ArchivedLogs:Jaguar vs Owl

Jaguar vs Owl
Warning: blood and violence
Dramatis Personae Anette, Pedro, and Killian	2015-11-13 Takes place some time after Going Batty, part of Zombie Flu Plot
Location <BOM> The Spatters - Ascension Island
Not much has changed. The plate with half a steak sits cold and untouched since Anette left it. A few drops of blood remain on the table. Really, the only thing that's moved is Anette, who is now laying on the couch, a blanket tucked over her. She really doesn't look much better, hair tangled and wings ungroomed, feathers sticking out at odd angles. She's wearing a baggy t-shirt and sweat pants as she lays, staring at the TV. It's turned on to kids cartoons but she's been careful to mute it, for fear of the words triggering her illness. One thing the shapeshifter is good at when he wants to be is letting himself into places he likely shouldn't be. So it's probably unanticipated but not surprising that when Killian arrives, he enters the main cabin through Anette's room. Anette's door swings open- couldn't he have just come in through the main door?- and the man is in human form, walking with less sway, less weakness than he had not days before. Apparently that healing aspect he has on shifting does nothing for the non-physical wounds, as his illness has taken the same course as everyone else infected. "Hola." Comes a greeting with no Spanish accent. The man pauses within view of the couch, a place at which Anette wouldn't have to turn far to figure out who it is, his hands shoved into his pockets and a stern look about him. "{Muted?}" He states in question, and points at the TV. He didn't bring writing utensils with him, so it's understand or not at the moment. Killian's presence is indeed not surprising, if unexpected. Anette, fortunately, has taken to carrying a pad of paper around with her. She pulls it out from under the covers along with a pen, scribbles two words, and holds it up. 'Words Bad' is all it says, before she looks him over, adding to her message. 'I'm sorry...' is also all it says. For what, she doesn't specify; she feels it should be fairly obvious. Killian frowns, brows furrowed and he steps closer, a hand out-stretched to take the writing pad from her to reply back as if he has a better idea. But it's in that moment that he has a strange look about him- a forgetful one. His gaze blanks, his hand stilled before he actually closes the distance. A blink seems to bring him back- some of the way, all of the way? It seems a little uncertain, but he takes an odd step backwards, hesitating as if he can't remember what he was doing- or what he's doing here. "{Anyone else home?}" Comes again in Spanish, as if none of the first had taken place. As she holds the writing pad out for Killian to take, she frowns as he seems to mentally blip. She knows that well. Quickly taking her paper back, she continues to watch him carefully as he returns to his right mind. Once Spanish begins leaving his lips, she shakes her head. "Ich spreche Deutsch," she says, watching Killian closely as she begins slowly writing another message down. 'Written words bad?' with a very large question mark. "Que?" Killian responds to both the words and the writing as one, but he ends up shaking his head. "No se." A pause as he reaches for the pad, 'Dutch, fancy.' He scribbles first. Second, 'No, I can't keep my head on straight. I'm worried to shift. Written fine. I just forgot.' He starts to hand it back and then remembers what he'd started to do, 'Watch novellas? At least hear sounds, music.' Then it's given to her. Once his hands are free, he's massaging his wrists and knuckles slowly, each in turn- that thing he's done before when he starts to ache in repressing a change. Anette chuckles and writes, 'German. Not so fancy. Head won't stay on. Zombie flu. Regan has cure. We need to be treated.' She gives a light shrug and glances towards the TV. 'Cartoon is colorful and simple enough to know what's happening without sound.' She does indeed recognize his quirks from resisting change. Her lips press tightly together, not writing a response but watching him with concern. Killian physically hesitates again when reaching for the paper to reply, inhaling sharply and rubbing over his face roughly. One of his hands is shaking, but not the one he uses to take the notepad. Holding it still as he writes on it is a little more difficult, and his scribbles become exponentially messier and more difficult to read, 'Needles, IV, infirmary, required to stay for hours. Trapped, cage, experi--' The line falls off the edge of the paper, a crooked jagged thing before he gives it back to her and turns away immediately, muttering curses under his breath too low to hear in full, but a fitful attempt to calm that shaking. Anette reclaims the paper, practically throwing it the floor as she quickly rises, making her way over to Killian. No time to read the message now. She gently places a hand on Killian's back in an attempt to reassure him, while calmly murmuring, "Ruhig, atmen..." Yellows continue to examine him closely, knowing how...volatile he can be on a good day and preparing for anything now." What would, on a normal day, be a short-lived outburst following /that/ particular memory with maybe a little ocular change could hardly be that with an infected mind. "{Careful. Careful- Get away.