2017.02.16:Seaside Experimentation
| Seaside Experimentation | |
|---|---|
| Unlikely friends destroy a facility that should not be. | |
| IC Date | 2/16/2017 |
| IC Time | Daytime |
| Players | Valentin (ST), Phillipe, Fenfang |
| Location | Outside the city |
| Prp/Tp | Seaside Experimentation |
| Spheres | Fera |
Log
The day is starting to wear on, but that is the time when the coast is most alive. Birds come to roost in little holes on the cliffside, rabbits dart about in the cover of falling shadows, crickets begin their music from hidden spots in the shrubbery. And overhead circle a large, black raven, staring down at the cliffs below with a tilted head.
Out in the brush, where the rabbits dart and the sun casts long shadows, a red fox trots toward the cliffs. Bushy tail swishing this way and that as the vixen walks, her head is held high even as she sniffs daintily at the air. Pad-pad pad-pad pad-pad weaving she goes with soft little paws through the brambles. But once she reaches the cliffside, she peeking over with ears swivelled up and forward. Her nose twitches, her whiskers follow suit. Seems she's looking for something that isn't rabbits.
This is the kind of terrain in which Haroun is actually, actively /comfortable/. Out here, feline build and instinct can navigate narrow ledges and precise leaps without hesitation - out here, he can be simply himself, with no human constraints placed upon his thoughts, attitudes and actions. It's... perhaps the most peaceful he's been since moving to Prospect and it shows in the borderline playful nature of his leaps and climbs and slides. He's getting close to where he needs to be, of that much he is certain, but when he clambers high enough along the ridgeline to poke his head up over the top, he did not expect to come nose to nose with fox face. Welp. That's a first.
OhboypredatorthatisSOMUCHbiggerthanher. The little fox yips and takes three quick steps backward. Her nose twitches, shaking her whiskers, and then she gives a delicate little vulpine sneeze. <<Excuse you.>> She trills, though it's entirely in Kitsune-go and therefore entirely for her own edification. But then she catches up to her situation and her head tilts slowly. And then she settles down right where she stands, sitting with a thwump. Well, that's not something you see every day. Since when did America have leopards?
It's a fair question - especially when the leopard in question looks... not like normal leopards. "Strawberry" is not at all the word Haroun would have chosen to describe his pelt, but the term is not inaccurate. The tiny sneeze earns a very feline laugh - that silent kind which sometimes looks to non-cats more like a threat than a display of joviality. The head disappears for a moment as leopard haunches condense down like pressed springs, only to reappear and sail up and over tinyfox to land with a spray of dusty earth and a shake of his hide. That's not quite enough to dislodge the irritating sand that's gotten against skin where the cliffside rubbed bits of his fur the wrong way, so there's a momentary pause for bathtime and then a return to sit next to the fox (or next to the place the fox had been at least, never know when small critters decide it's time to get out of dodge), looking out over the area in a very organized fashion. It's almost like he's expecting someone. Silly cat.
The tiny fox does, in fact, not move. Instead, she just shakes her fur as dusty earth flies into the air. It's the best she's got right now. So when the leopard sits down beside her, there is a look over to him that might be as close to raising a brow as a fox has ever been. Her tail swishes, and then taps him right on the hip. Might be a test.
Overheard, the raven spots what it had been looking for. It dives, suddenly, madly. Madly, enough, in fact that for a split second there is /serious/ reason to worry about this bird as it plummets toward the earth. It is not, however, delicate bird bones that hit the ground. No, instead, a man... Ehhh... His age is hard to place, with smiling dark eyes and a mess of blonde hair, rolls over the ground until he can come to sit cross legged before the fox and the leopard. "About time you showed up." He says, in a distinctly Irish accent.
Leopards are funny creatures, especially when they're leopards with kuasha who drill into their head that there is more to the world than anyone actually knows. So when the fox swishes her tail to tap him, Haroun flicks his tail to tap her right back - though his is probably more across most of her back and curling into fur before sliding back and away. It's a pleasant enough little game, but it's hard to focus on such little pleasures when there's a dive-bombing bi-ah god not a birb. A Corax. Great. It figures Tamar would befriend one of these chatterboxes. Heaving the heavy feline sigh of the much-put-upon, he curls his tail around his body to rest over his forepaws and gives the blonde man a steady, dry stare.
The Fox yips laughter at the return of her game. Oh good, either she'd found the world's most indulgent wild animal, or this was exactly what she expected. Then, though, this raven is plummeting toward the earth and she just manages to stand up when... Oh. Oh. Vulpine eyes widen as she retakes her seat. She looks between the Corax and the leopard, the leopard and the Corax, as though expecting something to become obvious. When nothing does, she instead sits back down and does her best impression of that feline stare Haroun is giving. It... Might be a little comical.
The Corax sighs right on back. "Don't look at me like that." He says, waving a hand at the both of them. "I'm just the messenger. Some whackjob's opened a... Well... I don't even know what to call it. See for yourselves. Anyway, it's a Wyrmy nightmare down there... Just around the bend, built into a seaside cave, hope you don't mind getting wet. Just... Uh... Well..." He looks between the two of them. "I'm sure each of you know who told you to be here. They think it's important, yeah? Maybe you oughta as well." And this time the accent trends southward into Wales.
Great, a Corax who can't hold onto one accent. Haroun can feel his teeth grinding together already and he doesn't even /have/ molars in this form. He does, however, play along enough to shift - though it's only the knowledge that Tamar is somehow involved that gets him that far. When it's the man standing there instead of the leopard - both hands shoved in his pants pockets and staring down at the seated Corax from his not insignificant Homid height - his voice is rough, but not /entirely/ unkind. "You'll have to forgive me. The last few of your kind I've had dealings with seemed more interested in the sound of their own voice than in being actually productive. What is the mission objective?" Yeah, he's a Daylight cat. Sometimes that involves a degree of tunnel vision - though thankfully not to the extent of the Ahroun.
The Fox watches the going on and then heaves a great, vulpine sigh. She stands, she stretches, and where once there was a fox, there is now a short woman of Chinese descent. Long black hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she's dressed for the outdoors. And anyone who follows modern music... Probably knows who she is. But nevermind that right now. She sits back on her heels and stares at the Corax, tilting her head, but not speaking.
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes nothing more than an average human male.
Fenfang becomes, once more, a lovely woman.
"Ah, that is much more convenient." The Corax answers, this time distinctly English, "I'm Roy, it's a pleasure." But then he gives Phillipe a look that one might give someone else when they've been mistaken for an employee of the business they're trying to shop in. "That's a fine question. I found a thing, I told some people about a thing. Some people were interested in the thing and told me to wait here to tell other people about a thing. What it is you need to do with the thing is up to you."
All this talk about 'a thing' might well turn some folks upside down, inside out and sideways, but honestly it's close enough to Tamar's enigmatic speech patterns that Haroun finds it almost... comforting. Not that he's going to admit that to the birb, but still. It means he is at least comfortable. "Is the 'Wyrmy nightmare' the thing or is there something specific inside it we're looking for?"
Fenfang is content to sit there and let the bird and the cat do the talking. If she has something to say, certainly she'll say it, but this is a lot easier than that option. She does, however, crane her neck to look off to the side the Corax indicated, as though she might see something from her. Of course, she won't.
"Well," The Corax begins and this time he sounds French... It's like there's a logic to this, "The Wyrmy mess is the whole operation, and the whole operation is the thing, so yes. Yes, it is the thing. I don't have all the details. I just know it stinks, and that there are guards who don't want to let anyone in, not even a bird. And that there are a couple of banes floating around, though I haven't seen them in a couple of days."
Irish, Welsh, English, French. Either this Corax is going north to south or forward along a timeline. It's an intriguing pattern in either case, though Haroun can't help but find himself curious to see whether he doubles back to English (timeline), moves on to an Algerian one (south, but that might as well stay French after colonialism) or something else entirely. "I doubt the guards will have much say." He cracks his neck to the left and right, rolling his shoulders before glancing down at the fox-woman. "I regret that this is not the time to enjoy a proper introduction, madame, but if you are not a strong swimmer, I would suggest holding to my back. The sabre-cats may not always like to swim, but they can do so at remarkable speed." Haroun's own accent is its usual conglomeration of French, Lebanese and Haitian Creole. So, in other words, a fucking mess.
"Introduction are boring anyway." Fenfang says with a little laugh. Her voice is like music in and of itself, the sort of thing that isn't quite within the realms of normal. "Much more interesting to learn someone by seeing them doing something important." She nods a little bit, and then gives him a shining smile. "Would you you rather have a fox or a woman on your back, friend?"
Now, see, that's where this gets weird. When Roy opens his mouth again, he sounds like he's from Boston. What in the world... He smiles, and nods. "Ah, now that's the spirit." He says, and stands... "I hope you don't mind a spectator." And then he's up into the air as a deeply dark bird once more.
Well that's certainly a... jump. Alright then. Shaking his head at the oddities of Corax, Rou turns his attention to his companion with a small smile. "Whichever form allows you to comfortably hold your breath the longest would be ideal. Beyond that I have none." And since he has the feeling they're going to get a spectator whether they like one or not, he takes a few steps back from the vixen and releases his hold on this small, confining form. Chatro may not be his birth form, but it is unquestionably his favorite.
With an indrawn breath, Phillipe becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-chatro leopard.
Fog's Own Child becomes a red fox about the size of a wolf.
Fenfang nods and with the sound of stretching muscle and rearranging bone, she becomes a fox again. Though a much, much larger fox. Which, mind, just means about the size of a wolf. Nothing compared to a Chatro Bastet. She hops up onto his back, wrapping her front legs around his neck, and her tail swishing wildly back and forth. It's time for adventure, and this Fox, at least, is excited.
