There Wolf, There Castle [IC]

[trollthumper]

It felt slightly like cheating to be in another coffee shop, but Eric LaCroix always had an eye out for the competition. The West End Beanery was cozy and homey where the Black Petal was rustic and Old World, but he didn't really care much for decor. He lifted the cup of mocha to his lips to see how it compared.

Hmm... seems like they use Kona for their espresso... not quite my choice. But the syrup... rich without being overpowering. Almost suffuses the whole thing. I wonder if they mix it with the milk... I should at least look into the vendor...

As he sat and drank, his eyes scanned the street outside... and landed on something that made him more alert than the two shots of espresso in the cup. Five men in street clothes that prominently featured the color red and a drawing of a smirking devil were bearing down on three men in what looked like generic metalhead gear. There was word that the Death Road Ministry was moving in on the West End, and Los Diablos Rojos were apparently trying to take advantage of the men now that they were on distant soil. Even from behind the glass, Eric could hear them trading charged words.

Looks like this is gonna be anything but a quiet night...

[Aoiroo]

It was nice having a car. Paying for gas, insurance and matinence aside it was nice not being stuck at the mall just because the bus route called it an early night. It was also nice because driving was way safer than walking through West End, and she honestly didn't feel like getting mugged and it was pretty quiet tonight, well until fancied a glance down one of the streets she was passing as she game to a stop sign and immediately frowned. Almost immediately down the street was probably the most obvious gathering of gang members she had ever seen. Glancing a look next to her purse she let out a sigh Turned down an adjacent street.

It was probably the fastest she had ever changed into her costume, but it was probably justified because she had only had so many quarters and thus the meter was running. It didn't take long for her to find the guys in red again, though they hardly noticed her approach as she stuck to the shadows and maintained flat. She didn't usually deal in gangs, so she decided to take some time to actually figure out what they were doing before she took them out, tied them to a lightpost and called the cops.

[Quinn]

Crow poked his head over a rooftop, looking down at the neighbourhood. The place was a bit cleaner than old Boston, though it didn't have quite the same air. Still, the buildings were close together, so he hadn't had another accident miscalculating his wind-walk distance. Combine that with a distinct lack of people hanging about on rooftops (likely due to low-flying heroes), and he'd had a surprisingly quiet trip here. Granted, he knew full well quiet never lasted long, but he always valued it while he could.

He picked at a cat hair on his black hoodie, over top of the eye of the crow emblem on his chest, and chuckled. Oliver, of course. That cat gets in everywhere...of course, the fact that he kept a small stash of kitty treats hidden in his desk drawer at the dorm room might have been a contributing factor. And there were more cat hairs, of course. In fact, he was a bit dismayed to find them all over his costume. Except on the coat, but that wasn't surprising. The thing never seemed to get dirty, never needed dry cleaning. Granted, that saved him some in bills, but it creeped him out. He shrugged, and poked his hooded head over the edge again, looking down at the gangers. His face, shadowed beneath a black bandanna and the voluminous hood, was puzzled. He'd recieved a tip from a wyld fae who owed him a favor that something "wild" was going down around here tonight. Since he didn't have class tomorrow, and...well...he could still use the exercise.

He pounded one fist into the other palm. This is what he should be doing. First-class hero work, just like his dad. Busting up gangers is how every hero earns their stripes, anyway! Crow crouched down behind the wall, his eyes flashing everywhere around the street and the rooftop, taking in all the information he could gather. A loose rain barrel there, a fire escape over there...ooh, that over there would make for fun times too! A rudimentary ambush plan began to appear in his head...

[Ecalsneerg]

Jeni Frey casually wandered though the West End streets, seemingly oblivious to the violence and theft the area was known for. Her black bodyglove was embossed along the arms, legs and chest with silver lettering of an alien language, and she had a leather jacket draped over her shoulders like a cape.

Turning a corner, she noticed the fight about to break out. What are they wearing? She just smiled ruefully and kept walking towards them at a leisurely pace, smiling all the while.

[Dr Archeville]

Dead Head had been spent a fair amount of time in West end over the past few months. The melting pot of cultures present fascinated him, especially the varied collection of myths and legends about the various afterlife realms and the varied undead of those cultures. This evening had been spent at Temple Ben David, conversing with the late learned spirits who still clung to the area.

Shame about Rabbi Isaacs soup pot, not gettin' passed on to his son. But where the heck do I even begin lookin' fer it! It was when the burned remains of his apartment were cleared out -- almost 80 years ago!

On the way back to Lantern Hill (man, I have really gotta get that teleport charm worked out!), he passed near the 5-on-3 argument.

