ArchivedLogs:Carnage

Carnage
Dramatis Personae Anette and Killian
In Absentia	2015-12-06 "Some motherfuckingthing BIT me!" (Occurs after Revenge)
Location <Bronx> - Drug Den
Killian stands at the edge of Ascension Island's beach, a few feet back from the water's edge on the lip of a large rock. Human form, he looks out over the bay with fingers slowly toying with a metal pin, slowly rotated between his knuckles. He'd requested her to regroup in an hour from their meeting in the cabin at this particular place- likely the rockiest piece of beach with little sand in between. He's dressed slightly differently than his normal, still baring the black jeans and blacker boots, he also has his old hoodie with the hood drawn and a scarf around his face, currently bunched into wrinkles beneath his chin. The man likely looks somewhat serene from a distance, unmoving as he waits. Nearly on the dot, the beating of wings is heard above Killian as Anette circles above him, gently landing on the closest thing to a flat surface she can find. Her outfit is a tad simpler than his, a long-sleeve shirt tailored for her wings, jeans, and boots. All black and all form-fitting, though it's likely more for aerodynamics than visual appeal. For the first time in a long while, she's without a coat or gloves, her wings and talons visible. Pausing a moment to examine Killian, her yellow eyes eerily bright in the dark, she gives a faint nod in greeting. "Ready?" The sun, mostly hidden throughout the day by overcast clouds, is slowly being lost the rest of the way behind the cityscape horizon, the chilly evening becoming chillier. Killian doesn't look up or back at the sound of wings, though the pin does pause, his hand lowering to his side. "Did you bring something with a smell? I can weed the fuckers out of most of the holes I know rats to take cover in, but could take all night. And the city's crawlin' with more than just his filth." Stating the obvious makes him chuckle for a breath, and shrug lazily. Anette nods and unclenches her arm, where she'd tightly been holding onto a plastic bag. She carefully steps over the rocks towards Killian, holding the bag out. Balled up inside is her t-shirt. "I don't know if it's enough but it's the best I've got. Fucker was close enough to it," she says, oddly calm considering the topic. After she passes it off, she takes a step back, watching Killian do his work. "I'm fine with that. I've got all the time in the world." "Better than nothing." The bag is taken, though the shapeshifter leaves it zipped closed for now. Killian does look at the contents, however, for maybe a moment longer than necessary before he clears his throat, and sets it on the ground beside his boot on the flat rocky surface. "I'm not out for zombie killing, just a waste of time. No interactions except the one we want. If you wanna get your hands clean, the less eyes noticing us fuckin' around their streets, the better." That seems it for the debriefing, though there's clearly some hesitance before he finally gives, "Alright, let's go." He draws up the mask over his face, but it seems almost unnecessary as the black melts into patterns- triangles that rise into feathers. Shrinking farther and farther, shortly only a raven stands where he had. One beady eye looks up at Anette before it hops onto the bag, pierces the plastic and takes a couple more hops before its airborne and headed for the city. "Trust me, I won't be wasting any time," Anette murmurs in response to the debriefing. As he glances into the bag, she does note his reaction, however small and holds her breath until he sets it down. She waits patiently as Killian morphs, and allows him a head start into the air before her wings stretch out and up she goes, following a few yards behind Killian. Incredibly focused, her eyes remain on the raven in front of her, never once breaking to glance at the water or eventually city below them. Flight is a little slower and with less gliding ability than it should be given the bag the raven holds between its talons, though it doesn't seem about to let it go. Rapid wing beats close the distance between island and city, taking only enough altitude to take it up and over most of the buildings. The first target location seems to be the one Pedro more or less flattened, the raven semi-hovering as it drops the bag and then lands right next to it ontop of a fallen over and abandoned front door. Sharp head turns, one way and then the other, then back. Quick bird movements, waiting for movement, sound. Then, in a moment, a border collie is where bird had been, the change as fluid, graceful as it always is. The ziplock is short work to become shredded plastic, cold dog-nose pressed into the t-shirt within until- once Anette lands- it's retrieved back to her by gentle-holding