Fox-y excitement is, perhaps, contagious. Or maybe it's just been long enough since Haroun has felt this level of freedom - this lack of enclosure - that he's a little euphoric from it. In either case, he is remarkably still only long enough to feel that his passenger is stable. After that, it's a series of oddly-dainty leaps and feline-esque footwork to get them to sea-level. And if any of it gets real hairy, there's a Gift for that. Just... well, this way's more fun.
Down here at sea level... At low tide... Yes, there is a cave down here. It's wet and glistening, covered in algae. Waves rush into the mouth of the cave, but as of right now, swimming isn't necessary, just some wading. If it were high tide, however...
Secure on Haroun's back, Fog's Own Child is quite pleased with all this ruckus. There are things to learn and see and do. And she's gone and made a cat friend! Or... Something. Probably getting ahead of herself there. She does that sometimes. As the cave comes into view, she points with her nose and makes quiet yipping noises that... Probably mean something to her, anyway.
{{tab}Well that's significantly less trouble than expected. Getting back out, though... well, so long as they're not in here for hours everything should be fine, right? Perhaps paradoxically, the wading seems to be more of a problem for the great cat than the possibility of swimming had been. The yips may not be words, but he can follow the directionality easy enough. And rather than sucking it up and wading through, the silly direcat backs up a few steps, crouches and then darts forward to see if he can't make at least the bulk of this wading business disappear in a single leap.
Fog's Own Child holds on as her feline mount settles back to prepare for his leap. But she doesn't try dissuading him. No. Forward. Always forward. Forward unto dawn. She. Is. Ready. And then they're flying through the air and... Honestly, it is a little like flying.
The other side of the water is... Well, it's a cave alright. Buuuut... Most caves don't have red light glowing around the bend.
Success! This is a leap made easily, the great cat soaring through open air with the kind of euphoria he only ever really gets from movement - from action. Landing on the other side is a graceful affair, though any observers might be a little confused to see daintiness from such a large animal. He pauses long enough to allow fox friend to dismount if she likes, but even if she stays aboard, he's padding forward on quiet kitty-paws, though he pauses at the sight of that red light. First he lifts his head, pulling in air over his nose and under his hard palate for padaa. After that, he is still - listening, since even a cat's enhanced sight does him little good around corners.
Fog's Own Child does, in fact, climb down off of her new cat friend's back. And with the fluidity of someone returning to their breed form, she slips back into Homid. She's light on her feet even in this form, though, and stays near. That light has caught her attention, but she's not moving forward just yet. She does, after all, know what it means when cats open their mouths like that. Mind, that's mostly from observing her house cat, but still.
Fenfang becomes, once more, a lovely woman.
Haroun may currently be a cat the size of a horse, but there is still a keen and predatory intelligence behind his eyes. He processes the sensory information until everything fits into a rough picture inside his head. That's when he turns to the now-Homid werefox, examines her new form and lifts one paw to point at her, then lowers it to scratch two light lines in a bit of wet sand over the stone, then lifts it again to point in towards the cave, wrinkling his nose in a very persnickety cat fashion. That's when he lowers his body a little closer to the ground and slinks forward along the wall of the cave toward that red light - as low and quiet as he can. With luck, he can creep close enough to look around the corner before either of these smelly humans are any wiser.
With a nod at the scratched message, Fenfang follows closely behind her cat friend, crouched and looking around as they move forward. She is bright eyed and curious still, but it does seem the small fox knows how to be quiet when she needs to. Once they've made it to the corner, she very, very quietly whispers into Haroun's ear, trusting in the crash of the echoing waves to mask her words. "Humans, I can handle." She says with a smirk and a bit of cheek in her tone.
There are, in fact, two humans. Standing by... A heavy, metal door. That is out of place. Where the cave should continue on, there is just an industral door, locked and secured with a keycard entry. That's different.
Haroun pauses at that corner, catching sight of the humans and then considering the words breathed against his ear. There's a low rumbling, then - too low for human ears to hear but easy enough for her to feel if she's that close. He's not super happy about not just simply making them dead, but he will wait here and let her try her way first. There is a single nod and he crouches lower, but he is watching that door and those humans, ready to spring into action if things go south.
At that agreement, Fenfang smiles and steps forward. Yes, armed guards. No, she doesn't care. She just smiles, popping a hip and giving a little wave of her fingers. "Evening, gentlemen." She says, "How about one of you gives me your keycard, hm?" It's so sweet. So sickeningly, terribly sweet. Like some sort of over the top doll. Frankly, it'll probably make her gag later. For now, it's useful.
"Hey lady, look... No one's supposed to be down here." Begins one of the guards, already reaching for this weapon. The other, however, immediately reaches out to stop him. "Eh, we can't pull a gun on her. Don't you know who that is?" Begins the other... And that is... A disturbing amount of reverence in his voice. No one should be that emphatic about anyone they've never actually met in their lives. So he turns back to her, reaching into his pocket for his keycard, offering it out to her perhaps just in the hopes that it will mean touching her hand for a moment. Which is...
Precisely when his friend determines there is something fishy going on here. "Jeff, don't be stupid." He says, shaking his head, "I'll shoot you both if you don't get away from her." Not that he's reached for his weapon again. Yet.
Sickeningly sweet? Maybe. But there's something sharp and feral in the great cat that enjoys this more than any ethical person should. Cats are no stranger to the boons of sensuality, after all. The reverence of the first voice brings out silent feline laughter, but the threat from the second has him extending his claws and sharpening them slowly along the stone surface below.
"Now, now, no reason to be so upset." Fenfang says, shaking her head and reaching out to take the keycard. Her hand does, in fact, just briefly sweep over the guard's. It's her silent gratitude, and a smile just for him. But then her eyes fix on his fellow. "I'm just here to say hello, I swear." She says, stepping closer with an exaggerated swing of her hip that, were she in some other form, surely would have been a swish of a long, fluffy tail.
The trepidatious guard had just been about to reach for his weapon. But then... Well... He's staring at Fenfang's hips, let's all just be honest here. "Well... I suppose..." He says, and then he's got... A really problem on his hands. This moral dilemma is eating at him, and he steps away from the door, taking his co-worker by the arm and starting to drag him away. Much to his displeasure. But not-Jeff seems to be the stronger of the two and is willing to drag him off he needs to. Guess what? He needs to. In all of that struggle, though, luckily neither of them are in a position to notice a certain sneaky leopard around the corner as they pass.
The footsteps drawing closer have Haroun readying himself for what seems like inevitable security-guard death, but when they /walk right past him/ he's left just a little bit dumbfounded. Sure, it's not exactly the best lighting in here and sure, he's crouched about as low as he can go, but this isn't the savannah. There are no tall grasses here to hide in, nor is he the smaller leopard that could maybe hide in the shadow cast by the rocks on the corner... These guys are just a hot mess and at that point they're not even worthy prey. Sadness. Still, he's quite content to jog forward on big, quiet kitty paws once they're past, bumping his massive nose very gently against the fox's shoulder in silent approval before ambling on up toward this massive metal door of doom.
Fenfang shoots a smile over her shoulder to Haroun and lifts the keycard victoriously between two manicured fingers. "We're in." She says with a self satisfied tone. And then she's moving to the door as well. Giving a three count with mouthing and nods of her head, she inserts the card and pressed the handle, but lets the much more imposing figure of the huge cat lead the way.
As the door opens, bright white lights flicker into light with the pop hiss sound of industrial fluorescents. Ahead lies a hallway, sterile and white. White tile floor, white painted walls, steel vents for air. Three doors lead off the hall. One on either side, these not requiring a keycard, but numberpad codes. And a heavier door at the end that seems to require a thumbprint.
The sudden rush of bright lights send Haroun down and backward into a defensive feline crouch, eyes shut and fangs bared in a sharp hiss at the sudden, painful change. It takes him a minute to adjust and even then, the shake of his pelt is decidedly grumpier than he was a moment ago. He ambles in, stopping at the first door and just staring at it for a while. The fact that nothing happens is disturbing - evidenced by the low, unhappy cat noises coming from his throat, but there are two more doors. He'll head over to the second keypad one next.
Bright light is no friend of Fenfang's either, and she gives a low groan in the back of her throat at the sudden change. It's not nearly so bad as being a feline in this situation, but even still. She follows Haroun in, looking around. Approaching the door Haroun first stopped at, she stares at the number pad for a minute and then huffs. She's no good with tech. What she is good at, though, is science. So she inspects the keys of the numberpad to see if any of them show more wear than the others.
Stymied a second time by a Gift that's felt like breathing since he acquired it, Haroun is increasingly uncomfortable with this place. So before he tries anything on that final door - thumbprint scanners are something he only knows about because of a Bond movie playing on FX last weekend - he doubles back to see if the fox is having any better luck.
Staring at this numberpad isn't getting her anywhere. So she sniffs at it. Turning to the other door, she's just looking around at this point. Which is when she spots something on the back of the keycard in her hand. Lifting it she smiles wide. So when Haroun makes his way back over, she holding out the keycard for him to see. Four numbers. "I don't know which it goes to, though." She says, still whispering just in case.
That keycard is regarded for a moment like it may have personally insulted him. It's not the most enjoyable route to take - seriously, those guards need a bath - but Haroun does actually recognize that there are more important things at stake than his delicate hygiene sensibilities so he leans forward to huff a nose-full of the guard's scent from the card, then steps back and lifts his muzzle again to draw air over taste and scent receptors both. Guess the stink has uses after all, because there's a pretty strong trail leading to the right-hand door. So, ever practical, that's the one he heads for.
At that, Fenfang does a little hop of excitement. Then, though, she's following along to the right door. And once more, it's pause, wait. And then enters the first three numbers, does a three count, and enters the fourth. Again, giant cat friend is a much better choice for going first than she is, too. Provided the door opens, that is.
Oh, the door opens. Everyone involved might wish that it hadn't, however. Because inside this room are a half dozen cages of different sizes. One holds an underfed wolf, another a set of ravens who have started pulling out feathers from stress, another two foxes who still seem to be in good shape, one isn't a cage at all but rather a tank much too small for the young shark it holds, one sits empty, and one holds a black panther who, while she seems to be in decent enough health thus far, is quite obviously in heat.