"Eh, no rest for the restless. C'mon, boy."

Mutt, the faithful spirit-hound, barked in the affirmative, and followed along, invisible and intangible.

He approached from the direction opposite Jeni. It would be easy to mistake him for belonging to the same clique as the three men that the five in red were accosting, but as soon as he moved into the light, it was clear he was something else altogether.

"Hey, fellas!" he greeted cheerily, hoping it would give them pause. "What's goin' on?"

[trollthumper]

Outside

Two of the Rojos turned to look at Dead Head; surprisingly, they didn't even flinch. "None of your business, dead man," one said. "We're here talking -- "

Behind him, one of the obviously scared Ministers drew a knife and drove it into his back. The Rojo flinched in pain, but turned back on the Minister, fury coming over him.

"You really shouldn't have done that."

A strange, red glow filled his eyes -- and the eyes of the other Rojos. They began to grow, bursting out of their clothes as hair coated their skin and their nails turned long and deadly. Their faces grew long as their teeth grew sharp. It took only a few seconds, but when it was all done, the red-eyed werewolves raised their heads and howled. Then they rounded on the Ministers...

----

Inside

Eric was somewhat relieved to see Dead Head show up -- it meant that whatever was going on would likely be put down quick. That had been before the gang bangers had turned into werewolves, of course. A few people in the Beanery had seen the initial transformation, but when the howl tore through the night, panic took hold. And when one of the Ministers was thrown through one of the windows, everyone decided now would be a good time to evacuate.

Save for Eric. Making a shelter of the panic, he drew on the connection to Hades, cloaking himself in shadow... and when it was gone, Nick Cimitiere was there, ready to deal with some overgrown fleabags.

[trollthumper]

Nick charged out of the coffee shop. "Well, well, well," he said. "Someone seems to have some rough ideas about leash laws in this part of town. Why don't you all go back home and just sniff each other's butts, and we can call it a night?"

The words got the werewolves snarling, which was exactly what he'd intended. It made it somewhat easier to work his will on them. He called on the essence of car accidents and muggings gone horribly wrong, and the tapestry of death responded. Half-formed hands reached out of the earth, grasping at the legs of the werewolves -- but in many cases, the werewolves were too fast for the ghostly onslaught. Only one was dragged to the earth by the grasping hands.

Oh, well. You've gotta start somewhere...

[Aoiroo]

Watching quietly she examined the general crowd of who was coming to assist. The woman in black she didn't recognize, but she did recognize Nick Cimitere and Dead Head. She was going to move because the red coats were getting fiesty but was surprised by the sudden appearance of ghostly hands,

Well that was really very creepy.

Glancing over she guessed Nick was to credit for this happenings, though it was less than effective Sil took the opportunity in the confusion it created to step out from the shadows and give one of the werewolves a swift flat edged punch.

There was really no point in trying to hide her presense after that so she said,

"So, you guys want to try doing the civil thing and explain what exactly is happening here before the intiment asskicking you're about to recieve."

[trollthumper]

There was no response from the werewolves, save from snarling and growls. One leapt at Nick Cimitiere, his claws finding purchase on his jacket... but sliding off against the jacket's protection. Another found more luck striking at Silhouette, but the nimble heroine took only a scratch from its hideous claws.

"Don't think we're gonna get much out of 'em," Nick said. "These guys seem to be high on rage. Either something's pressing on the 'fight' part of 'fight or flight' really hard, or they're being ridden."

[Dr Archeville]

By human standards, Mutt was a dummy, but compared to other dogs, he was a genius. He could speak, read (slowly, and he moved his lips while he did so), write, and even use simple tools (though the lack of thumbs made this difficult)! But none of that really mattered right now. No, now was the time to call on his other super-doggie abilities.

I will show them the meaning of fear!

The spirit-dog moved, invisible, incorporeal, to the center of the werewolf pack, and faded into view, first the burning red eyes, then the luminous yellow-green jaws, followed by the coal black fur. He cut loose with a howl, a spine-tingling, soul-chilling howl from the depths of the shadow-realms the Ghede called home. With luck, it would either spook the werewolves into scattering (making it easier for the other heroes to pick them off one-by-one), or cow them into accepting him as their Alpha.

[Ecalsneerg]

"So... you all turn into big canines, huh?" shrugged Scholar, cracking her knuckles. "Fair play to you, but I'd afraid that it's just not going to end that well for you in this situation," she said, nodding to the superheroes steadily joining the fight.

