ArchivedLogs:Dogs of War
|Dogs of War|
bit of snow, bit of havoc.
This courtyard is the lush central hub of the surrounding Harbor Commons, bound in on three sides by rows of duplexes and triplexes, cutting upward at the sky with the sharp thrift of a minimalist's style, neat lines and bountiful windows, boldened with accents in wood towards the upper stories, stone towards the base, the whole of the compound sealed in by a low stoneworked wall that opens entrance gates to the streets beyond at its two far corners, smaller gates at building back doors.
The fourth side of the courtyard is open to the East River, the ground forming a slight decline, controlled on one side by micro-retaining walls to form wide steps where picnic tables sit beneath the nominative shelter of a trio of dogwood trees, accessible by ramp. The other side is allowed to slope at its natural angle, a wide open yard space, until its cut off at the river's edge, where a massive pair of oak trees stand, a staircase leading away up one of their thick trunks.
The yard itself is carpeted in an organic flow of emerald grass swirled through with wending channels of smooth-paved cement walkways, flowing naturally away from the building's front entrances, where some are arced by trellis, some flanked by hosta plants, fern and lilies, a few laid in gentle switch-backing ramps for wheelchair access, before forking off at matching angles to sites of small garden installments. Bird feeders and baths suspended from the necks of small lamp posts, a rock-lined koi pond, a sleek gazebo tucked to one side in simplistic varnished wood, its southern side overgrown with a mass of thriving grapevine and a caged-in barbecue pit under its sheltering roof. A play area and proper garden are within sight off another branch, until finally all paths spiral in like wheel spokes to a shared common house at the center of all traffic flow.
The Commons is bright, Monday afternoon, a harsh glare of sunlight glancing off a thick blanket of snow. The courtyard is home to a good deal of chaos. Carnage, yelling, the splatter of snow exploding against clothes, the flash of lights and shimmer of rapidly teleporting figures.
Right now, this is war.
It's not a very clearly /defined/ war, to be fair. Perhaps at some point there has been well-marked stakes, clearly-delineated territory, actual teams. Perhaps. Right now -- is someone keeping track? Was someone ever keeping track? It's hard to say.
What /is/ clear is that there are, at least, two forts left standing. In the charred bones of what used to be Workhaus, a gleaming ice castle has been erected. Its outer ring of rooms all have ceilings, solid walls with narrow windows, tall two-story /watchtowers/ at the ends; the open-air center has had a large trebuchet dragged into it, well-supplied by now with ammunition.
In front of Funhaus, the fortifications are smaller, less sturdy, more amateur in their design and construction. But while Funfort lacks architectural soundness, it certainly does not hurt for beauty. The entire edifice, not only its facade, is a phantasmagorical labyrinth of color. Someone had meticulously dyed each layer of snow during the building process (and the repair process that is ongoing), and the finished structure scintillates in the bright sunlight, a different color from every angle. From the tallest central spire (which has needed so much reinforcement that it's more of a /mound/ now), an ice-glazed rainbow slide curves down and empties into the cover of the ramparts below.
Some of the snow has gotten brightly coloured in places -- perhaps /rubble/ from Funfort, perhaps fragments of Tag's projectiles -- but right now a short distance away from Workfort the snow is, in fact, stained suspiciously darker red.
If either Dusk or Shane are much bothered by their rather more brutal warring, neither /shows/ it; there's only a fierce grin on Dusk's face (fangs gleaming red) where his fiery wings spread against the snow. One large handful of snow is coming up, mashed unabashedly straight into the smallshark's toothy FACE.
Shane CHOMPS straight at the snow -- possibly also Dusk's hand in the process, he's already gone for BLOOD so far this snowfight and he's not shy about gunning for more. Gnashgnarrchomp. He's scrambling back up to his feet after this -- though not before icy blue lips have paused to press a FIRM kiss to Dusk's bloodstained mouth. One boot kicks a spray of snow over the vampire-bat's head in passing as he continues on at a breakneck sprint towards Workfort, grabbing a shovel as he goes.
The shovel is yoinked unceremoniously out of Shane's hand as he nears the fort, with a THWP and a zing of webglue. Atop one of Workfort's tall watchtowers, a second sharky blue face peers down, teeth bared in a bright grin. B waves Shane's shovel in cheerful salute. Uses it to spade down a hefty load of snow onto hir brother's head before, eschewing weaponry, she simply launches /herself/ down off the icy parapet and towards Shane.
Dusk leaves the pups to it, relatively unconcerned, it seems, about Shane's impending assault on the towering icy walls of Workfort. He's heading inside -- not to defend the fort but to help load up the long arm of the weighted trebuchet tucked into its center and aimed, right now, at the gloriously colourful Funfort in the distance.
A fort that is, at the moment, if not as solid as Workfort in its construction, certainly better armed in its temporary defense. A faint glimmer of iridescent shield has just gone up, bubbling the fort in a solid cocoon and weathering a veritable /storm/ of snow hailed down on it from above. Near the base of the slide, Jax is -- kind of breathless, kind of too-pale, grinning anyway where he lies knocked into a snowdrift, eyes focused up on the shield and the barrage it is undergoing.