Additionally, there are two more guards in this room, and they look both shocked and displeased as they reach for weapons.
Shocked and displeased they may be, but the wash of fear, sickness and heat pheromones from this room inspires anger in Haroun like he has not felt in a good long while. There is no clinical, rational thought here, there is only a killer out for blood and when he leaps for the nearest guard there is no mercy in him. The bite is instinctive, clamping down with a ferocity mankind has not known in far too long. Elongated sabre fangs pierce flesh first, though others soon follow and the hot blood bursting on his tongue is a pretty good indicator of how ugly this collarbone bite really is, despite the shock of hitting the floor over his prey.
The blood from the wounds dealt by Haroun's fangs is black and viscous, and smells of the Wyrm even without a Gift.
When Haroun lunges, Fenfang does the best thing she can think of... Which is to be in basically any form at all except for homid. She even makes it into Juko, that's a good start. She growls, and when she's this big it's actually a pretty scary noise. Not as scary as HORSE SIZED CAT, though. Though the smell of that blood makes her crouch and look as though the little fox actually has a mind to attack.
These guards were... Uh... Not ready for BIG SCARY CAT to come in the room. Not at all. That was NOT in the job description. One of them... Well... He flies into a berserk panic. He's about to throw himself onto Haroun in the first place when the great cat gets there first. And he throws a solid punch into giant feline shoulder but... Well, there's just nothing for it. He's screaming in the next moment, blood going everywhere.
The other, he keeps his head a little better. But that doesn't mean he's just going to accept this. No, with an disturbing calm he reaches for his gun, aims and fires. But his hands are shaking no matter what he does and he misses, the bullet lodging itself into a file cabinet in the room.
Maybe he should be paying more attention to the wolf sized fox bearing down on him. But that is one terrifying beast over there. So there is another round fired and... This one should have hit home. It really should have. But the dense fur around Haroun's neck and shoulders manages to just be too much for this ill fated bullet to manage.
Meanwhile, man on the ground? Well... He gives it a valiant effort, he really does. But all he manages to do this time is twist his wrist in a funny way.
You know, there are fists flying at his sides, but this blood is nasty and it's enough to have Haroun pulling back almost immediately with a grunt-rumble of disgust. But awful as it is, that black blood tells him that this is a job that cannot be abandoned. He bites down again and this time locks down, ignoring the pebble someone apparently flicked at his mane.
Yes, he really should be paying more attention to the wolf sized fox coming for his throat. Fog's Own Child leaps from the ground and goes for ripping and tearing as much with her teeth as she possibly can. And, it turns out, today what she can rip and tear is a whole, awful lot. There is a pile of bloody, black mess on the other side of the room. But now there is one quickly accumulating here too. She doesn't have the kind of weight to throw around that her cat friend does, but she's not afraid to leap and bite again.
In fact, he should be paying so much more attention, that she is able to leap AGAIN, immediately. And this time, there is no coming back from it. Man and Fox collapse onto the floor, and she holds onto his throat only long enough for him to stop twitching. And then she's hopping off of the nasty dead body and nosing about it to find and find the keys to these cages.
There are some towels in a corner, Rou. You might try licking those.
Deadest Man does, in fact, have a ring of cage keys.
With a mushy paste of black nasty underneath him, Haroun is finally free to take a moment and find /actually anything else in the room/ that he can lick to get rid of this godawful taste in his mouth. Oh thank Nala, a stack of towels. He is /absolutely/ going to lick those and then he's going to head on over to this female in heat, making gentle grunting noises that are the rough leopard equivalent of <<Hello.>> It's the Trial By Chatro. If she pees herself and tries to GTFO, she is Not A Kin.
The female leopard is... Uneasy. But this place smells of the Wyrm, it's Weaver-y as hell, it's a tiny, metal cage, there are a bizarre mixture of other unhappy animals in here... The lights are bright, there was screaming, people are dead and they smell awful and Haroun. Is. Huge. Good god, she's never seen another leopard that big in her life. So the best she's got for this... Frankly... Is to jut get low to the ground and make a lot of unhappy leopard noises. <<Bright. Awful.>> It's the closest it can be translated, <<Humans. Out. Out out out out out out out.>>
The foxes, on the other hand... While they had cowered in the corner while the fighting had happening, must be new additions to this place. Because they're sticking their noses through the bars and geckering. <<Hello! Hello hello hello. Who are you? Can you get open this? Did you see the rabbit?>>
Fog's Own Child looks up from her search as she's addressed. And when she does, it's with a jingling set of keys between her teeth. So when the foxes ask if she can open this... Well... Frankly, the terrain up top isn't bad fox land, actually. So... <<Yes, I can. Give me a minute.>> She answers with body posture and swishing tail, <<And no, I must have missed the rabbit.>>
When the leopard gets low to the ground but actually manages to answer in a way that's relatively calm, given the circumstances, Haroun also drops to his belly just outside her cage, chest flexing as little huffing grunts and low rumbling purrs attempt to reassure and soothe. << I know. I know and I am sorry. >> There's even a plaintive groaning sound as he bumps his head against the bars like he's nuzzling against her shoulder - or would be if he could get his fat head in there. <<It isn't safe outside. I will dim the lights and kill the hunters. Then I will come back for you. Do not fear.>>
The leopard answers those huffing sounds with a low rumble of her own. It's the sort of sound that means one thing. Displeased cat. The way her tail twitches though, and the position of her ears mean an additional thing. <<Fine.>> She will be patient. For now.
<<Oh. Okay. Did you see the man with spikes on his skin?>> The foxes answer with bouncing enthusiasm. <<Is he gone yet? Maybe we should stay here until he's gone. Yes. Yes that.>> They are, after all, den animals.
<<Man with spikes on his skin? No.>> Fog's Own Child says, <<Okay, you stay here. I'll go make sure he's gone.>> And then she's trotting away to go investigate Haroun's going on. Chuffing noises are all gibberish to her, so she just waits a few steps off, flicking her tail back and forth. She's not of a mind to go back to Homid in here with these frightened animals.
<<Thank you.>> It's in the cant to his head and the flicking of his tail, this gratitude, offered before he stands and steps over the fox toward the room's door. He has no inclination to be in Homid in here - or for long at all right now - but he does drop as far as Crinos in the doorway to flip light switches off, then makes to shift back to Chatro once that's done.
The leopard answers those huffing sounds with a low rumble of her own. It's the sort of sound that means one thing. Displeased cat. The way her tail twitches though, and the position of her ears mean an additional thing. <<Fine.>> She will be patient. For now. <<Oh. Okay. Did you see the man with spikes on his skin?>> The foxes answer with bouncing enthusiasm. <<Is he gone yet? Maybe we should stay here until he's gone. Yes. Yes that.>> They are, after all, den animals.
<<Man with spikes on his skin? No.>> Fog's Own Child says, <<Okay, you stay here. I'll go make sure he's gone.>> And then she's trotting away to go investigate Haroun's going on. Chuffing noises are all gibberish to her, so she just waits a few steps off, flicking her tail back and forth. She's not of a mind to go back to Homid in here with these frightened animals.
<<Thank you.>> It's in the cant to his head and the flicking of his tail, this gratitude, offered before he stands and steps /over/ the fox toward the room's door. He has no inclination to be in Homid in here - or for long at all right now - but he does drop as far as Crinos in the doorway to flip light switches off, then makes to shift back to Chatro once that's done.
The lights dim, though the room doesn't go dark. It's never fully dark in any part of this place. Out in the hall, everything is much the same. Still one door with a number pad. Still another with a fingerprint reader.
Following Haroun out of the door, she pauses and then twitches her nose. In the next moment she goes back to her homid form. And then she's staring at the other door. "Maaaaybe we should have looked around..." She says quietly, glancing back at the door they've just come out of. "'Cause I have no idea how to get that one open."
There is a very large strawberry-spotted cat who plonks himself down on his haunches in the hallway staring at this damn keypad door. He'll glare - I mean /stare/ at it for a while and if that fails... well, he's reasonably sure there's enough of a hand left on one of the goons to drag over to the thumbprint scanner.
The door, in fact, doesn't open. Poor goons inside? Yeah, they have hands left. That's something, at least.
Fenfang turns back to the door they just exited, re-enters the code, and enters. She'd wanted to avoid homid in here, but you know... Needs must. So while Haroun is off in search of hands, she's going to start looking through files.
This is really getting out of hand. There are certain things that should be absolutely inalienable and the spirit-taught Gifts are one of them. He hasn't broken any bans or pissed anyone off lately, so this complete lack of result from his efforts is really starting to become worrisome. He's not happy about his shift either, but sometimes you just gotta have opposable thumbs. That unhappiness is showcased in the (perhaps excessive) force used to rip off one of those hands by whatever joint gives way first. He's got his money on the elbow, but if there's enough damage to the shoulder, that'll do.
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-crinos leopard-man. Partial Delirium is in effect. (See +rules Delirium)
Oh yeah, that shoulder is /wrecked./ So off comes the whole arm. Gross.
Fenfang crinkles her nose at the papers she finds. There's even a little vulpine growl at the back of her throat. But she comes away with a scrawled set of numbers on a piece of paper. "I think we have a way to the other door, too." She says, and then head toward the door.
"What's in the paperwork?" The Crinos form turns Rou's usually purring voice into something wilder - like a permanent growl. He's got an arm oozing black goo hanging from one massive hand, but if they're going to go through Door Number Two before Thumbprint Door, he's perfectly happy to ditch it in the hall for now rather than risk walking into a fight on two legs instead of four. Damn feline born.
"They were working on a breeding program. Not sure entirely to what end, but with these conditions..." Fenfang ends the sentence with an indignant sniff. "Which would we like to do first?" She asks nodding toward the hall, and the other doors. It seems the permanent growl doesn't bother her any.