}" He growls in Spanish. And the surge of caution he /wants/ to have when she touches his back backfires into a surge of adrenaline, a surge that spikes sprouting of fur down his body. Black on black. Dark fur with darker rosettes claim his skin, absorb his clothing that barely begins to match the depth of hue the black jaguar claims. Talon-like claws hook from his humanoid nails before they disappear into hands that spread into heavy feline paws. He falls to all fours as his shifting completes, muted snarling growing in volume with his head tucked between his forelimbs and rounded ears pinned back against the back of his head. Despite not knowing Spanish, Anette has a pretty good idea of what Killian is asking and she quickly steps back. She reaches back, gripping the back of the couch tightly as she watches Killian transform, her wings pinned tightly to her back and her feathers flattened as soon as they can be. She doesn't move at first as she knows Killian is usually in control of his animal selves. It's not until she reads his body language that she realizes the flu /may/ be affecting him and she quickly steps back, away from him. Hungry, hungry. /Hungry/. To most, that would mean raiding a refrigerator. To a jaguar, a human-sized bird is the perfect substitute. When the large cat rise, and turns 'round to face the owl, there's a show of fangs- bright white against the darkness of his face. The snarl progresses, lip curling to growling to an outright roar. There's no Killian in those pale lime-gold eyes, and the beast moves steadily forwards head-body-tail in line, prowling, stalking in a direct line for Anette. Anette's wings shift from flattened to outstretched and with a loud screech, it takes one beat for Anette to be airborne. Which, in a cabin, means nothing but it's instinct. She heads for the dining room table, kicking everything including the raw steak onto the floor and she crouches. Yellow eyes, wide as she quickly takes in as much as she can, are already beginning to fill with a rage of her own, fueled by the adrenaline. One hand presses tightly to the table, permanently creating scratches and dents, the other held at her side, ready to scratch or gouge or whatever to protect herself. Her goal, unfortunately due to her own condition, is becoming less protecting herself from a sick friend and more angrily ripping to shreds the jaguar in her cabin. When the bird takes flight, the jaguar is suddenly in lightning motion to follow, though within the cabin it takes only a couple leaps to cross distances. The very second she lands on the dining room table, the jaguar's muscles coil, tighten into the great springs that they are. To snag a bird off its perch or out of the air, the giant cat cares not. It's brain is in one place- food. Prey. Feast. Hunger. /Hunger/. All of the giant cat's finely tuned, finely coiled muscles release at once, flinging itself into the air with abrupt and intense power directly for Anette. Massive claws outstretched, mouth opened with fangs fully revealed- its species built on accuracy within its power to find /vitals/. But first, it tries to make contact. Its target is her throat, of course, but whatever claws or fangs can grab is what it would to take down its targetted prey. There's really one one option for Anette: get out of the cabin. With a quick twist of her head to glance to the door, she's prepared to bounce off again. However, the jaguar's quick pounce catches her off guard and she quickly outstretches her wings, taking off and changing her destination from 'outside' to 'away'. She does manage to make it off the table but not before claws just manage to catch her leg and she's painfully pulled out of the air and thrown down onto the ground. Taking a tuck and roll method, she pulls her wings back into her body and lands on the ground with a loud grunt, wasting no time in rolling over onto all fours as she tries to make a break for it once again. The jaguar takes only enough time to put its paw back down to coil again in preparation for its next strike. It's fast, too fast, that it's again leaping for Anette after she hits the ground. It's a black streak through the air, the dining room table kicked out from behind him as it uses the edge of the table for its momentum. The table topples, clattering onto its side and spinning askew. The sound dampens the growl that the cat has on impact, aiming to land on top of Anette, to pin her with claws to the ground, to burry its fangs into an arm or shoulder, somehow not /quite/ aiming for the throat or face. Maybe Killian is in there somewhere? Anette had just gotten into a kneeling position when she feels the weight of a very heavy cat land on her. Somehow, the fact he's chosen to dig his teeth into her shoulder instead of her neck doesn't cheer her up much. Or maybe because he's TOUCHING HER WINGS! Another screech and she pushes up with as much force as she can, reaching with her good arm over her shoulder to claw at his face. Eyes, nose, throat, it doesn't matter. She's all but forgotten this is Killian. She's also apparently forgotten about fleeing, her fight-or-flight instinct not permanently set to flight and, if managing to free herself, she quickly turns around to face the jaguar, yellow eyes blazing. The jaguar, weighing somewhere around 230 pounds, clings to her back and /yanks/ backwards trying to pull her with it. Trying to drag her away. It digs into her flesh with those claws to hold its place, digging deeper into that shoulder with his fangs, threatening to take a chunk of her flesh with that still-snarling mouth if it withdraws. Her talons gouge over its face as unrelenting as it's being trying to make a meal of her, drawing red lines from the side of its face, just barely missing the eye, and down over its face and sensitive black nose. Perhaps its that which makes the giant cat release, landing on its feet as it does so of course, huffing in preparation to growl again, its next attack seconds away as she turns to face it. One eye squints as red trickles down over the three talon marks that stand out brightly against the its black coat. It starts with a low hum and a small rattle, the door shaking a little in its frame. But it quickly picks up, the wind soon howling under the crack in the door, rolling up the small carpet meant for people to wipe their feet. The door creaks ominously, and then bangs in its frame several times as the handle begins to turn. The handle clicks and the door is flung inwards to CRASH against the wall, leaving