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> nah, i get the feeling he's the real deal
> i still wanna meet him in person though
> its hard to get a feel for someone strictly through text

> still, if you know the guy and you figured he wasn't lying
> then why'd you ditch me, huh?
> i thought we talked about you quitting this lone wolf crap before?

[The real answer there is it... legit didn't come to mind as ditching Rosch. He's used to doing stuff like this on his own, and was even long before Ryslig.]

didn't think this was what you meant
it wasn't dangerous

[Rosch is just being particularly tetchy because of pack instincts, that's all.]

> i didn't really think it would be dangerous!
> but that's not the point!
> i said i wanted to go with you!
> but you ditched me anyway!

> prophet's tears
> you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes

[More like a lot of the time.]

[...]

i was already going as soon as i said i'd take a look

[Read: he never actually saw that message until he got back. What, Rosch, did you think he was a slacker?]

[Sometimes, one can be a little too efficient in their work.]

> you could've waited for me!
> or told me to catch up!
> or just said you were going without me!
> you gotta learn to communicate with your pa
> with your teammates!
> it makes me worry when you don't respond in a timely manner!

[He was totally going to type "packmates" there.]

[Also, is Rosch suggesting that they basically howl at each other across the city to keep in touch? Maybe.]

[...]

rosch
you were used to me vanishing for weeks at a time on specint business
[Sometimes without warning even then, were it urgent, though he'd tried if he knew he'd be disappearing for that long.]
is this truly that much worse ?

[He doesn't say it. Doesn't even think it, exactly. But maybe there's a sort of feeling there, a - this is who he is. This is what Heiss made him, what being a living shadow made him, but more than that what he made himself. That's not so easy to change.]

[Going out of his way to tell someone he's gonna be gone for a time as short as a few hours - that's not something that even comes to mind. It's not a conscious decision.]

> being -used- to something and -liking- something are two very different things
> i got used to you vanishing for prophet knows how long because there wasn't any other way you could go about the whole damn specint business, otherwise
> but i -always- hated the way heiss pulled you out of the army for his little pet project
> at least when we were in the same unit, i could keep an eye on you and watch your back

[Is Rosch purposefully avoiding answering Stocke's question of "is this truly that much worse?"]

[Yes. Yes, he is. Because it's bad enough thinking about the physical changes this place has inflicted on him. But the psychological ones, too? Because admitting to feeling uneasy when any of the Nesters aren't close by feels like admitting to a weakness of character on Rosch's part.]

[And admitting weakness doesn't come easily to Rosch.]

you never made a secret of not liking it

[...]

but those were trips into a warzone
this wasn't

[So he's really not getting it.]

> i KNOW that
> you think i don't know that?
> i just

[There's a long pause while Rosch struggles to find the right words. You can do it, buddy.]

> when you just up and leave without saying anything
> i feel like i'm being left behind
> like i'm being -abandoned-
> and the rational, human part of my brain tells me it's stupid
> and it is
> it's really REALLY stupid
> but the part of my brain that's a wolf keeps thinking that when you go away
> you're never gonna come back
> and it makes me uneasy and i hate it, okay?
> i hate the fact that i can't stop that feeling even though it's CLEARLY STUPID and unfounded

[Except maybe it isn't totally unfounded, given how Stocke already disappeared once before when he was ready to go through with the ritual.]

[Is this a werewolf thing? It's not a werewolf thing Stocke remembers, but then he'd always been more solitary than Rosch...]

[...]

i can't stay in the nest forever to ease your instincts

but i'll try to warn you if i'm not going to be around for a while

[By which he means... not a few hours. That's still too much. But if it's longer than that, and he knows it will be -]

> stocke, that's not what i'm saying, and you know it
> thoughts and feelings come from two different places, rowan always said
> and i don't have to let my feelings dictafe my actions
> it's MY responsibolity to deal with my feelings
> not yours

> but still
> i'd appecirte the heasd's up if youre going out for a while
> or at least let me know WHERE youre headed
> so in case something happens

[Something like getting captured or having a run in with any of the god followers. It's good to have a dedicated tracker among the Nesters is they ever need to form a search party.]

i'll let you know

_{[Burning.]

[God, does she hate being burned.]

[Not that anybody likes it, but if there's something more powerful than hate, that's what she experiences at even the thought of intense heat and blistering flesh.]

[The dark shape that is Mason the Flying Sootball glides down into a small cemetery on a streetcorner-- while the descent is graceful, the landing is anything but. Her attempt to NOT stretch out with her scorched feet to touch down is overridden by instinct, and she lets out a pained caw and immediately tumbles, disappearing behind a row of headstones.]

[Hauling herself into a sitting position with a small flurry of leaves, she hisses several cursewords and painfully bends her knees to try and check out the damage.]}

[Stocke, for once, is not sneaking up on someone! Amazing. Since he's in shadow form, it's requiring a deliberate effort - but once he settles some meters away, he starts using telekinesis to crumple the leaves under his feet. Or where they would be if he were walking.]

[He feels Mason would rather that than no sound.]

[The shade doesn't say anything at first when he catches up, peering over Heather's shoulder in concern. Then, abruptly -] Cold water. [He turns toward the cemetery's office - gotta be a bathroom or something in there, right?]