Perhaps it's because that spy movie marathon's been on this week, but Haroun has a definite preference for order here - though no one said it was logical. "Biggest, scariest, probably behind the thumbprint scanner. May need higher clearance than guard. Second keypad room may have scientists with arms we can... borrow." It seems he too is not a fan of the idea of a breeding program in conditions like this. Still, he holds the arm only so long as it takes to pad out into the hall, where it's dropped unceremoniously. He will shift and move however he needs to - and with remarkable care - for Fenfang to get past him, but beyond that, he is ready to be on four legs again.
Honestly, that care is important. He's near twice her height after all. Well, and that doorframe is surely no easy thing for a Bastet in Crinos. She slips into the hall and nods her agreement. "Next door it is, then." And she moves to the keypad. Once more it's the same counted opening, and letting big scary cat lead the way.
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-chatro leopard. Full Delirium is in effect. (See +rules Delirium)
The door opens. Once more lights flicker on. These, however, are not the bright fluorescents of the hall and other room. These are green lights, adding a disturbing glow to the room around. The walls are lined with tanks of dark, murky water. The sound of chains clanking fills the room from two people in the center, chained to heavy desks and looking miserable. One guard is in the room, and he turns toward the door as it opens.
The next few moments are a whirlwind. The guard falls to his knees as a blubbering mess of pleading fear. One of the chained scientists, a man, tries to pull away from his desk to no avail. The other, however, a woman, is completely unmoved. Almost disturbingly unmoved as she looks at the great cat and blinks.
Now this is just pathetic. Rou lifts his head to pull air through nose and mouth, but pulls back quickly with a hard shudder and a motion most often seen in domestic cats about to cough up a hairball. That it smells vile in here is unquestionable and it does nothing to improve his mood. Not the kind to waste energy, Haroun walks into the room and right up to the blubbering kneeling guard to bat an almost gentle slash of claws across his chest. If he bleeds red, there are reasons to leave him alive, but if it's black... well, let's just say it's a lethal litmus test.
Fenfang follows Haroun in, and when he looks like he might be ill, she looks concerned. Glancing about the room, it's the stoic woman she's most concerned with. Tilting her head, she follows the rest of the way in and approaches the desk. "You alright?" She asks, definitely redundantly, but still...
The blubbering guard is already in tears. The touch of claws only make that worse. And he bleeds... Black. Black and thick and oozing.
The woman shakes her head. "No, I'm chained to a desk." She says, raising her chained arm. "Do you think you could get his keys? I'd really rather like to go home."
Black blood is a bad sign. This poor bastard needs to die and like /hell/ is he going to get this shit in his mouth again if he can avoid it, but he's not cruel enough to drag this out any longer than it needs to be - there's something distinctly uncomfortable about doing this to someone who's crying. The next swipe of his massive paw is nothing like gentle and aimed at slice-ripping open the soft and vulnerable throat.
"Uh... Yeah." Fenfang says with a nod. "Just... Give us a minute, alright?" And she turns to watch Haroun and this guard, cringing as that blood runs black.
There is some very simple body armor that these guards wear. It's really not much for the teeth and claws of shifters. What it can do sometimes, though, is hook onto a claw and just change the angle of a swipe enough that it's... Well, it's certainly a nasty wound, but it probably won't kill him. He hits the ground, curling in himself and continuing to plead for his life even as blood begins to pool.
There's something abjectly nauseating about this begging as the guard adopts the foetal position. It's enough to push Haroun into a place where he recognizes his own discomfort here is secondary, but he's still almost dainty as he bends over the prone form and bites down hard on the back of his neck - severing the spine if he's lucky, and if he's /real/ lucky, doing it without getting an entire mouthful of that awful stuff. He'll be with you in a moment, ladies.
Fenfang cringes again at the need to go in a second time. She's not one for death on the whole... But these people are just... Gross. So instead she turns back to the woman. "Hey, so, what's in the tanks?" She asks, like it's the most casual conversation in the world. There's even a winning smile to go along with. That'll work, right?
That does it. It's an awful sound, a snapping neck, but it's distinct. The man stills, exhales, goes limp under Haroun's teeth. And, luckily, even the awful black blood managed to be avoided. One dead guard: check.
The woman blinks, and then looks up at Fenfang. "Wait... Aren't you... What are you...?" She starts, but then shakes her head. "You know what, whatever. I don't want to know why the fuck a pop star is down here." Sighing, she nods toward the tanks. "We were supposed to be a facility researching new ways to monitor wildlife, tech that could work internally without harming anything. Let us know more than just location, you know? Mostly marine life. But... The boss... He wanted... I don't know why he made us make them. They're awful. Turn any water they're in into this acidic mess."
Thank Nala. That black blood is /awful/. Which is really depressing for Haroun, because normally blood is lovely. At least the job is done - that black ooze in these peoples' veins can/not/ be healthy. Pulling back, he steps over the dead body like its nothing more than a tree root and listens to the female scientist speak, baffled by her continued calm. The freaked out other chained-to-desk-guy isn't nearly so interesting as the woman displaying a lack of fear only Kin should have. So instead of stopping at a respectable distance, he walks much closer, putting his face very close to her own like somehow proximity might finally trigger the Delirium.
"Gross." Is all Fenfang says in answer to that. Glancing back to the tanks, she crinkles her nose. "So... How do you power them off... Or kill them or... What are they exactly?" She asks, and stifles a laugh as Haroun stick giant kitty nose all up in this woman's business.
"They're alive. I... Think." The scientist answers, "Well, scientifically they are, anyway. They /shouldn't/ be th- Excuse you." The tone she takes is /exactly/ the one someone would say to their housecat as they jump up /right/ into the book they're reading.
Haroun is no housecat and for the human female to be reacting as though her were, there has got to be something amiss. He pulls back enough to shift, though he only goes so far as Crinos, crouching in a position that looks defensive and even potentially hostile. "Whose Kin are you? How did you come to such a defiled place?"
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-crinos leopard-man. Partial Delirium is in effect. (See +rules Delirium)
There's another stifled laugh at the tone the scientist takes. Fenfang, though, then turns her attention toward the tanks. "Well... Then maybe we should drain the tanks... If they're aquatic..." She muses, moving to one of the tanks and trying to look into the murky water. How much she'll be able to see, well... She's not hopeful. But she'll let Haroun get on with his questioning, it sounds important.
Inside the tanks... The water is still. Eerily still. The top corner has an inlet, that much is obvious, and there's probably and outlet somewhere, but even still, none of the murky particles move in the green, hazy light. But way in the back there might be some darker shadow.
"Whose kin am I? I..." The scientist blinks at Haroun and tilts her head to look at him as though he's gone mad. "I don't know what you mean by that. Last's names Smith, if that helps you at all. And uh... I work here... Or... Well, I don't think they're paying me anymore." And again her chained hand is lifted with a rattle of metal.
There's a moment where Haroun just /stares/ at this woman like she's grown a second head - which is pretty rich when coming from a nine-foot-tall cat man. Heaving a sigh, he straightens and stalks off to get a closer look at the tanks, stopping next to Fenfang. "Would you mind, madame, attempting to induce the Delirium in the female scientist? One of us could be a fluke, but both?" Kinfolk are precious enough to his people that attempting to salvage even one so far astray is a priority. Louder, then: "This looks promising." Look, it's a big red button he's stalking over to. That can't possibly mean anything bad, right?
Fenfang leans right up to the glass, trying to get a better view. It's no luck, though, and she sniffs. Turning to Haroun, she giggles a little and then shakes her head. "I can't, actually." She says with a small shrug, "My people don't induce the Delirium. We're too young." But then he's walking over to a big shiny button and she's transfixed again. "Oooh, yeah, that looks promising indeed."
The scientist sighs, crosses her legs, and leans back in her chair. "They're amphibious, actually." She offers, "And rather nasty when let loose. I wouldn't do that if I were you." But that's all the input she's going to offer for now. She turns her attention to her nails, staring at them and then frowning.
That's... "Oh, I see." Which he only mostly does, but that's just what you say. "My apologies if I've broached a sensitive subject." Just because he's a primal cat-monster in the middle of invading an enemy stronghold doesn't mean there is an excuse for poor /manners/. And, well, if the scientist isn't going to scare like a proper scientist - though there is a part of him that is grateful not to have /two/ blubbering, rattling humans on his hands - Haroun supposes that the least she can do is be helpful. So when the warning is offered, he pauses, twisting his upper body around to look at her. "What are they?"
"No, nothing sensitive." Fenfang answers, "Honestly, I think your situation is much more sensitive than mine is. We never hunted anyone." But then she falls quiet, looking back to the scientist and waiting for an answer.
The scientist takes a deep breath. "We've been calling them ADAM. Aquatic Devices for Atmospheric Management." She says, but the way her face crinkles says she's not happy about it. "Now, I don't know what to call them. They were designed to be able to cut themselves free from nets or kelp they got caught in... But then the blades turned to little claws and somehow they got /teeth/ and they started reproducing. I really don't know how."
Haroun shrugs. "A cat's gotta eat." Which is such an aberration in phrasing for him that it's almost certainly something he's picked up and altered to suit the occasion. But when the Cat Lady of Science starts explaining the contents of the tanks, it's enough to make the fur on his back stand on end, lips curling and a low rumbling growl beginning to stir. "I don't suppose you had the foresight to program them for a self-destruct sequence?" Don't judge him, there's /actually/ nothing better to do while Valentin is in class.
"I suppose that is fair. Though I don't imagine they taste great." Fenfang says with a shrug. And /she's/ something of a scavenger, at that. Human has just never sounded terribly appealing. Maybe if she was starving. Again, though, this questioning seems like the right direction to take, so she waits, and looks back at the tank to see if anything might have changed.
Nope. Still water. Dark shadows. Nothing to it.