muzzle. Once the raven heads towards earth, so does Anette, tucking her wings in to perform a controlled dive. At the last second, she pulls her wings up, slowing her descent and allowing herself to gently land on the ground. As Killian begins ripping open the bag and sniffing the shirt inside, Anette turns to face the building. No expression is apparent but she does seem rather lost in thought, her trance not breaking until she feels a cold nose pressed against her hand. She blinks and turns to face Killian as he attempts to return the shirt. She shakes her head and turns away, having no interest in the shirt. "Did you get his smell?" she asks, spreading her wings out again as she prepares for flight though she glances back to Killian, waiting for his move. The canine pins his ears back, shoving the shirt towards her again. But when she turns away, there's a huff that precedes him turning back to what he's supposed to be doing- sniffing. He disappears inside, then reappears, her shirt still in his mouth throughout the nose work. And then he suddenly takes off, the dog sprinting down the sidewalk and rather abandoned, dark street beyond. No sign of zombie hordes yet, but at least he seems to have a lead. As soon as Killian takes off, so does Anette, shooting straight into the air. She gains height, quite a bit actually, blending in with the night sky. If Killian has trouble keeping tabs on her, she has no trouble keeping up with Killian with help from owl-enhanced senses. She remains directly above him, silently gliding through the air as she follows him, much like an owl hunting its prey. Which, in the end, is exactly what she's doing. It takes time, this process. The dog vanishes in and out of buildings, on and off the street, into various alleyways and back into main ways. There are clear times that he must lose any sense of trail, so diluted the scent must be with the living and the not-so-living, since he circles back a number of times. But it's well practiced, whatever he's doing, spending more times in certain places than others, twice evading a stray zombie picking at a corpse on a street. He must have shifted once or twice, since a dog couldn't have fit where he manages to go, but all the while he takes that shirt with him. It's likely a few hours that pass before the dog changes behavior, his running, zig-zagging and searching coming to an abrupt halt as he slows at the corner of a building still with the Bronx area. It's a run-down townhouse, a single light lit can be seen in the barred basement window. Quite murmurings come from within, the clinks of glasses, the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke heavy even through the sealed window panes. Anette is a very patient flyer. When the dog pauses to sniff out an area, she circles above them. When he loses his trail and his forced to back track, Anette turns around with him. Once Killian narrows in on G, it's hard to deny Anette grows excited. Once again diving to the ground, she lands beside him, following his gaze to the townhouse. "He's in there," she says quietly, less of a question and more speaking her thoughts out loud. She breathes slowly as she takes it in. "I say this calls for a jaguar," she murmurs before taking a step forward. No more waiting, she's doing this now. "Wait." Killian reaches to grab her arm before she can go much farther, his harsh whisper muffled further by the mask that's over his face. "I smelled three. Doesn't mean that's it, need to do a run through. I don't do a job unless I have it all laid out and planned. This is enough unknowns to make me uneasy. Ain't gonna die tonight from stupidity." When he releases her arm, he adds one more thing with sudden, brief smirk of humor, "And don't eat me." He's already shrinking again. Long hairless tail, hairless round ears, and bristly black fur leave a rat in man's wake. A black sewer rat that scurries up and through a crack in the worn-out door to disappear inside. Anette quickly turns to face Killian as he grabs her arm. "I am /done/ waiting," she hisses, pulling her arm free. "The only plan we need is to kill everything that moves." She still looks stern as Killian changes forms, yellow eyes following him to the ground. "I prefer rabbit," she responds, watching him scurry off towards the door and actually listens to him, waiting outside. For three seconds. Then she makes her way to the door, slowly opening it and slipping inside, her body stiffening and talons stretched out as she prepares for quite literally anything. The main floor is quiet, though there are boxes lining the walls of what are probably bags of unsold goods and money. It's not quite as simple in here as the other place, with large sectional sofas dominating the main room with beer bottles and trash littered throughout. There's