In the morning, the view from Avery and Calden's hotel room is glorious: the Atlantic deep blue, the surrounding landscape replete with forestry and beautifully manicured estates. One of those belongs to Avery's people. They are far from the cities here, far from the poverty and the crime. It is a privilege that has long belonged to the Silver Fangs.
She has an appointment with Huxley, but not until mid-morning; they have time to enjoy breakfast together. Room service brings up fresh fruit, a breadbasket, preserves and jams, eggs and bacon, coffee. Calden reads the newspaper. They talk about many things, but little about Huxley; neither of them want to think about it just yet.
Eventually, inevitably, she has to prepare. She has to go. She dresses and he follows her lead. Steps into trousers, buttons up a shirt.
Asks her if she wants him to accompany her again.
--
Whether she does or doesn't, a car arrives for her at the designated hour. It is the same car as last night. It is the same driver. He waits for her in the lobby, no nameplate in his hands this time. He has a Starbucks coffee in one hand, his phone in the other. Spotting her, the young man rises at once.
"Good morning, Ms. Chase."
Radiant HonorAvery has Belgian waffles with a vanilla-maple syrup, fresh fruit, bacon, eggs, coffee, and juice. She also eats an English muffin filled with jam as she stares out the window some time later, chewing methodically and distractedly.
That isn't to say she's stressed out all morning. She fell asleep next to her beautiful husband last night after a round of lovemaking that was equally rambunctious and tender. She woke up with her body tucked beneath his arm and against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, his scent filling her nostrils with what seems like the distilled essence of warmth, joy, comfort, and most importantly: home. She ate breakfast at the table by the window wearing her robe, sitting across from her beau, looking out at the water and the trees while he read. Her feet were tucked beneath his under the table, not for warmth, but for closeness. For the sake of feeling him covering her.
He noticed her distraction and put his newspaper down. He talked to her. She looked at him, coming back to the room in mind as well as body. He got her to smile, telling her about something he'd read and some funny thought that popped into his head. He talked about his business, an email he got from his cousin back in Colorado about how things are going while he's away. They talked about plans with her family later today, an ice skating outing in early afternoon and then a caroling concert fundraiser thing at the home of some school chum of a relative.
They showered. They dressed. And he asked if she wanted him with her.
Avery took his hands, he in trousers and shirt, she in slacks and blouse, her hair in a bun. Took both of his hands, looking into his eyes, a white gold Tiffany bracelet dangling from her wrist, the ring he gave her glinting heavily on her finger. But without ceremony, drawing him closer, drawing his arms around her waist, she kissed his mouth, lifting her fingertips to his jawline. Told him that yes, she wanted him with her. If he didn't mind terribly.
Which he didn't.
Which brings us here: the two of them, walking out of the elevator to find the driver. She is pulling on sleek leather gloves, her coat collar up against the chill that will only last a few steps and which doesn't bother her, anyway.
"Good morning," she replies, kicking herself for forgetting his name, but never one to dismiss the importance of pleasantries. "Shall we?"
HuxleyShe's glorious, walking across the hotel lobby. Conversations halt; eyes follow. It's not just that she's tall and gorgeous and blonde, though she certainly is all those things. It's something else, something in her bearing, something in her carriage, something in her blood.
She is royalty. Even the humans sense it, though they know not why.
It seems thoroughly appropriate, then, that her driver -- Steven Alport, that was his name -- rises to meet her. That he bows, crisply and smartly, when she deigns to take his car. "Please follow me," he says.
It is a scant few steps out of the doors. The car idles in the roundabout, hazard lights blinking. Alport opens the door for her, because of course he does. The interior is luxurious, beige leather and oak grain. There's plenty of legroom in the back, snacks and bottled water in the center console.
Calden enters from the opposite side. He fills up even the roomy interior considerably, buckling in and shifting a few times to get comfortable. He eyes the snacks, but doesn't indulge. Perhaps he's wary.
"All set?" Alport inquires. Given approval, he puts the car in gear and pulls away from the hotel.
--
The ride is long and smooth. Gradually they leave the wooded shores; move northward and inland, enter the city. By day, it's evident that Hartford has fallen from the grace of its heyday. There's a rot in the center of downtown: buildings run down, streets full of potholes. Still, by day or night, the riverside district is beautiful and new, and so is the building that houses the Sept.
Once again they pull into the underground parking. Once again they enter. Once again the elevator takes them to a hidden penthouse floor, and once again Alport takes his leave of them at the door.
--
On the other side of those doors, Huxley awaits them. His back is turned; his hands rest on the railing. He is watching something: some proceeding in the gathering area below. Hearing Avery enter, he turns; flashes that east coast prep school smile.
"Ah. Just in time. We're in need of your expertise, Miss Chase."