"No." The scientist answers with a shake of her head. "They wouldn't have needed one. So unless they've..." She looks at the tanks then with something between horror and disgust, which is pretty funny considering she's not even /blinked/ and the cat beast in the room, "/Grown/ one. No such luck."
"They taste like antelope." It's offered easily enough, in a deadpan delivery that sounds far too serious for comfort. Especially with the perma-growl coming from Kittyzilla. "Fine," he answers the scientist. "Then we kill them ourselves. Madame," he glances toward Fenfang. "Prepare yourself." He swings a massive fist down on the glass box, aiming to break it open and get that red button. As for the scientists? "I suggest you sit on your desks."
"If you say so." Is the best answer she's got to that, accompanied by a shrug. Then, though, it's down to business. Fenfang nods, backing away just a little to let there be some space between her and the tanks. Then, though, she's shifting once again into a wolf sized fox and readying a pounce.
Well, Miss Smith is at least smart enough to clamber up onto her desk. Blubbering mess? Not so much. But that's his problem.
When the button is pushed, lights begins to flash red overhead, and an awful alarm sound echoes in the small room. But they drain, and quickly. Left sitting on the bottom of the three tanks are... Well... They're about the size of rats, green and gooey and beginning to wake, swiftly. Large black eyes open, small mouths gape showing nasty, black, sharp teeth, and they begin to climb toward the top of their tanks, making awful screechy cries.
Letting go of this two-legged form and embracing the four-legged direcat is sweet relief. There is nothing more to be said. There are creepy crawlies coming up the side of their tank and this just /feels/ unnatural. So when Haroun sees the first one crest the top of the tank, he swipes one massive paw at it from the side and well... it is now a splat of goo on the wall. That... should /really/ not have been as satisfying as it was.
The pounce pays off, as Fog's Own Child leaps up at the tank, dragging one of the beasties down with her and biting down hard. She shakes her head, letting the thing go so that it is tossed a bit away from her. Vulpine growls echo in her throat, louder than normal for her increased size, as she pins her ears back and prepares to attack again.
Goo on the wall, indeed. As well as tiny, tiny mechanical bits and circuitry. The goo creature Haroun attacked hits the wall and sparks, chittering and whirring before going still. The other, having just been in massive fox jaws, sparks as well, but still seems to be mostly functional. For now. More pour from the side of the tank. Ten in total, and they're not fond of the beasts attacking their brethern.
Once they're all out of the tank, they beasts begin to swing into action. One jumps down, biting viciously into Haroun's back. The broken one bites at Fog's Own Child, latching onto her leg for a moment before jumping away. The rest bite and claw and screech, but are more or less ineffectual against the toughened hides of shifters. But they do their best.
Fog's Own Child snarls as little, black teeth make their way into her flesh. She snaps at the tiny beast, but she's distracted by her bleeding and just doesn't quite manage it. She doesn't seem deterred, though, and readies to fight again. The others trying to bite or claw at her seem forgotten for now. Just give her a minute, your request will be processed in the order it was received.
The bite into the delicate skin just below where mothers carry their cubs is like a jolt of fire. Haroun's whole body jerks, dislodging that nasty beastie with a little clatter drowned out entirely by the leopard's scream-roar - which, for those of you following along at home is not a small noise. He whips around, ignoring the other crawlie-do fuckers for the moment and takes a claws-out feline swipe at it. It lands and you know even if it's not dead that beastie's gonna skid a ways, so at least he's got some of his own back on that front. No time to rest yet, though, and honestly? Even bleeding, he'd have it no other way.
Snarling, Fog's Own Child bites down again. This time, she hits home. Sparking, dead creature is tossed across the room with a shake of her head and a swish of her tail. And then she's rounding on the others, growling low and dangerous. Fear the Fox, respect the Fox.
There is a particularly dedicated little shit headed straight for Haroun and he is not about this life, so that's the guy that gets swiped next, skittering across the room to spark and splat somewhere else.
More little beasties die, one even had to take a little sit down there for a minute. Punched himself right in the face. The others flail and bite and claw but... Still, shifters are no laughing matter. Good luck, little guys.
And again, something has gotten through to flesh. The fox yelps, biting at her chosen opponent, but letting go from pain just a little too early. She turns on the one that hurt her, bearing down on it instead.
Screeches and chitters fill the room, but another creature falls dead. The one that slashed at Fog's Own Child though, seems quite pleased with itself and settles in for the fight. They claw and bite otherwise, though, and it's just no good. They're having to try and find weak points, and they really aren't that clever.
Swipe! Another one bites the dust. The sound of that vulpine yelp is concerning, however, and Haroun shifts his attention and movements - attempting to take some of the heat off the smaller fox.
Having successfully gained most of the creepy critter attention, Haroun sets about getting rid of them. Thankfully his paws are big enough (and claws sharp enough) that he feels like he's beginning to find his feet in the rhythm of combat. Oh look, there's another one going skitter-squish. How pleasant.
All but one turn their attention to Haroun. That one snaps his teeth, but finds no purchase on dire fox flesh. And then it has fox teeth in it face instead. Not a good day. The others, they're swarming, running around the great cat and clawing and biting as they can. One finds a particularly soft bit right on a hind leg, but otherwise they're not too scary.
Chomp! Aha, that did some damage. Again, there's a shake of a vulpine head and then she lets go, letting the little creature spark for a moment while readying for the next strike.
The pain in his right hind leg gets a kick reaction that's pure instinct. It's relief, if only temporary. Thankfully, there are enough of these little shits that there isn't much time to focus on deceptively painful bug-teeth. (At least, he's really hoping these are some kind of bug.) Like that one that made friends with his claws and now bounces along the floor, sparking with every landing.
Two more creatures dead. Things are starting to look up, here. Which is when, slowly, another of the tanks begins to drain. This one, though, is taking much longer than the first. The remains beasts still circle around Haroun, screeching and clawing and generally being a nuisance.
Sweet satisfaction. With that one dead, the Fox turns her attention instead to the creature circling her new cat friend. Hackles raised, she makes her way over to help thin out the last of them. The sound of draining water makes her ear twitch though, and if this tank was this bad, she's not looking forward to round two.
Turning her attention to distracted beasties seems effective, as Fog's Own Child takes one with a vicious bite, shaking and tossing as she has before. It sparks, whirrs, and stills, dead where it fell. Her fur stands on end, displeased with all of his nonsense.
Haroun is much more at home in direct combat than perhaps he should be - given who he's taken as his mate - but it suits the great cat somehow. The fox's assistance with these last stragglers is noted and appreciated, but there's a warning sort of rumble-groan low in his throat as he jerks his head toward the slowly draining tank. There will be more coming soon and he can finish up here.
The tank on the other side of the room continues to drain. Sludgey grossness making it harder for the outlet to take. But more of the creatures fall under claw and teeth, mechanical bits and green goo everywhere. And then there was one.
Fog's Own Child moves off at that rumble and motion toward the other tank. She sniffs at the air and growls, ready to attack anything that comes out of there.
The fox moving off in the direction of the other tank is a relief. Haroun won't leave her to face it alone for long, but having eyes and the first strike there does make him feel better. This last bug is swatted away and then pounced after - just in case it isn't /quite/ dead.
It is, in fact, not quite dead yet. It screeches and falls and tries to bite at any cat flesh it can get. It won't take much more now, though.
What is more concerning is what begins to rise out of the other tank. Not identical, these a sick yellow scaley mess. They scramble up the side of their tank, hissing and whining, not knowing yet that a fierce Fox awaits their arrival.
Fog's Own Child leaps, pulling down the first creature and tearing it to pieces. She growls, swishing her tail and preparing for the next.
Haroun pounces, catching the bug in his jaws and biting down. Problem is, those are big fangs and that's a little bug. Sooooo, instead of finishing it off, he just ends up sort of accidentally spitting the damn thing a couple feet away. Woops.
Little bug tries it's best to bite at the great cat... But well, he wasn't expecting to be /in his mouth./ Let's call that one a draw.
The new bugs spark and whir in much the same way as the last. But where they fall, little pools of foul smelling goo spill forth, steaming and hissing on the ground. They make a line on the edge of their tank, hissing down at the Fox, opening mouths that have no teeth but long, sticky tongues.
The new bugs are a nasty business. They don't claw or bite. No, the spit this awful goo that burns right into flesh. Most of them... Well, they miss terribly. This is not something they have totally down yet. One of them, though, hits home.
The bug still remaining with Haroun just will. Not. Die. It's biting and screeching and just being a pain in the ass.
Fog's Own Child yelps again as awful goo hits her fur and skin. She whimpers for a moment, but then she's leaping. Pulling two of them down and biting as best she can, snarling viciously. This is personal now.
Look. At this point, Bug Number Eight has made it personal. Haroun can't help growling at it and taking another swing. Sorry, Fenfang! He'll be with you in a moment.
More foul spit comes her way, but Fenfang manages to avoid it. Not only that, but she tears into two of the bugs with a growl and quick snaps of her jaws. Down they both go, and she's rounding once again to pounce up at the tank.
These bugs spit awfulness, but they are really inaccurate. That's a plus. They hiss again at the Fox below, scaly tails swishing back in their own form of dare at the predator beneath them.
Finally, that last bug has had enough. With a great POP and whirring gears, it goes still and gives up the ghost. About time.
Thank Nala. Haroun has had about all he can take of that damn bug, but now he is on Bug Jihad and these motherfuckers look /gross/. Here comes cat cavalry, Fang!
These bugs are a lot less of a threat to Fog's Own Child and Haroun, it seems. Sure, terrible acidic spit is bad... But they just can't hit to save their lives. And, well... When you're being mauled by tooth and claw... Another one dies, and more are injured. It works them up, moving about the edge of their tank where they haven't been knocked off, and trying to move away where they have.
Settling into the rhythm of combat, Haroun finds that these creatures require /significantly/ less force than their little sparky-skittery brethren. It means he can move faster, swipe-slashing at one and then its neighbour. It's not a clean business, but it is efficient.