The foiled barrage that had been raining down on the fort soon begins raining down on Jax, instead. Whirlwind of snowballs flying in from the ghost-blur form dancing around the photokinetic. Flicker has geared up for this fight; he's carrying his ammunition in twisted pouches slung at his hips. For a moment he pauses, perched in a crouch atop Jax's shield as his scar-snarled face twists up into an amused smile. Only brief. Then blip-blip-blip, away -- to fling, paf! -- another shot down at the brighter man's face.
Inside the shield, Joshua has been busy helping Spencer reinforce one colorful crumbling wall of Funfort. More snow packed in to buttress it, the smaller teleporter vanishes, reappearing across the battlefield to gather up an armload of snow for DUMPING on his sister's head. Joshua, on the other hand, leans up against the inside of the shield, eying the scene outside thoughtfully. There's a tap of mittened fingers against his lips, a narrowing of eyes, and then the latest of Flicker's salvo flies back /upwards/, a sudden wrench of TK rerouting the snowballs to whirl away from Jax instead.
Not that Joshua seems overly /invested/ in helping Funfort for long. The snowballs remain spinning in midair, losing integrity, admittedly, no longer properly balls and just a rapidly whirling tornado of white. A lighter flutter of telekinesis flicks Shane away from his fracas and up into the vortex instead. A small twitch of smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
Tag has been perched at the top of Funfort's single spire, though as the battlement there crumbles he is more and more just held up by Jax's shield. He has a brightly colored basket full of snowballs, but at the moment his eyes are focused down at a gleaming white patch in Funfort's wall where Spence and Joshua have just completed their repairs. The freshly reinforced wall fluctuates through half a dozen shades of pink and purple before settling on a bright periwinkle with an iridescent sheen. Funfort has /priorities/. He looks up as the vortex of snow forms and emits a squeak of delight, then picks a snowball from his basket (it changes from white to kelly green in his hand) to hurl at Flicker, little though he probably expects it to connect.
Tian-shin is down on the ground, covering her brother--though her method of doing so isn’t necessarily very obvious. Every snowball that flies his direction simply disintegrates, evaporating into harmless condensation like sharp puffs of laughter. But with the distraction of the snow-tornado, she makes a beeline for Workfort’s less-guarded flank.
Steve has been hiding out in the calm, icy heart of Workfort, stockpiling ammunition for the trebuchet. Now he steps back from the siege weapon, loaded and ready. Not so easily distracted by snow/sharknado (in fairness, he can only see so much of it from where he stands), he breaks off to intercept Tian-shin before it seems as if he could reasonably have seen her approach. So as she comes around the back corner of Workfort she is met with a rather /large/ and impressively spherical snowball.
Matt wanders out of Commonhaus, through the ruins of the fort that once stood beside it. He's wearing a green and gray jacket, faded and overlong blue jeans, and brown hiking boots, carrying a slim silver thermos in his hand. His vivid green eyes survey the battlefield impassively. He nods to himself as he takes another sip of his beverage and strolls toward Funfort. Jax's shimmering shield winks out of existence without much ado. Seemingly at the same time, Flicker stops flickering. A moment later, the whirling snow vortex shifts and deposits Shane neatly up on one of Workfort's watchtowers. There's a mischievous twist to his smile as he passes Funfort by and walks out into the middle of the no-man's land between the two surviving factions.
There's a muffled thud as Flicker -- currently darting out of the way of Tag's green missile, currently throwing one right back -- falls straight out of the air to land in a heap in the middle of the fray. For a moment, wide-eyed, startled, he just sucks back in the breath that's just been knocked out of him. There's a moment where he doesn't stand -- doesn't move, though Matt, at least, can /feel/ him straining in attempt to flit back into motion. Before he catches sight of the other man across the yard and --
-- bursts into laughter, scrambling back to his feet. Still breathless, snow-crusted, amused as he races over towards Matt. Arms already flinging open wide.
Jax's eye widens, too, when his shield vanishes, though he's quicker to identify the /source/ of this meddling. He pushes himself up out of his snowdrift -- the smile he's been wearing grows even brighter when he spies Flicker running. He bursts into a sprint as well, heading straight for Matt to /tackle/ the other man -- into a giant squeeze of hug, pulled momentarily off his feet and into a spinning twirl.
Not to be outdone, Flicker doesn't actually -- stop just because his quarry has been CAPTURED first. Just barrels straight on into the other men and if they get knocked back into the snow, /oh/ well. Matt is /getting/ more hugs, dogpiled on in an exhilarated rush of laughter and ice.
When Jax's shield vanishes, Tag (who had been kind of standing on it) falls face-first...onto the rainbow slide! His yelp of surprise (and/or joy!) is brief, before he plows into the pile of snow at its base.
Matt has the presence of mind to snap the lid of his thermos shut, just in time for TACKLEHUG. He spins with the momentum of the impact, probably would have toppled over (taking Jax him) if Flicker hadn't hit him from the /other/ direction immediately thereafter. Squished between his friends, the laughter that bubbles from him is bright and pure and happy.
Nestled safely in the sturdy walls of Workfort, Dusk is only smiling a fangy smile at the carnage outside. His wings stretch in lazy roll at his back as Matt wreaks his havoc on the others, and there's a soft rumble of purr in his throat as he peers out through a slit of window at the now-unshielded Funfort.
His fanged smile stretches wider as he returns to the trebuchet's cocked arm, crouching down beside it to unleash its barrage towards the brilliantly colourful target across the field.