had to stop in his tracks fully to release a sudden sneeze, stopping with a start to give his head a broad shake and look around as though confused. The air was thick with fresh rain that came down in heavy drops upon his fur, like fingers carding through his coat of thick grey hairs, its presence, like the waves, was more soothing than disturbing. So the fine mist that assaulted his most treasured sense what not only unexpected, but surprising and out of character. But in the end, it didn't matter. He gave his whole body a brisk shake for good measure, finally free of most of the assaulting substance and able to once again resume his trek down the alley with a low, rumbling growl.
He was in no rush. The alley was a fairly long one, but ended in a thick chainlink fence that kept the nearby woods from encroaching on the carefully maintained port. The human already had his back to it. There was nowhere for him to go, no reason to run blindly into this. So the lycan savored it with every slow calculated step, every careful sweep of his tail, and every soft twitch of his pointed ears. He had the man trapped on all sides, the stacks of shipping containers that made up the walls of the alley simply too slick with rain to be possible to climb. They loomed, like silent, square pack members, tight against the massive beasts shoulders but clearly working in his favor rather than against it.
For the moment anyway.
[/color][/center] |
|