So long as acid isn't hitting them, this is great. In fact, the Fox finds a bounce in her step, hopping about as she bites and growls, bright eyed as she chooses her next target.
For all these guys are having a bad time, cause boy are they, only four even remain, one of them manages to hit home on Haroun. Sharp, awful, burning spit right through fur and into flesh. It's not a fun time. The others, they try but mostly the floor is just turning into a slimy mess.
Fog's Own Child bites and snaps and does damage where she can. This many opponents has her turning in circles. So some bites are definitely more effective than others.
This feeling is, in fact, not a fun time. Acid on his left hind leg is the /worst/ and there is a Very Upset Kitty hissing in the direction of the monster responsible. You're next, pal.
Again, the numbers are brought down to just one remaining bug. Everything else is a mess on the floor, and even this one is pretty banged up. Which is precisely when the third tank begins to drain, faster than the second, but this time the debris in the liquid can be heard scraping against the pipes.
HAH. See? You come for Haroun and Haroun will come for you. Fuckers. That squish-splat is delightful (but still gross) and the big cat is ready to squish this last guy. The sound of the next tank draining sparks the same groaning rumble of warning and jerk of head as last time. This system seems to work, so why mess with it? This straggler shouldn't take as long as that last asshole.
There is a vulpine nod in return, and she turns toward the next tank. Fog's Only Child readies for whatever nasty is about to come out here, growling already.
Another type of creature rises from these waters. Brown and mottled like the flesh of a toad. But these are not toads. They've lamplike orange eyes, and wicked claws on their front legs that have recurring sets along the legs, much like the rows upon rows of shark's teeth.
These beasties don't look nice, but they die just like anything else. Under Fox jaws they squish, and do not spark. In fact, the only unnatural part of them seems to be a heavy, black box at their center.
The last spitting bug falls under Haroun's claws into a pile of yellow scales and wiring.
Fog's Own Child growls as she takes down two of these new beasts. At least so far they haven't been too bad. That's sure to change. She settles to jump again, ready to tear apart more not-toads.
Excellent. Scaly acid death achieved! Pleased with himself - and distracted enough by the oncoming hellfrogs, he lopes across to the other tank to assist in the dispatch of these as well - seeming almost to enjoy himself.
Fog's Own Child leaps, pulling down two of the bugs, and biting down where she can. One splats... The other, not so much. Oh well. Next time.
All of the not-toads begin to make a low, gurgling, growling noise. And then, in unison, they begin to scrape those claws along the top of their tank. The one that is taken to the ground, but not killed, continues the scraping upon the floor.
Great. Cause that's not creepy or anything. Mostly, it hurts delicate kitty ears and Haroun hisses at the sound before lunging to swipe at another two along the top of the tank.
Excellent. One of the nastytoads down and another one - damn, missed. It's fine, it's fine; even cats lose their balance now and again. Nobody saw it, it didn't happen. Just straighten up and take another swing.
Open bite lands solidly, but the other... Another vulpine yelp says that something has again pierced her flesh. She turns on that little beast, growling and preparing to go after it next.
It's when these beasts attack that their weirdness becomes obvious. For as they swipe, their claws are meant to sink in and then detach. They hop away, though not so far as to not be reached, and begin working muscles in their front legs to move another set of those claws forward.
More of the beasties fall. Only two remain, and though they've been roughed up, those new claws seem even more wicked than the first. More gurgling growls fill the air, and it seems that the death of their fellows hasn't slowed them down.
Fog's Own Child growls back, snapping and biting though she can't quite manage to make them dead. But she's not about to stop. All of these definitely need to die.
Two down, two to go. And it's a good thing, too. A glance at Fox Friend shows her a fair sight more roughed up than he'd like. Maybe he can draw their attention, too. He can tank his way through some froggy ire if needs be.
The last creature dies, and the tanks lay empty. Ugly, green slime clings to the glass, but it's done. Miss Smith gives a slow, low applause, though she doesn't come down from the top of her desk.
With the creatures distracted by big, scary cat, Fenfang turns on them viciously. Vulpine fangs sink into flesh in rapid succession. But when it is over, she heaves a great sigh. She's pretty roughed up, indeed. But it doesn't stop her from looking to cat friend and giving an approving little huff.
The power of teamwork. For two people who typically hunt alone, the fox and the cat haven't done half bad. And though the wound on his leg is still rough, the great cat otherwise looks no worse for wear. The same cannot be said for Fox Friend, however, and Haroun pads closer with plaintive rumbling huffs, nosing at her shoulder near a smear of blood as if he can somehow remind her body it's supposed to be doing a better job at sealing all of this up.
There's a moment where the Fox appears to be a million miles away. Her eyes glaze over just a little, and then, as quick as it happened, she's back again. The worst of her wounds knit closed as if by magic and she blinks. Looking over to concerned cat friend, she gives a little gekker and a swish of her tail. And then she's hopping a little in place, as if to display that she is, in fact, fine.
This process is wholly alien to the leopard, who watches the wounds knit with naked fascination. Her noise and bounce are met with that same silent feline laughter and undeniable approval, but a cat is a cat is a cat and so long as nothing is going to try and kill them again in the next two minutes, Haroun has some Very Important Bath Business to attend to. SO much fur out of place.
In fact, nothing is going to try and kill them for the next two minutes. The alarm sounds even stop, as do the flashing lights, when the last of the water is drained away. Miss Smith, though, hasn't forgotten that she's still chained to her desk. Once more there is the rattle of chains as she lifts her hand. "Seriously, being let out of this would be /exceptionally/ helpful."
Fog's Own Child stretches as Haroun turns to put his fur right, and returns to homid with a little sigh. "We'll make sure you get out of here," She says, "I promise. But it's not safe, and we'll have some questions when we're done, so just... Sit tight, okay?"
Just because nothing else is going to try and kill them over the next two minutes doesn't mean Haroun has any faith at all that nothing else is going to try and kill them /today/. So once his fur is set to rights, he takes another moment to sharpen his claws. If this is going to be as ugly as the whole Bond Film aura leads him to believe, he wants every advantage. It appears, even, that he is so absorbed in his tasks that he's not paying a single bit of attention to the dynamics between the scientist and the fox. Cats are funny that way. He is, however, up and padding toward the door as soon as the scientist is told to sit tight. Pure coincidence, surely.
Miss Smith sighs, but with what she's just seen these two do... "Alright just... Well, we haven't seen Robert in a few weeks. And when we did he was... Well, I don't know. Just, different. I'd..." But she cuts herself off. Do werebeasts really need to be told to be careful?
Fenfang nods and then considers something. "Wouldn't happen to know whose fingerprint will get into the back room, would you?" She asks, shifting her weight to one side as not to put too much on her also messed up leg. At least the worst of her wounds are better, though.
Acid-leg-limp and all, Haroun still makes pretty good time - these are some /long ass legs/ - so when Fenfang asks an excellently sensible question (instead of relying on the dismembered arm in the hallway like he probably would have done) he stops. Massive head is tilted slightly, ears flicking back toward the sound of the two women's voices, but he's not interfering. Fox Friend seems to do quite well with these humans and mostly he just wants to burn this place to the ground.
"Oh it's more than a room." Miss Smith answers. "But any of the guards will get you in." Green eyes flicker to the dead guard next to the desks. "In fact... Could you... Uh... Get him out of here before he starts really starting to smell?" She's /not/ keen on the idea of sitting here chained to a desk next to a corpse, thanks.
Fenfang nods. "Thanks." She says, and then takes the guard by an arm and... Well, she's really not strong. So he's just getting dragged along with her. Once they're out in the hall, though, she turns his attention to Haroun. "I'm something of a healer. Can I help with your leg?" She asks, nodding to the limp in question.
Harou is certainly strong in this form - and quite comfortable dragging dead things around when need be. So when Fenfang draws close enough, he lowers his head to take hold of the guard and do the rest of the dragging. He doesn't even have to take it up a tree! Easy peasy. And, you know, also a gentleman. Mostly. He tries. Out in the hall, however, he lets the body drop from his jaws and considers the fox's offer for a moment before offering a slow nod and a low rumble that... could be gratitude? It's hard to tell with cat sounds unless you're /real/ used to them.
"Thanks." Is muttered when Haroun takes the man from her. And well, she has no clue what these cat sounds mean, but she /does/ know what a nod means. So she kneels down at his side, reaching toward his back leg, but not touching. Just close enough to direct the Gnosis.
It's different, this magic, from the kind of wild rushing water that Haroun is so very much used to. Still, it's not unpleasant - and the loss of pain and tenderness is a vivid relief - and the sounds that follow are two mrowls, one only slightly longer than the other. It's almost like those youtube videos of people saying their cat is talking to them, only much bigger and therefore significantly lower and louder. He tried. Stretching the now-healed leg, Haroun flicks his tail around to tap at her flank the way they'd done overlooking the cliff, then picks up the severed arm between his teeth and trots off down the hallway - happy as a clam.
"You're welcome." Fenfang answers with a little laugh. Maybe she should look into veterinary work instead. Shaking off that idea, she follows her cat friend down the hall, and takes a look at this fingerprint reader. "This is some James Bond bullshit up in here." She mutters and shakes her head, and then motions toward the reader. "Care to do the honors?"
There's a huff-snort of agreement with her assessment. This is indeed some James Bond bullshit. When she motions toward the reader, the cat backs up half a step and twists his head and neck and shoulders to angle the arm as best he can. It's not lifelike by any stretch of the imagination, but he does manage to get the thumb on the scanner in a fairly readable position.