Radiant HonorSliding into the car, pre-warmed for them, Avery leans back, quietly removing her gloves and slipping them into her handbag. She turns her head as Calden joins her on the other side, the traffic side, like a gentleman, as though she is somehow more fragile than he is, more breakable. He is always such a gentleman. She adores that about him. She adores that he treats her like a lady, like a precious thing, yet never like a girl. Never anything less than the wolf that she is.
When he settles, she puts her hand on the center, palm up, reaching for him. And when Alport asks if they're set, she gives him a silent nod.
They drive.
--
At the Sept again, Avery takes out her gloves and puts them back on before they exit the car. Before, in fact, the door is opened for her by either her husband or the driver. She steps out again, standing beside Calden in the elevator but not holding his hand. He can see a change has come over her face; there is a distance in her eyes, an aloofness, though her features are still warm, her smile still easy. She is not cold, despite the winter all around her. She is taking on a certain detachment, but it is not a dispassionate one. She protects her passions, wraps them in her judgement, as though to keep herself from becoming as unsettled and wary as she was yesterday, when this was sprung on her.
The elevator doors open. Her gloves are off again. She walks out immediately, striding into the Sept like she belongs there. Like she is already its Master of Challenges. She is halfway to Huxley when he turns, and she does not smile in return. She raises her eyebrows.
"Do tell."
Huxley"Well." Huxley steps aside, nodding over the railing. "Perhaps it's best if I let them tell you."
Her sightline unimpeded now, Avery can see the two wolves in the gathering area below, both young, both male. One's stripped to the waist while the other wears a muscle-shirt stamped with some local band name. They're both bruised. They're both angry. They circle each other, wary but not particularly restrained. One lunges at the other. They collide in a tangle of shouts, curses, fists and elbows. There's hairpulling. There's a knee toward a groin. It's a dirty, furious brawl. Neither of them pay Avery the least mind.
A few other wolves watch from the half-circle of seating surrounding them. They mostly look bored. One, a narrow-faced woman in her late thirties, early forties, looks up at Avery.
Radiant HonorAvery walks a little closer. She steps to the railing where Huxley was not so long ago and rests one hand on the edge, looking into the posh, modern version of an arena. She tips her head to one side as she observes the two men trying to beat the shit out of each other. She wonders vaguely why they have not shifted. She wonders why the fight is being carried out in such a dishonorable manner.
Huxley wants them to tell her what is going on. Neither of them are paying any attention to anything but each other. It takes a moment, but Avery feels eyes on her, and looks down at the older woman, meeting her gaze momentarily. She tries, before she says anything, to get a read of the room: the men below, the woman looking at her, even Huxley.
[I want to try rolling Perception + Empathy for 'getting a read of the room'. What the mood is, what might be going on with the 4 specific ppl mentioned. Wat diff you tink dat be? Or should I use Primal Urge? Or ebben Etiquette.]
[Perception (Insightful) + Empathy]
Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
[The room is tense. The two in the ring are genuinely angry with each other, genuinely interested in demolishing the other, and ... frustrated. There are 3-4 garou watching, most of whom are curiously bored and unengaged. The female looking at Avery, though, is keenly watchful -- interested both in the contest and in Avery. Huxley is also watching Avery closely.]
Radiant HonorAvery thinks for a moment, watching the men fight, but then she turns to Huxley, a small line between her brows.
"They seem to be engaged in a challenge at the moment, -rhya, and indisposed to being interviewed."
HuxleyHuxley tilts his head. His brow tightens, but his mouth quirks.
"They're not in a challenge. They're just fighting. Are you a Philodox or not? Take charge."
Radiant HonorThere is a part of Avery that wants to walk over to Huxley and give him a tight little slap on the face for the insult. Graceless little bubblehead insisting she ignore the rules of decorum, of politesse in the demesne of another, of submission to the laws governing challenges. There is a part of Avery that wants to rebel entirely. These parts don't win.
She smiles.
"Forgive me, -rhya. As you know, the rules of challenge are vital to keeping order among our kind. And as a Philodox, I hold that order above any personal desire to lead."
And without waiting for a response, she turns and soundly raps her knuckles against the railing. Just before her hand hits the surface, she calls on the gift of her breed, drawing eyes to her that were not previously turned her way. She invites with her spirit; she beckons those in the sept to find her voice sweet and her words pleasing.
"Gentlemen," she calls, her voice ringing clear and compelling through the ampitheater. "Pardon me, could you hold for a moment?"
Radiant Honor[Persuasion! Charisma (Charming) + Subterfuge]
Roll: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1
Even those bored Garou below hark to the sound of her voice. Heads turn, eyes rise. All but the woman's: her eyes were already on Avery.
The fighting pair trade a last few blows. They unwillingly and partially disentangle. One still has the other by the hair; the other has the first by the neck. They look up, bruised and battered and still angry.
There is silence. No one steps forward to bar or aid Avery. Every eye is on her, though.