several indentations behind. Objects begin to slide or fly away from the door as a form steps inside, that of Pedro. His eyes are milky white, covered by their nictitating eyelids. As he faces the two somewhat bloody combatants, the wind follows, pressing at both of their chests, moving them apart. The couch is upended, and the table recently part of their dance goes crashing into the kitchen, and all manner of smaller objects are flung haphazardly about. Anette half screams, half screeches as she breaks free, blood gushing from her shoulder, her shirt plastered to her back, torn flesh peeping out from the torn fabric. On a lesser note, her pants are also stained with blood at the right leg but the stain isn't growing quite as quickly and her leg is still mostly usuable, unlike her right arm. With a beat of her wings, she lunges forward, her left hand stretched and aiming for the soft tender flesh of Killian's throat just before Pedro enters and forces them apart. This seems to anger her somehow and she thrashes against the wind, screeching as she tries to rejoin the jaguar and continue her attack. The giant cat pants, its face still fiercely lined with wrinkles of aggression. It snarls towards Anette, adrenaline spiking /more/ at the screeches. The on-going of the fight, of the chase, of the hunt! There is nothing human about it, the animal with a one-thought mind. As Anette reaches to retaliate towards its throat, the black jaguar rears up to swipe at her face- at her throat. Pedro's winds pulling them apart does /nothing/ for decreasing the cat's fury, claws digging rents into the cabin's floor as it tries to slow the push-back and gain enough footing to leap forwards again despite the pressure of the wind. It doesn't even look at the door despite the dramatic entrance- only at the owl that it continues to try to claw through the air-increased span of distance. After a few moments of trying to hold the two apart, the young man starts to see the extent of their fighting. The wounds Anette bears highlighted by the blood seeping or gushing out, staining her clothing. The gouges along the jaguar's face has Pedro reaching up to the bandage on his cheek. He narrows his eyes, a look of concentration upon his face as the winds kick up a notch further, pressing more insistently against the jaguar and the owl. From behind Pedro comes a translucent blur, pushed along by the winds threatening the cabin. And then the icy cold slap of ocean water sprays into their faces. It's not a huge amount, but at least a gallon each, right in the face. "{Enough.}" he says in Spanish. That did the trick. Then again, salt water hitting the open claw wound she know realizes exists just across her chin and upper throat would make anyone up. With a pained, but very human, scream, Anette blinks her mind awake, looking around frantically as she tries to catch herself up on everything. "What...oh," she stammers, as her adrenaline and aggression drop and is quickly replaced by exhaustion. She collapses to the ground, seething through gritted teeth as all her wounds, no longer masked by adrenaline, begin throbbing. Making the stuck shapeshifter /angrier/ does not appear to be helping. The burn of salt water in the large gouges of talon marks on its face at least drops it back onto all fours, its huffing pant a whole-body affair. Its tail thrashes violently, and all of its attention is on the bat- as much a prey item as the bird, perhaps. The decision is quickly made, quick enough that the cat doesn't telegraph its switch in direction and sudden darting for Pete. Brisk pace, it's maybe a second before the giant cat would be on him if the winds don't shift. Pedro seems relieved that Anette seems to have snapped out of it, and he very nearly pays for it. There's a surprised intake of breath just as the winds increase once more, slowing the feline down and pushing him back through the air. Not before its outstretched claws on one paw sink into the batty one's shoulder. Pedro hisses in pain as the claws are pulled downwards and then away, the hoodie he is wearing shredding noisily. Staggering to one knee, he focuses on knocking the jaguar into the island, probably one of the only heavy objects in the place nailed down. Anette manages to push herself back up to a stand just in time to see the jaguar pounce on Pedro. "Killian! No!" she screams, gritting her teeth as she spreads her wings, flying over to Pedro's side in an attempt to defend him. Which of course, he doesn't need but at least she's not alone. She lands rather roughly beside Pedro just after he pushes Killian away, gripping the doorway tightly as she struggles to steady herself and keep from falling again. The giant cat's bloodlust is unsated, even as claws drag pieces of hoodie and bat-flavored flesh with it. As the winds take the cat's paws and thusly balance out from under it, there's snarling, growling, thrashing in the air until it's thrown back. Unable to shift to a different form to manage against aero kinesis, the black jaguar slams into the kitchen island. And then he's still. Fur melts away, rosettes linger just until his clothing's completed. The dramatic talon marks remain, draining red over a now-human and unresponsive face, as if unconsciousness impedes some of that healing factor his shifting demonstrates. As the fur melts away, and the more familiar face of Killian returns, the winds cease. The patter and clack and crash of things tumbling to the ground follows a moment later. Pedro pants noisily, wobbling a little on his feet. Almost numbly, he shuffles over to where Killian lays. Grunting, he bends down to lay the shapeshifter out, with some difficulty he gets the man draped over his shoulders. The young man looks to Anette as he slowly makes his way towards her, stopping beside her to offer a modicum of support should she need it. "Enfermeria", he says in Spanish. Hopefully it's close enough that Anette picks up on it.