only one lamp lighting this living space, and the kitchen beyond the breakfast bar is dark and uninhabited. The stairs up are just off to the left of the front entrance, the upstairs dark too. But the entrance to the lower level just off of the living space is wide open, a crooked lamp lighting the stairwell downwards. An eruption of boisterous laughter comes from below, fading off with more low-voiced muttering and lingering chuckling. Killian himself had gone upstairs, the rat scurrying from room to room, taking more time. Minutes, though, not hours. But he's soon returning still in the form of the black rat which scamper-slides down the baseboards that follow the stairs. The rat pauses on the landing, sitting up in a beg with its little pink feet tucked to its chest. All this, only to give Anette a very /angry/ tiny-rodent squeak. Anette, not quite as rash as some might assume, hadn't advanced much further. Once inside, she pauses, turning her head slowly as she listens for signs of life, doing her own, though not quite as thorough, scope of the place. Still, she gets the general idea. Small group, at least four, no more than ten, all in the basement. And G is definitely one of them. Aware of Killian's approach, she turns to face the staircase, watching him slide down the baseboards. 'What? Going to rat me out?' she half mouths, half whispers. Whether or not the pun is lost on her is unclear as she merely ticks her head towards the staircase downwards and begins approaching it herself. Rat leaps from the landing, bounding-scurrying past Anette, weaving between her feet with more very quiet chittering that could be assumed to be cursing to the top of the stairs that leads downwards. He begins creeping down, a step at a time, much less obvious than a human-sized owl, as silent and eerie as rodents can be. Whiskers twitching, beady eyes on alert, about halfway down he drops into a small hole. The squeaky profanity is very much ignored as Anette makes her way downstairs. The sudden opening into view is also ignored. Anette does not appear to be going for a sneak attack. As she is suddenly brought into view, so are they. Five of them are seated around a table for what appears to be a business meeting: G, the bodybuilders on either side of them, and two others that, judging on their thinner frames, likely have more to do with the brains behind the operation. One of the bigger guys from the night before notices Anette first and nudges his boss, who upon recognizing Anette grins darkly. "Ah, changed your mind sweetheart?" he asks, rising from the table, his two bodyguards rising with him. "I knew you couldn't go long without using. Ready to rethink our deal?" He leans over towards the bald one and whispers in his ear, eyes never leaving Anette. The big bald guy gives a nod and makes his way over. Anette stands still and watches him closely, unmoving, allowing him forward. Then just as soon as he's in reach - she raises a hand, talons outstretched. With a rage rarely seen from her, Anette hooks her talons into the flesh of his neck, tearing into it. His hand immediately reaches up, holding it tightly as blood streams between his fingers and he drops to the ground. The rat is nowhere to be seen initially. But there's a scream of pain from the body guard who had reached for his gun at Anette's attack. The gun hits the floor as he reaches for his leg, though there's no obvious aggressor. "Some motherfuckingthing BIT me!" He yells while stumbling back, his chair upturning in the process. One of the scrawnier ones shrieks next, a small knife hitting the ground beside him as he holds his hand that is rapidly swelling around two good-sized blood-weeping puncture marks. "Something's under the table! Under the table!" Is panic, he too leaping back to stand, to get away, and unfortunately falling over his own chair to land hard on the floor. Stepping over the gasping body of the guard beneath her, Anette makes her way towards the table. With the other guard disarmed, she quickly makes her way towards him and the gun. She picks it up and without thought, holds it to his head just long enough for him to feel its presence before she pulls the trigger and he's gone. She leaves the two scrawny ones up to Killian as she focuses her attention on G, who conveniently has his attention (and the barrel of his gun), focused on her. "Would've been a hell of a lot easier if you had just gone with it," he says, his humor gone. "You're not the first bitch I've had to take care of." The whole table jumps as if someone had kicked it hard from beneath. The still-living man with a gun turns to run in his terror and confusion, but something snags his leg and he's /yanked/ rapidly underneath the table, not all unlike a horror movie. The gun is long abandoned by the time he's trying