Radiant HonorShe smiles. Warmly, brightly. And addresses the two men below:
"What on earth are you tussling about?"
HuxleyThere's a brief, angry silence. Nostrils flare, eyes flash. Then an overlapping tide of voices:
"This fucker thinks we -- "
" -- asshole has no idea -- "
" -- lay down and die -- "
" -- sort of shit he's playing -- "
" -- cavemen in the goddamn stone age -- "
" -- can't fight fire with fire."
"Shithead."
"Fuckface."
Radiant HonorThey do not get very far in their verbal fur-gnashing before Avery frowns, her smile fading. She claps her hands sharply, the sound reverberating.
"Be silent," she says, solid and taut. "Your anger does not excuse you from carrying yourselves with honor." Then she observes them a moment, determining -- if there is a difference -- who is greater in rank. Should they both be the same, she simply looks to the one on her left.
"You speak." Glances at the other. "Then you."
HuxleyThey are both Cliaths. The one on the left -- the one in the muscle tee -- smirks as he is picked. The other immediately protests: "Why does he get to -- "
Radiant HonorAnother sharp clap. Avery doesn't even speak this time. She looks at the second, dead in the eyes, the weight of her rank and the purity of her blood coming to bear. She has engaged her ability to lead nonverbally on more than one occasion; she does so now, briefly indicating to him that it is in his very best interest to immediately and entirely become silent.
HuxleyDisgruntled but cowed, the shirtless one falls silent. The smirking one steps forward -- but not before strutting well into his opponent's space, staring him right in the eye as he brushes past. It makes the other Cliath growl audibly.
The one speaking looks at Avery, then. Pops his bruised knuckles and nods up at her.
"Yeah. So. This retard here's afraid of progress. Wants to bring a knife to a gunfight, you know? Pft, not even a knife. Wants to bring his fists to a gunfight. Which, whatever, if that's how he wants to die, fine. But dumbass wants to drag the rest of us with him."
Radiant HonorThe smirking one in the muscle shirt is a moron. Avery listens patiently, gives him a slight nod, and says: "Thank you so much for your informative contribution." The sarcasm is light, and dry, and could even be missed if one isn't paying attention; but it's there. She turns her attention to the shirtless one, raising her eyebrow.
"Perhaps you could shed a little more light on the situation for me?" she asks him, since it's his turn now. "If you're feeling particularly daring, you might even tell me more about this 'gunfight' your comrade speaks of with such passion."
HuxleyGiven leave to speak, the second Cliath swipes blood from his nose and straightens.
"Rhya," he grumbles halfheartedly, but at least it's there. "I'm Red Cliffs, Cliath Fianna Galliard. That's System Shock, Cliath Glass Walker Ahroun. My ... comrade is talking about the war against the Wyrm. And he thinks -- "
Here, a hesitation. A quick dart of the eyes: to System Shock, but also to Huxley. And then back to Avery.
"Maybe we can do this without an audience."
Radiant HonorAvery doesn't move. And is not moved. "You brawl with an audience for a cause you hesitate to speak aloud? No, Red Cliffs. Say what you will."
HuxleyAgain, Red Cliffs looks at Huxley. "Not gonna get in trouble for speaking my mind?"
Huxley takes a step forward, fully into view of the Cliaths below. His response is simply a shrug, laconic. Red Cliffs considers this, flicks his eyes to Avery, then back to Huxley.
"Look, man. I appreciate what you're doing here. I think it's awesome. I think you're moving the war forward in ways no one else is. All I'm saying is, there have to be boundaries. There's gotta be lines in the sand we can't cross, y'know?"
To Avery, then: "That's what we were fighting about. Where the lines are."
Radiant HonorA faint chill runs down Avery's back, right away, when Red Cliffs wonders if he'll be in trouble for speaking his mind. Her stomach feels cold. She does not deign to reveal how much that simple question unsettled her; perhaps Red Cliffs is merely wary, was raised harshly. Perhaps it's a tribal difference, or a bad lesson from a prior sept. But something tells her that's not what it is. Something tells her that the same stifled, clenched feeling she has here is the reason Red Cliffs is hesitant.
Then Red Cliffs speaks directly to Huxley, and confirms her fears.
Avery is silent a moment. Then she turns, not to Huxley, but to the first wolf she had speak. The one who wasn't helpful. She measures her tone carefully; it is passionless. Her opinions do not show.
"What have you suggested, that Red Cliffs is so opposed to?" she wants to know, ever so curious.
Huxley"All I'm saying," System Shock is defensive now, "is let's use the stuff we already have."
His eyes flick toward Huxley too. And back.
"Probably shouldn't say much more," he decides. "You're an outsider."
Radiant HonorAvery, deep down, has a rebellious, wicked streak. It is high now, wanting to show Huxley what he gets for chastising her and telling her to take charge.