OK, enemy canine there, unharmed, seemingly unfazed by the scary rotting canine. If I acquire enough momentum to kick it in the jaw forcefully, it should be able to neutralise the creature somewhat. With practiced precision, the alien woman ran clean up to one of the wolves, leaping up as she did so to bring her booted foot crashing into the underside of its jaw.

[trollthumper]

The blow struck well on the werewolf, leaving him gasping for breath between snarls. His companion, dragged down by the strange, ghostly bonds, responded by letting loose a howl that split the night. Nick could feel it triggering something very old within him, from the days when humans were smaller, furrier, and scared of big lizards. With effort, however, he managed to fight it down.

"Is that all?" he said. "I've heard opening acts scarier than that!"

[Quinn]

"Doigh."

A figure appeared abruptly beside Nick Cimitere, shorter than the rockabilly hero, and clad almost entirely in black. Black runic coat, black boots, a black hoodie with the emblem of a crow in flight splashed across the chest. His face was obscured by a black bandanna, with the hood of the sweater pulled over his head. The top of the hood tapered to a point at the end, giving him a look very reminiscent of a predator bird. But what really drew attention wasn't his clothes, but the large fireball that erupted from his hand. It screamed across the short distance between him and the howling wulfen, bursting right into it's wide open jaws. One rune flared brightly on the cuff of his coat, a thin curl of smoke rising into the air.

Then, the black figure vanished.

[trollthumper]

Dead Head took the defensive as the snarling canines repositioned themselves around their stunned member. They growled at the heroes, trying to reestablish dominance. Nick swept at them, and the hands followed, though the wolves proved somewhat elusive. "Now, that's no way to act, men," he said. "Why, at this rate, no one'll ever think you're properly housebroken! Let's work on obedience training! Now..."

He poured his will into the ground as the hands leapt upwards suddenly. One werewolf managed to dodge the grasp of ghostly hands... but he was the only one, as his companions were dragged down and held in place by the apparitions.

"Sit!"

[Aoiroo]

Sil moved quickly from the werewolf's claws saving herself an annoying sewing job despite a small bruise. She kept in close quarters but it seemed that they were very quickly overwhelming the creatures. Seemed turned to very clear when Nick had most of them pinned by means of ghostly hands, though it seemed one of them escaped the fate. It was a simple fix as Sil cut off his movement.

"Seems we have a bad puppy,"

She moved into a downward stance,

"Well if you can't sit, than heel."

She sweep up her foot into a sharp arc straight into the wolf's stomach and moved away as it was clear the damage was done and the wolf was down for the count.

[trollthumper]

The werewolf let out a strangled howl as it collapsed to the pavement. Its head bounced off the ground, then came to rest. Its eyes shut, the dread red light glowing right through them before fading from behind closed eye lids. Slowly, the flesh began to shift, leaving one of the Rojos with just the near ruins of a pair of boxers to protect his modesty.

"They've really gotta find a way to fix that," Nick said as one of the werewolves struggled against his bonds. With one firm tug, he kept it on the pavement. "Looks like whatever's in these men doesn't care 'bout them once they fall out of fighting condition."

[Ecalsneerg]

Shuddering from the horrific howl of these wolves, Scholar nonetheless braced herself, facing her opponent even as he was pinned in place by bizarre ghostly apparitions. "Odd," she remarked. "Anyway, I think you've been running around wasting your life on violence long enough, now, so... stop." On that last word, she spun and drove her foot into the beast's muzzle straight on with a sickening thluck. "That hurt, ugly?"

[trollthumper]

The werewolf didn't even have time to answer. It let out a strangled whistle -- almost like it was trying to breathe in on a broken nose -- before collapsing to the pavement. He landed on his back, right next to his colleague. Soon, the fur and claws melted away, revealing a man desperately in need of clothes -- with a black mark painted on his chest.

[Quinn]

The figure in black appeared again, this time directly over the only dazed werewolf. Descending like a bird of prey, the steel sole of his boot crunched into the back of the hirsuite monster's skull, driving it down and into the pavement with a painful thud. The second the beast's forehead hit the sidewalk, however, he vanished again.

[trollthumper]

Much appreciated, Nick thought. Wonder if he'll stick around when they're all down.

He flexed his will through the bonds, keeping the remaining werewolves firmly in place. "So, hounds," he said, "it appears to me your cunning plan of 'go berserk' fell short a few yards. Now, seeing as you're riding shotgun to something that don't care much about you, I think it might be a good idea if you tell me what's going on... or, my friends could just keep pounding on you 'til whatever's latched on lets go. Your choice."

Whatever was possessing the men didn't want to let go. But one of them did get something out through distorted growling.""She... mother of liberation... offered strength..." He quickly shut his jaw, however, with the snarling replacing the account.