Some straight up James Bond bullshit indeed. The scanner picks up what it needs to, and the door opens. No pushing need, it just slides out of the way like this some Hollywood picture. Inside, the lights are already on, bright and glaring like the hallway. But the first room appears to be devoid of any life. Papers are strewn everywhere. The walls are lined with whiteboards, on which equations and chemical compounds take up much of the space closest to the door. As it continues, however, the numbers get more mad. The symbols become more eclectic. Eventually, slowly, it devolves down into a single word. Gone. Over and over and over again it is written. Even off of the whiteboards when no more space could be filled, in blue, in green, in red... Every inch of every surface is coved with that word. Gone, gone, gone. And when the markers ran out of ink, discarded still open in different corners of the room, the walls are instead covered in blood, dried down but in the shape of that same word.
Fenfang steps toward one of the whiteboards, observing the equations and symbols on the more sane side of things for a moment. She bites her lip, and then huffs. "At least in the begging," She says, putting her hand to the board, "They /were/ trying to help." Shaking her head, she looks around the room, "What /happened/?"
Haroun knows nothing of chemistry - honestly cares nothing for it either. Numbers and symbols like that stink of rotting spider webs and freshly oxidized steel. He moves further into the room, down where Rajah breaks down into something more organic but no less uncomfortable. It doesn't take staring that long for the fur on his back to stand on end and low, vicious growl to kickstart deep in his chest. The sound of Fox Friend's voice causes him to jerk, turning enough to paw at the air in her direction; it's a very universal motion. Stay put. That's when he turns back to Cahlash and the symbols that make his stomach turn. Eyes slide closed for three slow breaths, pulling on the spiritual energy just as Tamar had always taught.
<UMBRA> The Umbra in here is a /mess/. Black feathers cover the ground, and the sound of weeping fills the air. The walls are gone, instead replaced by the walls of a cave, but the writing... Somehow it is still there.
Fenfang nods, and stays where she is. Though she does kneel to pick up the nearest piece of paper, to see what else she might be able to find.
Such a chaotic Umbra is disorienting and frankly distressing for Haroun. This isn't the freedom of his mother, this is destruction and it leaves him unsettled. The weeping tugs at the place in his soul that screams 'protect', but without an ability to source it, he is left helpless. It's enough of a shock that for the first time since he was a cub, he loses control of his downshift and makes it all the way to Homid instead of stopping at Crinos. "This is a /mess/," he whispers, obviously uncomfortable. Louder, then. "It may have begun with Rajah's blessing, but this... this is entirely Cahlash." He cuts himself off then and takes a moment to find the wolf word. "The Wyrm. The Umbra here is..." He trails off and then shakes himself. "The walls are gone, but the writing remains. There are black feathers and..." His skin goes almost deathly pale as a realization hits. "I think - " The Spirits in general were no friend of his, but this? "I think someone corrupted a Spirit here." It's like walking into a crime scene where someone murdered your favorite aunt's best friend. This is a very unhappy cat. "Or at the very least, attacked it viciously."
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes nothing more than an average human male.
At that, Fenfang frowns. "Alright, well..." She puts the paper back down, having found it with little more than the same scribble as the walls, "Let's find out who, and which one, shall we?" At that, she nods toward the door leading on. Maybe once there were good intentions here, but Haroun was right, all that was left now was something that needed to be unmade.
The door leading on is just simple wood, and does not even appear to be locked.
<UMBRA> The sound of truly /giant/ wings beating overhead accompanies the weeping suddenly, though nothing new can be seen.
"Tamar's cub," he offers - seemingly idiosyncratically. "Never my name, never my rite, always Tamar's cub." It's softly spoken and seems more to himself than anything, but Fox Friend is right. His head jerks up suddenly as though following a sound, but he says nothing more before retaking the form of the dire leopard, ready for whatever they might find. Or at least... telling himself he is.
That makes Fenfang pause, and she turns back to her cat friend with soft eyes. "If it's any consolation," She says softly, "If I knew your name, I would use it." But she doesn't linger, just smiles and then turns back toward the door. As the keypad doors, she counts out before opening it, following Haroun in when she can.
With an indrawn breath, Phillipe becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-chatro leopard. Full Delirium is in effect. (See +rules Delirium)
This room is darker, but only because it is reasonably lit. An office, by the looks of it. But this too has been upturned. The walls here are still covered in blood... A heavy wooden desk is covered in papers. The walls once held pictures, and one sat on the desk. Now, they sit on the floor, the glass of the frames shattered and blood stained. Where the pictures haven't been ruined by blood, they show a happy, young couple and a small gaggle of children. From under the desk, the sound of heavy breathing and sniffling can be heard.
<UMBRA> Much the same in this room, more cave, more writing on the wall. But in the air hangs a thick, dark cloud, covering the whole of the ceiling. And when the cloud shifts, flickers of impossibly bright, radiant light shine through. The weeping continues, but does not seem to be the same sounds as under the desk.
There is something comforting in Fox Friend's sweet offer. It is at that point that he decides that he does, in fact, like this woman very much. The next room is even weirder in a domestic-y kind of sense. It's the blood and creepy over the veneer of domesticity that does it, but though he is distracted momentarily by something above them, his ears flick toward the source of the directional weeping and he pads forward to peeeeeeer under the desk at whatever angle he can get to.
Fox Friend follows close behind on light feet. She's curious, but doesn't encroach on personal space. Instead, she investigates this desk, to see if there is anything to find there.
On the desk there's little to be found. Much of the same math, more paper scribbled with the word gone, shards of glass from picture frames. But under one piece of paper is a simple, gold wedding band.
Under the desk is likely the man who belongs to the ring. His left hand even still has a tan line. He's curled tight on himself, arms around his knees, sleeves of his shirt in bloody tatters. The knuckles of his hands have sharp barbs, and though he appears to be crying... His eyes shifting from red to green to brown to golden, never staying still, and it seems he has permanent tear tracks down his face, as though his tears have melted his flesh and it has healed over. He looks up suddenly when Haroun peeks around the desk, and hisses.
Being hissed at means one thing in Haroun's world - and has done since he was small - and that thing is a fight. Jaw dropping, he hisses loudly in return, one massive paw lashing forward to claw at the face of the thing-that-once-was-a-man under the desk.
The man under the desk cries out as he's slashed into badly. But midway through that cry, his voice changes. And then he changes, in the blink of an eye. One moment he's a spiked, scarred, blonde man... The next... His skin is tanned, he's a little shorter, his hair is a riot of dark curls and braids, his eyes turn a seaglass green. For Haroun, this is an intimately familiar shape, now shaking and reaching to stem the blood coming from face and neck.
Fenfang goes to shift, she does. But... She just doesn't manage it. Which is Bad. Very, very Bad. So she's going to concentrate and try again.
This time, Fenfang does manage to shift. She pads over toward the desk, growling and ready to pounce. Though, the way Haroun looks like he's about to get as far from this desk as possible definitely has her concerned.
No. /No/. Nononononono. That's not - it can't be. The writhing, changing flesh solidifies into a form Haroun knows better than his own and in that instant there is horror, guilt, fear and the kind of sadness that is etched on his /bones/. This is his /actual/ nightmare scenario, that he would lose control and Valentin would be the one to suffer. He wants to vomit - violently - but this form is not quite built for such things beyond the occasional hairball. And so his stomach heaves as he scrambles backward, choking sounds to break up the shaking moan that could be mistaken for /nothing/ but mournful. It's like some part of his /soul/ has been gravely injured and Haroun has no idea what to do about that.
<UMBRA> From above, there is again the sound of great wings, what sounds like a moan of pleasure from a feminine voice.
Out from under the desk not-Valentin crawls, hand still to his throat, coated in bright red blood. But it's toward Haroun he moves, reaching out. But this mask isn't perfect. It can't know everything. So when he reaches out for the great cat, he looks him straight in the eye, holding his gaze as long as he can manage, and offers a small, pained, but forgiving smile.
Not-Valentin attempts to get out of the way of biting leopard, but he's just not quick enough. Which is saying something, because he is suddenly /impossibly/ fast. Though he's bleeding profusely now, from claw and from teeth, he tries to swing at the great cat, using the barbs now masked by his new shape. Unfortunately for him, all he manages to do is get himself even closer to the Bagheera, and likely death.
<UMBRA> The clouds part, and radiant light fills the room suddenly. When it dims, a woman dressed in garb that was once a brilliant white, but is now a tattered, grey mess stands just behind not-Valentin. A tarnished set of scales are held in one hand, and her eyes are wrapped under a torn piece of her tunic, blood stains where her eyes would be. Around her right arm twists a coiling, black serpent, and great, black eagle's wings sprout from her shoulders.
It's that tender gaze that does it. It's something Haroun remembers only through a haze of blood and pain and fear and heart-wrenching loss. It's something he's wished in dark and secret places that he could have again - even just once - to be /seen/ and loved for his outside as well as his in-. But in that moment, he knows... this is wrong on every level and he /knows/ what must be done, though he may never be able to sleep again. Lunging forward, he sinks vicious fangs into the creature that is /not/ his mate, ripping backward with red blood staining the fur around his muzzle and throat - stains to match the drying black. That's when she appears and he has /seen/ enough law-book covers to recognize this figure. /Justice/. The irony is that it had been Valentin who he'd asked about her. But this is no longer Justice uncorrupted... Vengeance, then, but he can deal with that /after/ this thing no longer torments him with his lover's face.
The strange interplay between the two had confused Fog's Own Child for a moment. When cat friend, however, jumps back into combat, so too does the Fox. Though it seems he rather has this well in hand. So that's something, at least.
Not-Valentin tries to scramble away from cat jaws. He gives it a valiant effort, but with the amount he's already bleeding, there's nothing for it. For a moment he goes still, the unsettling stillness of someone's last moments, and the illusion fades away. Once more there is the barbed, tall, blonde man who had originally been under the desk. And then he's gasping a great lungful of air. Though that doesn't leave him much time to get away from sharp Fox teeth.
<UMBRA> The Angel kneels as her servant falls, hovering a hand over where his body is. With flickering, grey light she focuses herself and heals him through the Gauntlet, nodding once before she stands. As she heals him, the scales in her hand crumble to ash, falling to the ground and then blowing away in an otherwise unseen wind.