"Morning's Herald-rhya invited me to manage this dispute," she says, clear and firm, growing in strength as she goes on. "You will explain the measures you would have us take against the Wyrm, or this spat of yours will end with both of you punished for your insubordination."
Huxley"All right," Huxley breaks in softly, but his tone brooks no argument. "You are clearly every inch the Philodox the talesingers say you are. You need not concern yourself with these petty trifles.
"How would you like to see for yourself what it is they argue over?"
Radiant HonorRage flickers under Avery's skin. Frustration with the two brats in front of her, frustration with being undermined, frustration with Huxley, this strange sept he's building, the jangling nerves it causes in her. She is unsteady and she feels anger rising in her.
It swiftly begins to turn, wanting to careen towards isolation. What is to stop her from just leaving? Calden would take her hand and hold her tightly as they left. He would call the cab and he would not flinch when she pulled her hand away, if she couldn't bear to be touched. They would leave. They could go to the suite and she could hide. She could go to her family's estate and strip herself of her humanity and run into the cold, snowy woods at the edges of the land. She could watch her breath steam in the air and pretend, just for herself, that she's really alone. She's the last living thing. She can be at peace.
Avery closes her eyes for a moment. Her nerves are shaken. Disorder upsets her, makes her want to run away. This is the opposite. She can scarcely breathe, and it at once makes her want to seek that emptiness... or erupt into fury. She exhales, and opens her eyes, turning to Huxley again.
She does not smile this time. It takes effort, but she tries to show him her displeasure without showing him her rage.
Or her madness.
"That may be helpful," she says, her tone clipped.
HuxleyNo one touches her when she closes her eyes. No one reaches out to her. But when her eyes open again, her husband is standing beside her, close and protective, eyes fixed on Huxley.
Who takes her displeasure in stride, remarking on it not at all. He simply nods. Then he steps to the edge of the overlook. "Take care of this," he says, and below, the narrow-faced female nods curtly.
Huxley turns back to Avery, then. "Come," he says. "It's time to let you have a peek at what we've built here. Though, in all good conscience, I must warn you that this will change everything. If you're not ready for that, I'll have Alport drive you back to your hotel, and you can go back to a nice Christmas with the family.
"However," he adds, "if you're of a braver bent, then you should follow me. And I'll show you the future."
Radiant HonorAvery does not say anything to Calden. But she looks at him when her eyes open. She felt him there, a moment, a heartbeat before she saw him. It was almost a hope, rather than a certainty. But then he was there, his scent comforting and familiar, his warmth radiating off of him. She thinks sometimes she's the only one who can feel it. She prefers it thus.
He can see her gratitude; a flicker of it, because any more would cause her to seem vulnerable. She does not squeeze his hand. She just looks at him a moment, and he's there, and she is so happy.
Then her attention is on Morning's Herald again. She has an unsettling premonition when he speaks; she cannot name it, and doesn't dare. But she nods, and says:
"Show me."
Huxley"Good girl," he says, approvingly -- perhaps gratingly. And he turns his back, leads her down that gracefully arcing staircase.
Below, the female watches them. The Cliaths watch them. Red Cliff's throat moves as he swallows. As Huxley leads them into the modular space, Avery can see the female rising to her feet, walking toward the youths. Then a door shuts, seals them from sight.
Huxley takes them to what must be his office: a grand, modern space of sleek surfaces and cool colors. He unsnaps a wireless keyboard from its desk cradle and types a long passcode. There is a deep, mechanical whir. A panel in the wall slides open. Now they're facing a narrow, smoothly curving hallway that takes them into that hidden space Avery had suspected the night before.
The lighting here is cool and dim, emanating from vertical light bars in the walls. Huxley moves forward confidently, swiftly, leading them down the ever-gyring corridor until all at once they face a door. He puts his palm against a scanner. A lock clicks; the door opens.
At first, darkness. Then lights begin to blink on. The room they stand in is circular; the ceilings are very high. Every surface is smooth, devoid of contaminants or decoration. Concentric rings of light snap on one by one by one, finally culminating in a brilliant spotlight that shines directly down on ...
what? Some enormous, synthetic frame, roughly humanoid in shape. Twelve feet tall, bristling with weapons, perhaps at first Avery thinks it's some sort of robot. But no: there's a clear canopy set in the massive torso; there's space within, ample room to fit a man, even a werewolf.
The door shuts behind them. Locks. "Meet the Goliath," Huxley says, approaching the frame. "Modern mechanized armor for Gaia's warriors. Designed for Crinos use, armed with two railguns, melee blades, and a full complement of survival tools. What use is money if you don't use it to fight the war? And what better use of money than the development of cybernetic enhancements that can truly level the field against the Wyrm? They have the numbers, but now we have the firepower. We've already deployed this unit on half a dozen secret missions. Each and every one of them was an unqualified success.