"Well, that was helpful."

[Aoiroo]

Looking at attempted interogation Sil just shrugged her shoulders,

"I don't know diddly about this sort of thing. Until the whole red glow part, I was thinking these were some powerhouse enhancement werewolves rather than magic ones. But it sounds like whoever sent gave this power was smart enough to make them tongue tied on the subject."

Walking to one of the werewolves she gave him a swift kick to the ribs while he was bound there.

"Guess we'll have to knock them out and question whoever comes too first."

[Ecalsneerg]

"I advise that we isolate them from one another. They're unlikely to loosen their lips in a pack," said the woman in black, running and jumping to bring an axe kick down on the vulnerable area between another wolf's shoulder blades.

"It'd also be easier to gauge a response from them, without having to resort to more forceful methods of interrogation. Which we're not doing." She winced a little as she massaged her foot from kicking the wolf a bit too hard.

[Quinn]

The black figure appeared out of thin air without a sound yet again, this time kneeling over the second dazed werewolf. His coat and shoulders obscured what was happening, and the beast let out a long, frightened howl, which abruptly stopped. As the young man stood, it became apparent that the werewolf was completely out cold. This time, however, Crow didn't vanish as he stepped away. Instead, he spoke in a low and easy tone. As if he'd just stepped out, and wasn't surrounded by people in the strangest outfits and unconscious furry gangers.

"Hmm. Nice night for a walk."

[trollthumper]

There wasn't much more to it. The werewolves were inhumanly strong, but the power of the ghostly hands was stronger. As they struggled against their spectral bonds, blows were rained upon them, and in time, the wolves were splayed out. And as they hit the ground, whatever bestial thing had ridden with them vanished, leaving Los Diablos Rojos with little but their tattered clothes and their strange ink.

"Kind of a step down from Lon Cheney, isn't it," said Nick. "Y'know, we might want to call the cops. These guys may be meatheaded gangbangers who consort with dark spirits, but I'd kinda rather they don't die of hypothermia." He bent down to inspect one of the bodies, noticing the black glyphs on all the gang members. "Damn. They're all smudged. Guess that means they're not tattooed on. But given what happened to them, I can't tell whether that's Futhark or heiroglyphics."

[quotemyname]

Coffee. Wolf. Blood. No. Not real wolf. More Not-Wolf. Not here. This city belongs to wolf. Other Not-Wolves upset things. Their scent is wrong. Wolf follows.

---

The scent of coffee is stronger. The scent of Not-Wolf is stronger. The scent of blood is fresh. Wolf sees the fight. Wolf watches the two legged ones defeat the Not-Wolves. But this is still Wolf's city. He would have them know.

Chest out. Hackles raised. Jowls up. "AAWWRROOOoooooOOOoooo!" Teeth bared, he has their attention. Shoulders shrugged, he begins to change. Seconds pass. His world is fire and pain.

---

A wolf once prowled near the side of the coffee shop. A man now stood in its place. He was tall, with deeply tanned skin and smooth long black hair accentuating his Native American heritage. Unlike the gangsters unconscious on the ground, he was not stripped naked. He wore no shirt, but his leather jacket, and loose fitting leather motorcycle pants were in tact thanks to the spells his grandfather had placed upon them. Their natural components saw themselves as part of him. They were once the skin of an animal, and now they were so again, or so the spells made the clothing think. He reached above his head, and tied back his long hair in a pony tail as he stalked toward them.

"Kind of a step down from Lon Cheney, isn't it," said Nick. "Y'know, we might want to call the cops. These guys may be meatheaded gangbangers who consort with dark spirits, but I'd kinda rather they don't die of hypothermia." He bent down to inspect one of the bodies, noticing the black glyphs on all the gang members. "Damn. They're all smudged. Guess that means they're not tattooed on. But given what happened to them, I can't tell whether that's Futhark or heiroglyphics."

"I would not do that, Nep-poa Lin-nie. Death Man." he addressed Nick respectfully with a knowing glance. "This is no issue for the police to get involved in. Spare them. It is beyond their ken." The man was fast. He closed the distance to the group in a matter of seconds, though his gait looked slow. He knelt down next to one of the gang members. "They shift when they sleep. At least that part is correct." He rubbed his fingers against the smudging symbols, he brought whatever the substance was to his nose and breathed deeply, letting his nose and his instincts do the thinking. "These are no hieroglyphics that I have ever seen. Nor are the symbols Germanic in nature as with Futhark. They are something else..." He trailed off as he took in the scent of the ink once more.