This has to end soon or Haroun cannot vouch for his continued sanity. Once more he pounces, biting down until he can feel his quarry go limp beneath him. He releases his hold and turns to watch the figure beyond the Gauntlet, eyes going wide and then narrowing again. That's... probably not supposed to happen.
When the illusion falls away, Fog's Own Child sniffs, and then lunges to bite down hard. But this hide is thicker than she expected. She growls and readies to bite again. Whatever it is that Haroun is staring at in the Umbra, she hasn't noticed yet.
Fenfang doesn't waste time, she bites again while Haroun focuses on whatever is in the Umbra. She rips and tears and at the end of it... The man is still. She lets out a vulpine sigh and then turns toward Haroun.
He does, in fact, still. Blood pools, and now... With his illusions gone, it is as black as the guards'.
<UMBRA> The angel kneels again, attempts to heal. It's no good, though, and she shakes her head. The snake around her arm crumbles into ash and drifts away, and somehow her whole visage changes. It's hard to get a bead on, really. As though she is every angelic form and none of them all at once. It evens out to something stoic and unnatural. But by the way she's beating her wings, she doesn't appear intent to sticking around very long.
As quickly as he possibly can, Haroun drops into Homid, reaching one hand up and out as though to stop the retreating figure only he can see. "Ai - al Malak!" It certainly isn't English that comes out of his mouth that time, though enterprising individuals might recognize the Arabic word for an angel, given in the formal - almost honorific - style. The rest of his words aren't English either, but they come out too fast for anyone beyond a fluent speaker. <<Who did this? Who hurt you so?>> His hand slowly falls to his side. <> And finally, in a voice so quiet it is almost inaudible, <<Please.>>
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes nothing more than an average human male.
Fog's Own Child watches Haroun call out to something on the other side of the Umbra and she sniffs again. In the next moment she's stretching back up into Homid. And then pushing against the Gauntlet to see if she can see what's going on.
Fenfang becomes, once more, a lovely woman.
<UMBRA> The angel stops, her wings folding as she instead approaches Haroun. Very, uncomfortably near, she tilts her head, her eyes turning black. "Does the great /cat/ not know me?" She says, voice echoing through the whole room, through the umbra, seemingly up to the sky. The voice of Heaven, terrible and beautiful and earth shattering. "I am the one without a face." She says, hissing and singing and speaking and screaming all at once, "I am the one who bears no name. I am grief." She reaches slowly toward him, despite the Veil between them, "I am the dark. I am Despair."
<<You weren't always.>> Now that he's begun speaking in Tamar's tongue, it's easier just to continue rather than try to switch over to English as she seems to have done. When she reaches out, he reaches back. He is no wolf, he cannot step through the velvet curtain by birthright alone, but he has enough respect (wouldn't his kuasha be proud) to stand tall and enough empathy to reach out. Yes, empathy. He is no stranger to the names she claims for her own, words with which he has experience a-plenty. <<You do not have to be.>> Even when she comes so uncomfortably close, he does not bend. <<Choose better. Let us help you.>>
When the Angel introduces herself, Fenfang's eyes go wide. Color drains from her face. She moves to Haroun's side quickly and reaches for his arm. "No, no, we should go. We should destroy this place and leave." She says, throat going dry. "Now." Through all of this she's seemed /excited./ Now, Fenfang is distinctly /afraid./
<UMBRA> "I am what I have always been. I am what I was made to be." The angel answers with a smirk that on another level is instead a smile full of sharp teeth, and on another the wobbling lip of a shattered life. "I am the right hand of the Wyrm. I am among the Chosen. Run home, kitty. Run home to your lover and try to forget. Run home to Spirit Friend and hide in her skirts. There is not but death for you here, but you are not good sport. Do not test my mercy."
Haroun is not, by any reasonable measure, in a good place right now. "No," he insists to Fenfang's urging. "I can do this, I can save him." He doesn't even seem to realize the slip, which might be the saddest thing of all. <<Nothing is wholly corrupt. Nothing is wholly pure. Asura came from Cahlash and you can be... no...>> But there's an inconsistency here that bothers him. "Sister. Spirit Sister. No one's ever gotten that wrong." And the discrepancy is enough to kick at least some of his higher level reasoning skills into gear - not to mention knock him from one language to another.
"Him?" Fenfang says, blinking, and looking down to the dead man on the ground. "He wasn't actually here. Come on, we should really leave." She's /not/ about this at all.
<UMBRA> "What is it your kind call them?" The angel answers with a disgruntled noise, "Jamak? Yes, I believe that is it. Insist on your own names for things that have perfectly reasonable names all on their own. But to the Spirit Sister as well, though she matters less to me than your Mistress." There is a laugh then, terrible as crashing thunder, "For a people so wrapped up in your freedom, to think you all have a Mistress. Though, truthfully, we have better ones." And then she's making to head to the sky once more, the reach out to touch having been forgotten in the event of finding the Veil between them.
And Haroun lets her go, standing in the center of the ravaged room shaking. He doesn't turn around at first, incapable of moving or doing anything more than wrestling the tempest inside him into some sort of order. When he can finally do anything at all, it is to release his hold on this two-legged form and drop all the way to his breed form. Only then - cushioned a little by the dominance of the cat's streamlined thought process - can he move, bounding out of the room as fast as he can. There are animals and a possible Kinfolk to be released before any foxy destruction can be effected.
With an indrawn breath, Phillipe becomes a large, rosy gold leopard.
Fenfang hangs behind, looking about the room to see if there isn't some more James Bond style bullshit to be found in here. Secret bases like this always have self destruct sequences in the movies. Or something.
The animals are right where they were left. The two people in the other room are also right where they were left. And so far, it seems everyone is quite calm. Even shaking, sobbing, terrified man has settled down.
Haroun spends a moment with the female leopard, making sure she is still fine and explaining that if she'll wait and follow him when he leaves, he can lead her up the safe path. The other animals he has no way of telling anything, so they're turned loose by a shaking set of Crinos hands - all except the foxes, whose cage is set in the hallway for Fenfang. They've got better odds of survival with the two shifters, but he can't tell them that. Next it'll be the lady scientist. The man he cares nothing for. At this point he can't, there's only so much room left in his spinning mind for anything else.
No such luck, it seems. But, hey, at least she tried. With a shrug, she goes out into the hallway, finding the cage of foxes there and smiling. <<Hey, I'm going to let you out now, but if you wait outside, I can show you the way up, alright?>> She says to them, even though she remain in homid. The gekkering is odd in a homid throat, but she does her best. If they agree, she'll let them out and continue on. If not, well, she'll still let them out and let them find their own way up. Then, though, she's slipping into the other room. And while Haroun may not have seen to the once panicking man, she'll release him. Better he get out of here before he starts asking uncomfortable questions.
Both the leopard and the foxes agree to these plans. The other animals, save the shark who really has nowhere to be released /to/ in here, are very set to be free. As is, funny enough, the male scientist who immediately bolts. At least it gets the front door open for the animals. Miss Smith, when she's released, well... She just... Sort of waits, a little bit dazed with all of this.
Then, though, every light in the building turns on. And a voice comes over the speakers. "Self destruct sequence activated." Oh, that can't be good, "Sequence comeplete in 60 seconds." Time to hit the roads, boys and girls.
Must have found something in there, Fenfang.
Crinos is all well and good when opposable thumbs are required, but when it's speed you need, nothing beats four legs. "Get on." It's the only two words he offers in growled command to the remaining scientist before taking Chatro. Silly tiny human legs. He'll give her time to clamber aboard, but he's not waiting around if she balks. The leopard, Fox Friend and himself are his top three priorities - in that order - and if a Kin is too stupid to grab life when it's offered, well, the species is better off at that point. Either way, he's leading the charge to the door.
With an indrawn breath, Haroun becomes a massive, rose-gold bagheera-chatro leopard. Full Delirium is in effect. (See +rules Delirium)
At that announcement, Fenfang turns back into the room that held the animals, double checking that everything has been let free. Seeing the shark, she shifts up into her Crinos equivelant, reaching into the tank and picking up the shark and heading for the door. Chatro is definitely faster than she is, so she's glad to see Haroun already making his way out. And she'll burn Rage if she needs to in order to keep up.
Miss Smith... Well, she does, in fact, climb aboard. It's probably the /weirdest/ thing she's ever done but when needs must...
The shark is VERY displeased with being picked up. But a Koto Kitsune is enough to handle the writhing of a young shark. The countdown continues, but so far it seems everyone's going to make it out.
Haroun doesn't have all that much Rage to burn, especially now, fighting just to keep the black storm in the back of his mind and not allow it the all-consuming grief that it wants. All the same, he'll use what he has to survive. Survival is the only way that ravaged room becomes a nightmare. Survival means running out the door and out through the mouth of the cave, so that's where he's headed as fast as he possibly can, urging the smaller leopard on with little grunting rumbles every other stride or so.
Fog's Own Child runs behind, tossing the shark into the sea outside the mouth of the cave and calling to the foxes to follow her. At her first opportunity, she shifts into her fox form, so much faster with four legs than two, even when those two legs belong to her war form.
Fog's Own Child becomes a small, red fox.
One good thing about animals, when they see larger predators running for their lives, they tend to do the same. The shark makes it into the sea. The leopard follows behind Haroun, and the foxes follow Fog's Own Child. Sixty seconds is a surprisingly long time for a four legged dash driven by self preservation. By the time the sequence ends, everyone is safely away. And, luckily, it seems the only damage is contained to that seaside cave, the mouth filling with fallen rock. The facility is no more.
Haroun is in the sea, wading or paddling if the tide has risen high enough. The surrounding salt-water is at once a balm and a wound all its own, far too entwined in his mind with the man who embodies it. He makes his way almost sedately to the cliff base, hopping up and starting the long trek up the goat path with /far/ less enthusiasm than he made the trek down.