"We're ready to take the next step. It's been in development for years, and we're ready to go live. It's called the Download. This," he gestures at the Goliath, "is just a tool. But the Download fuses Garou and machine. It imbues a wolf with the logic and precision of the Weaver itself. No more mistakes. No more stupidity. No more rash decisions and bad instincts. Just perfect victories, every time."
Huxley stands at the foot of the Goliath now. He turns, faces Avery.
"Of course, there are those who disagree with our means. Red Cliffs, for one. I certainly hope you aren't amongst that number. This Sept is the spearhead of the new war, Avery. We could turn the tide."
Radiant HonorAvery walks alongside Calden behind Huxley. He can feel her rage, that close. Feel it physically, warm against his face. He can see that the desire to see just how soundly she might beat this Adren is as high as the color in her rosy cheeks. Something very wrong is waiting for her, and she resists it. She does not like it.
They enter Huxley's office, and she knows they're going to see what has been hidden in the center of the sept. Held back, she watches Huxley unlock a hidden door, and then she goes with Calden into the hallway, keeping him close beside -- and then behind -- her.
It does not escape her that they are walking, in a sense, a downward spiral.
--
Her brow furrows as she looks upon what they've been brought to. She feels the door shut behind them. She looks at the machine. Armor. Weaponry. She tries to keep her mind open, even though Huxley's name for his creation bothers her. Cybernetics, he says. Secret missions. And she keeps her mind open. She knew similar things existed, though perhaps not on this scale. She does not like it, but she does not yet judge.
Perfect victories, he says. As long as they align the mind and spirit of a werewolf with the Weaver.
Avery blinks once, and turns to Huxley as he faces her. "What of our use of the Gifts of spirits, when fused so with the Weaver?"
HuxleyHuxley looks taken aback. "What of them? What use would we have for that sort of inconsequential voodoo? Avery, I'm disappointed in you; I don't think you even understand the scope of what we're doing here. I'm not just talking about giant metal suits with guns attached. I'm talking about evolution. Fusion. The ability to channel the full might of the Weaver against our enemies. Who knows what we'll be able to do when the Download is complete? We could freeze the blood in their veins. We could crush their minds at a whim.
"This is it. This is victory you see before you. So I need to know: are you in?"
Radiant HonorHe's very far gone. Avery keeps her face impassive as Huxley dismisses the spirit world and insults her again. She tips her head to the side, thoughtful, and then she smiles a little at him.
"Oh, Huxley," she says, without his deeds attached. Without the honorific. But gently. "Of course I'm not. You've completely succumbed to the same madness that took the Weaver. I will help you however I can, but I cannot and will not support this insane, twisted project of yours."
HuxleyOh, Huxley. Of course --
and there is an expectant, undoubting smile unfurling on Huxley's face. Of course she's with him. He cannot imagine any other outcome. Of course he was right to recruit her; of course she is enlightened, this long-ago Ritesmate of his. Of course she will join him, having seen what he promises, what he has built. Of course --
-- not.
The smile on Huxley's face freezes. It gives her long enough to finish her sentence: barely. In the next instant Huxley bursts into his warform, white-furred and strikingly pure. The instant after that he leaps backwards into that gargantuan frame.
"That," he snarls as that armored shell begins to close around him with immediate, frightening efficiency, "is deeply unfortunate."
Huxley[+3 rage over course of scene b/c of GRRs]
Radiant Honor[Rage +3: Frenzy check!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN5 (1, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )
Huxley[inits! +8]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
Radiant HonorIt occurred to her that she should be cunning; she should hold her tongue. She should lie to him to get them all out of this pit of a room. She should tell him pretty lies to save her skin, and her husband's. And perhaps she should have. Perhaps speaking the truth was a mistake.
But that is all she can do. Tell him no. Tell him the truth: she believes he has gone quite mad. Offer to help him.
And there is a moment, when Huxley's face falls and she sees the first flickers of rage enter his eyes, when Avery wishes to her core that she would have lied instead. She can feel Calden at her back, near and dear to her, the most important thing in her world. And she's locked him in a room at the center of a mad sept with an angry Adren and a terrible machine. And herself.
Because just a few seconds later, Avery becomes just as dangerous to her beloved as Huxley. Maybe even moreso.
--
Huxley shifts, and Avery sees red so immediately that she cannot comprehend what is happening to her. There is no moment of oh, no. There's no breath in her to cry out to Calden to run, to hide, something, please, anything. Were her mind not twisting in on itself she would throw herself at Huxley not to harm him but to beg his mercy: please, please let her mate go. She would debase herself, if it would keep him safe. She would do anything.
But she can't do anything. The rage that has been building in her since yesterday, briefly soothed in that pretty hotel suite with her attentive husband, has only grown. She's been trying so hard to keep it tamped down that she's barely even noticed how great it had grown. It isn't until the wave breaks down on her that Avery has any understanding of just how angry she is; just how violent she feels. But the wave breaks, and she understands nothing at all. She is gone.