to hold onto the table's legs, desperate to save himself. There's loud screaming that turns to gurgling and then silence, his grip releasing, limp as the rest of him is dragged out of view. And only then does Killian come into view. The black jaguar steps out from under the table, curling around behind Anette's legs not all unlike a housecat. Pale olive-yellow eyes fiercely intent on G, off-white fangs bared, face wrinkled in his drawn-out threat in the form of rumbling, hissing snarl. The sounds of struggling and death only seem to excite Anette, her grin growing. Unlike G, who quickly glances back and forth between her and what's left of his team, she's able to resist watching. "Oh relax, I'm not going to shoot you," she says. "That would be too easy. Besides, my partner and I wanted you to beg." G takes a quick moment to assess his situation before chuckling and shaking his head, though his gun remains trained on her. "You think I'm letting either of you out of here alive? I've got one last deal. You let me walk out of here and you'll never see or hear me again. I'll move to fucking Boston if that's what it takes. In return...you take as much product as you want. Crack, powder, doesn't matter. As much as you can carry. And then we go our separate ways." The offer seems to take Anette by surprise. While her gun remains trained on G, some of the rage disappears from her face and she falls silent, no more threats or witty remarks. It's almost like she might be considering. Almost. The last remaining living lackey seems more than predisposed, holding his hand as if it /burns/. He gasps for breaths, shaking as if feverish, unable or unwilling to get up off the floor. As if the jaguar's ears weren't pinned back far enough, they're nearly flush with its skull by the time G is done speaking. The snarling almost falls into silence around the same time Anette's expression changes slightly and she doesn't immediately respond, but for a very different reason. It waits, waits until that deal is offered. Waits until there's quiet following both sides. There's no telegraphing, there's not even an extra twitch of whisker that gives warning to the giant cat's spring. Its fangs sink into G's gun arm, wrenching him backwards by his wrist and shoulder that the wrong way in its socket as he's taken to the ground. Killian, though, does nothing more than bite that wrist, controlling it and the now-dislocated arm it's attached to. Killian's leap is enough to wake Anette from her thoughts, no longer grinning. One Killian has disarmed G, Anette set her own gun down and approaches them. Guns are too impersonal. The G she approaches is radically different from the one only seconds earlier. Apparently, unarming him and dislocating his shoulder is enough to break him, he looks up to Anette with wide, fear-filled eyes. He remains perfectly still, knowing attempt to pull free from the jaguar, no matter the pain, would only end badly. "Fine, you win. I'll be gone. You'll never see me again..AH! PLEASE!" he yells as the slightest movement sends wave of pain shoots through his arm. At the word please, Anette suddenly smiles, though it's almost sickly evil. "That's better," she says, kneeling to reach down to her boot and pulling out a carefully hidden knife. With a grunt, she thrusts it into his stomach, pushing it in as deeply as she can, her face inches from his. Slowly she pulls it out and doesn't even bother to clean it before she sheathes it again. "We're done," she says to Killian. The wound is fatal, though judging by the slowly growing blood stain, death won't come quickly. Killian paws the gun out of reach, snarling still, lips curling, hot breath mixed with the blood that seeps around his mouth as he holds his place. Only when Anette gives her final words does he drop the arm and withdraw back. There's huffing then, a less aggressive noise while the jaguar moves past her. But when he circles in a corner of the room and lays down, it doesn't appear that he's about to leave. Tail curls around himself as he settles in this position that grants him view of the two still somewhat-alive, pale feline eyes looking up to Anette, watching her as intently as comes naturally to the giant cat. Anette's smile falters a bit, perhaps now that her work is done and she begins to realize how exhausted she really is. She also realizes how messy that work was, she's splattered with blood, her right hand soaked. She watches Killian, curious about his plans are now that they finally finished what they came to do. Watching him curl up like a house cat after a large dinner gets an amused chuckle and she walks over to join him, sitting down on the floor beside him as she too watches the two barely-alive thugs. "Not bad," she murmurs, looking over the carnage with an almost impressed gaze.