_{[He is absolutely correct-- barring present company of course, shades tend to be one of Heather's least favorite monsters to encounter unexpectedly in the middle of the night... she's never been fond of things whose flesh doesn't give when you stab them.]

[Her ears flick back towards him as he approaches-- she knows his footfalls by now, even if they're feigned. From his vantage point, he'll have a pretty good view of the damage-- it's not easy to see scorch-marks on already-black scaly feet, especially not in the dark, but it's still visible. That alone says enough about how bad it is.]

[She's already dreading the thought that she might literally need to get around the Nest via piggyback for awhile.]}

Oh, sure. Let me spit on them.

_{[A scathing sneer is the only thing capable of making her feel better right now.]}

[Stocke is... coming to roughly the same conclusion about the whole piggybacking thing.]

[He doesn't respond to the jibe. Instead he turns back to her, shifting to his solid human form and holding out one hand -] Come on.

[If she takes it, he'll swing her on to his back. There will definitely also be some sort of first aid kit in there, right? Let's go break into that office.]

_{[She can tell he's come to the same conclusion and that makes her even madder!!]

[Her ears flick all the way back when he holds his hand out, and she starts to, with great difficulty and some minor defacing of the headstone she'd been leaning against (it was totally already covered in clawmarks, it's fiiiiine), haul herself upright without actually putting any weight on her feet.]}

Don't help me, I'm angry at you.

_{[She manages to get ALMOST all the way stood up, scrawny chest heaving... only to hiss again at the very first attempt to make her sole come in contact with the earth. The harpy breathes hard for a moment, before very grudgingly slapping her hand down in Stocke's.]

[Okay fine it's not like this can get any more embarrassing than it already is.]}

[Look, it could be worse! A piggyback is probably better than a princess carry, right?]

[Stocke can feel the prey in himself wanting to bristle slightly - she's mad? He's the one who got a chase interfered with - but away from a hunter, he can recognize the urge as unreasonable. Especially since she's hurt. So he swings her on to his back without a word or even an irritable flick of his tendrils. (Most of those vanish, to spare her from getting weird cold chills as they go through her; one or two remain but become solid to help support her.)]

[The shade makes sure she's well-situated before setting off at a fast walk toward the office.]

[Still, he can't quite help a quiet,] You didn't have to intervene. I was doing fine. [Which is... a very Stocke sentiment, unfortunately, and nothing to do with his prey mindset. He was fine! Totally not about to be evaporated at all!!]

[The shade kneels in front of the cemetery's door and squints at the keyhole - after a second, telekinesis clicks the lock open. He pushes the entrance open and ducks low to keep Heather's head from whacking on the lintel.]

_{[She latches on, still growling in her throat. Fortunately, Mason is very light. She's not made of much aside from bony knees and feathers.]

[Ducking her head as well, she mutters darkly.]}

He didn't want to chase you. He wanted to hurt you.

He wouldn't be the first. [Wry.] I've survived before.

[You know. Usually. Ryslig has been kind of weird. Also, "survived" is a pretty broad category..]

[The office lobby is large and empty; Stocke doesn't hesitate to cut through it toward the first restroom sign he sees. For a miracle, the inside is clean; there's even a vase of very slowly wilting flowers on the sink counter. Stocke pushes that aside to perch Mason in its place, fiddling with the faucets to get cold water.]

So? So have I.

But I bet you'd stop me from trying to wave my dick at a demon the size of the Chrysler building.

_{[But she lets go of him grumpily and allows herself to be plopped down on the counter, wincing. It's a damn miracle she's not more burnt than she is, but even a little is enough to bring memories rushing back that she really doesn't want right now. Or ever.]}

[Mason's... Mason's not wrong. He probably would.]

[Or at least, right now, he'd join in. (Thanks Fog God.)]

[But that's different, because - because for all that he respects the harpy, and he'd trust her to look out for herself in a fight far more than, say, Dawn, he doesn't get the impression she has quite the experience he does. Not like Rosch, or Dante, or Lady.]

[...who he'd also try to stop. Maybe he shouldn't be following this train of thought.]

He's hardly anywhere close to the size of a Hell Spider, [the shade says, half under his breath. It's audible, but not exactly a response...]

[There. Cold water. Stocke's tendrils flick - he steps back and heads to the lobby again, this time to root behind the receptionist's desk for a first aid kit.]

_{[It's true-- for all that Heather was taught to fight from a young age, for all that she'd survived by taking down horrors tooth and nail-- she's no trained soldier. But try telling her that.]

[Her eartufts stand up-- of course she heard that, and she shouts huffily after him.]}

I don't give a fuck how big a Hell Spider is!

He was too big!

_{[And just in case he didn't hear her, she cups her claws around her mouth.]}

T-O-O B-I-G!

I've smashed bigger thaumachines! [Stocke yells back, abandoning all pretenses of keeping comments to himself. This demon wasn't even made of metal, gosh.]

[The shade's back shortly after, lugging a first aid kit in a large green tin. He leans over Heather to check her feet again - through the water she's been keeping them under. Hopefully.]

[Stocke knows burns - with an affinity for fire magic, he sure inflicted enough of them in his time before Ryslig. How bad are these?]

Edited 2017-12-17 08:22 (UTC)

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