And then she is in hispo, her fur and her eyes gleaming, her shift happening an eyeblink after Huxley's begins. She lunges. She cannot even hear him anymore.
Radiant Honor[Init! +10]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
Radiant Honor[1. BITE
R1. BITE
R2. BITE]
Huxley[1. Get in machine!
R1. Grab!
R2. SLAM
R3. SLAM]
Radiant Honor[1. NOMF.
Dex + Brawl]
Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
Radiant Honor[Damage!]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Huxley[OW]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Huxley[ST commentary:
Honestly, I thought this scene would play out as a desperate-retreat scenario! And then there's probably be a sort of second-act of rallying resistance forces. I did not foresee Avery frenzying! And now I think the second act will take a very different turn. BUT IT WILL ALSO MAKE SENSE AND I HAVE SUCH IDEEEEERS AND AND AND
:D]
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 7 )
Huxley[grapple: str+suit amplification+brawl]
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 8 ) Re-rolls: 1
Radiant Honor[Resist! Str + Brawl]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Huxley[just a random note: I actually set Huxley's basic combat stats to the same as Erich's, because lazy. *LOL* and the suit is essentially a double-Crinos: +8 str, +2 dex, +6 stam. it also has a lot of other craycray shit, but for now: it's a double Crinos.
the way i envision the "download" is: basically it's possession by a powerful Weaver spirit. at that point, the suit doesn't just grant physical bonuses; it also allows channeling of terrifying stasis powers. i'm putting this down here because i don't actually expect to see the fully-powered suit in action in this SL BECAUSE THEN EVERYONE WOULD DIE. or even if it does appear, it would probably be just for a tiny bit BECAUSE OTHERWISE EVERYONE WILL DIE.]
Radiant Honor[R1: BITE!]
Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 6 )
Radiant Honor[DAMAGE!]
Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
Huxley[soak: stam+suit amplification]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )
Huxley[ngl, before i rolled that soak, i had to come face to face with the realization that DESPITE EVERYTHING AVERY MIGHT WIN. but then i felt like suddenly upping his stamina ever farther would be cheap, so i left it as-is. if she does win, i'd just match the narrow-faced woman the primary antagonist... which i think she'd serve well as anyway.]
Huxley[R2: HULK SMASH! str+amp+brawl]
Dice: 16 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 7 )
Radiant Honor[SOAK]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 7, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )
Huxley[dam: str+amp+6 (succ)]
Dice: 18 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 13 )
Radiant Honor[SOAK]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Radiant Honor[derp. DLP]
HuxleyPerhaps Avery can count on one hand the number of times she's frenzied. She of the level mind; she of the just heart. And this: this is a bad one, rushing up like a sneaker wave, dragging her under the livid red surface before she can think. Before she can blink.
Truthfully, it is a mercy. What comes next is ugly.
--
Give Calden this much: it is not his first Frenzy. He feels it coming, like a storm on the horizon. He doesn't back away. He dives away. There is no cover in this room, so he presses his back against the wall and tries to make himself small. Tries to make himself invisible.
--
Give Avery this much: she doesn't go meekly into the darkness. She never would. She roars, and she lunges, and Huxley, that slippery, twisted bastard: he can't move fast enough. For all his rank and rage and madness, he can't move fast enough. She covers the ground between in a single bound and he's reaching to pull himself up and into that hideous machine when she's
suddenly
on top of him. Her breath is hot, her teeth are sharp. She snaps and she catches hold, she is rage incarnate, she is brutality born. She rips and Huxley howls, blood splatters, she comes away with his arm.
Then the machine closes around him. Die-cut surfaces snap together. Latches engages. A low thrumming whir cycles up to a thin whine.
She doesn't feel the machine grasp her. She is beyond pain, beyond sensation. She bites again -- but this time her teeth clash off metal, scrape shriekingly over that bland surface. She is still trying to bite, still trying to fight, still trying to end this abomination
when Huxley raises her high and brings her down with brutal finality.
--
She doesn't hear her mate scream.
She doesn't hear her bones crunch.
She doesn't feel her body break.
It is a mercy.
Huxleyfrenzy is red unconsciousness.
this is black.
--
she is fitfully aware: a bright light swaying wildly overhead. why is the world topsy-turvy? no; it is her: her head lolling, neck muscles too weak to support it.
maybe her neck is broken.
--
black.
--
indistinct: fogged. is that a face? someone peering at her, severe, frowning. no. two. two sets of eyes looking at her. coldness on the back of her head: floor? metal slab? coroner's table? perhaps she's in a... she can't think of the word. a hospital? no, that's not right.
morgue. that's the word. maybe she's dead. she can't feel her limbs.
well now we're fucked, a voice says. just had to go and do that didn't you. we should just kill her. hope no one tracks her back to us.
scoffing: don't be a fool. it's the opportunity we've been waiting for.
how do you figure?
need someone to beta-test on, don't we?
are we ready for beta?
does it matter? she's expendible.
one set of eyes swims away from her. out of her sight.
no more arguments. take her to the development lab.
as you say.
--
black.
--
tossed like a bundle of potatoes into the dark. hard to mind when she's so numb. she crumples in a corner and the door closes. a time passes unmarked.
--
black.
--
bright light. the smell of iodine and alcohol. sharp burn of antiseptic.
terrible traction on her head, her shoulders. a horrible grinding noise, bone on bone. a hideous pop, but then
suddenly
burning pain and tingling shooting up and down her limbs like static through a suddenly reconnected wire.
that's enough, says the eyes. don't want her too lively. just enough to serve as a vessel for the download. beta test in 48 hours. let's get ready.
--
black.
--
grey.
light focusing.
scratching noise: that's what woke her. no, it's a voice. soft and distant. where's it coming from? low, below her.
"rhya."
someone whispering from afar. someone else here, not just her.
"rhya."
her limbs are weak. she is in her softest, weakest shape. she knows if she shifts her strength will return; she will heal. she is starved, though. no fuel to burn. would be easy to slip back into the black.
"Rhya!"
Incandescent blue, her eyes open. Awareness flares through her; on its tail, rage. She's not dead yet. She's alive, lying on a thin cot in a blank room. Heavy door bolted shut. Air vent near the floor. That's where the voice is coming from.
"Rhya. Can you hear me? It's Red Cliffs. Are you there?"
Radiant HonorHearing, however dimly: we should just kill her makes her want to howl. What little consciousness she has rises up weakly. She has a mad thought: she won't make it to the homelands if she doesn't know where Calden is. If he's okay. Her spirit won't go anywhere if she doesn't know where he is. She'll turn into something dark and floating, empty, looking for him. She knows this suddenly, and she wants to fight, and she can't move. So she can't howl.
And she's fading again before she can try and understand what lab they're talking about. Beta?
--
She hits a surface, hard and unpleasant. She feels her bones roll around in her skin. She wills herself to pass out again. It's easier than fighting.
--
Avery keeps her eyes closed, but the light keeps pressing inward, tinging itself pink. It's the similarity to red that she hates; she fights to open them a little, slits, so at least the searing light is something other than the memory of that frenzy. She hears something, but blocks it out. She breathes in and out and hides her face against her arm, but keeps her eyes opened like that. She wants to shift and she starts to try but her body shrieks at her; it's never hurt to shift, but she just... can't... right now. She feels weak, and ashamed, and her jaw clenches. Her rage flickers.
It hurts. The snap of it hurts. She doesn't care now. She shifts, fueling it with pure anger, and when she does, she starts shredding the cot under her. She thrashes at whatever cloth there is, scrapes her claws on metal. She snarls. She's weak, and she's exhausted, but she does it anyway, and then
she looks down. Hunkered over in crinos, handpaws flat against the ground, she snarls softly down into the vent. She cocks her head at the name, recognizing it.
In answer, she growls. Her handpaws clench, claws scraping and shrieking against the floor.
Huxley"Rhya! You're alive!"
Dimly through the vent she can smell him: one of the two brash Cliaths. But when she growls, he shushes her at once:
"Shh! They'll hear you. Listen, we have to keep it down. Are you okay?"
Radiant HonorHe shushes her; she smacks her handpaw angrily on the vent in retaliation. But she doesn't growl again. She glares, her body so hot, burning so wildly, that her breath steams regardless of the temperature of the air around her.
He wants to know if she's okay.
"Mate," she snarls at him.
Huxley"Shit!" She hears a distant scrabbling: Cliath gets farther away, retreats off somewhere.
Comes back in a little while. "That was close." He's still whispering. "They've got that little turd System Shock guarding the development lab, but he's off wanking or something. Didn't hear you. I'll help you get out, if you promise to take me with you. But you've got to keep it down, okay?"
Radiant HonorAvery doesn't smack anything again, but she wants to. Her rage is so close to the surface in this form; she wants to grab hold of it, burn herself out, tear everything down. Her claws flex on the vent. She exhales again.
"Mate," she insists, harsher, but perhaps even a touch quieter. She's trying.
Huxley"I don't know where he is. He's probably still in the Sept. They don't have any use for him. But they do have a use for us, and we have to worry about that right now, okay? We have to get out.
"These walls aren't that thick. We could probably break them in warform. But that'll set off the alarms and then Huxley will come after us in that Godzilla suit of his. So we need a getaway plan."
Radiant HonorShe almost keens. She moves her head away so she isn't visible, even if he can't see her. She hides for a moment, pressing her muzzle to her arm, wanting to whine. Wanting, really, just to know where Calden is. If he was harmed. If he knows what's happened to her. She understands why so many wolves refuse to give their hearts like this, why so many try to view mates as breeding stock and little else. She understands why some of them believe that love makes them weak. She does not believe that. But she understands: there is a powerful drive in her, right now, to collapse entirely. To erupt into emotion, to succumb to love and ignore everything else.
But this is no different from the fight she engages in every day against her madness, or the fight against loneliness or the need for loneliness. All emotions can make one weak. No emotions can make one weaker. Avery would explain this to Huxley, if he were not too far gone to listen: it is about balance. Victory -- and in fact, life itself -- would be far easier without balance. But it would all be hollow.
Her head turns back around. She chuffs an acknowledgement to Red Cliffs, little more than a nonverbal signal that she hears, she understands. She begins to look around: how the room is constructed, where these alarms might be. She also, reluctantly, shifts down to glabro. She begins to speak, her voice strangely accented due to her sharpened teeth.
"Where are we? Exactly."
HuxleyThe room is small; eight by ten, a goddamn jail cell. Surfaces are smooth. There's a sink, a toilet, a cot. Fluorescent lights overhead. Little else. The walls are thick; not unbreakable, but nothing to sneeze at. From the way Red Cliffs' voice echoes, there's at least a foot of space between them. The door, as heavy as it looks, is probably the weakest point in the room. One good hit could blow it off its hinges.
"We're one floor down from the main floor of the Sept. The place where we talked, that's almost right on top of us. Huxley took you to see the Goliath, right? The godzilla suit? That room connects the two floors. This is all R&D space down here. And holding cells, for their test subjects. That's where we're at. There are four of them. You're in B and I'm in C. I don't smell anyone in D. You can check the other vent, see if your mate's there, but I don't think he is. Huxley needs Garou subjects.
"He's working on a way to ... well, I guess you can call it possession. He's trying to let Weaver spirits possess Garou through the suit. He's got the suit built, and he's got the spiders on board. He just needs someone to test drive, and only a wolf can do it."
Radiant Honor[perception + investigation: tripwires?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1
Huxley[looks like there are tripwires around the door, and in that entire wall. probably none between the cells. none in the floor and ceiling either, but that's solid concrete and load-bearing steel cabling; it'd be extremely hard to break through even for a Garou.]
Radiant HonorAvery just grunts at Red Cliffs when he mentions Weaver possession; she knows. But she still wants to check the other vent. Calden probably isn't there. But she gets up immediately, sniffing for it.
HuxleyFaint, stale smell of old sweat in the other room.
No Calden.
Radiant HonorSo she comes back down. No Calden. She sniffs around, looks around, hunting the room. And then she sees wires. She thinks for a bit, and then goes back to the vent to talk to Red Cliffs.
"Just you and I," she says. Thinks another moment. "What is your auspice, Red Cliffs?"
Huxley"Galliard," he replies. "Cliath Fianna Galliard. Why? You got an idea?"
Radiant Honor"Almost," she says. She's just trying to think of what she's working with.
"We should get in the same cell," she says. "I can try to jam the alarm wires and we can break the door together."
Huxley"Okay," he says uncertainly. "But they might hear us busting through the wall even if the alarms don't go.
"I overheard them saying they were going to tune up the Goliath later today though. That usually gets most of them in that one room together, and it gets pretty noisy. We can wait for that if you want. Or just risk it."
Radiant Honor"We wait," she says, almost instantly. "I need to rest more anyway. Do they feed us?"
Huxley"They give me some bread once in a while. Don't think they've been feeding you. You've been out cold for a while. A day or two at least, hard to keep track. Don't think you should let on that you're awake either.
"I can try to push some food through the vent. Or I can save it for when we get through the wall."
Radiant Honor"Give me what food you can," she says. She is desperate. "In the meantime, I play possum. When we hear them work on the machine, you break into my cell while I jam the alarm wires. Then we break through the door together."
Huxley"Okay. Hold on."
Scuffling through the vent. Then audible, animal breathing as the Cliath shifts. Very quietly, very slowly, he pries at the vents on his end: enough that Avery can see a glimmer of light from his cell.
When it's large enough, he pushes a hunk of bread through, and then another. Prods them as far as he can in the space between their rooms. Avery will have to do the rest.
"That's all I have," he says. "I'm going to go stand watch. Sleep if you need to. I'll wake you up when I hear them start."
Radiant HonorAvery exhales when she sees the bread, grabbing at it. It isn't the french loaf her chef makes, or the fluffy biscuits that Calden's father pretends he hates making, but she's starved. She takes the bread and briefly touches her fingers to Red Cliffs' before he retreats. She doesn't eat before she tells him: "Thank you. For everything."
She shoves bread in her mouth and scarfs it down, going back to the cot she tried to rip apart. She curls up in glabro, her back to the door, hoping that anyone who gives a cursory glance inside will not realize she isn't in homid. She closes her eyes.
Despite everything, it is not difficult to go to sleep.
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