Logs:Everybody Loves Cats

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Cast

Sturm, Vorpal, Teagan

Setting

The Hedge

Log

It's a fine night.

Well. It's a night. It's not summer nor autumn, so it's not as fine as nights could be, but it's fine enough as nights go- especially ones earmarked for trips off into the Hedge to wander trods, check out local territory, and ensure the safety of those who might do so less armed to the teeth.

It's also an excellent excuse for a fashion show.

Tonight, she's marching through the hedge in a fashionable Briarwolf Leather duster, complete with a hood- down for the moment, for conversational purposes- with the silver blade of Sigknifr spinning idly in the fingers of one impossibly dexterous hand. "I mean, do you really need an excuse to invest in the greater good a little?" Johnnie inquires, referring to her all-too-frequent hedge jaunts. "Can't a gal just be civil minded?"

"You can just be civil minded." Sturm's already naturally grumbly voice has a fun metallic echo to it this evening. "... but I'd figured you were looking for a chance to show off your fancy new gear."

Sigrun really did a bang-up job at her forge, 'cause if you'd thought Sturm looked imposing before, it's nothing compared to what she looks like encased in fifty pounds of armor. She's wearing a black gambeson, and clad from head to toe in a beautiful, intricate set of gothic plate - sabatons and gauntlets included - constructed from dozens of individual pieces of metal, and a nightmarish swath of buckles and bits that probably took her ages to put on. Thankfully she's been practicing getting it on and moving around in it, so she doesn't seem encumbered by it at all. The only recognizable piece of Sturm that's showing is the ram-like, jagged ice horns that protrude from her forehead - currently poking up through an ingeniously designed sallet. "... but that's fine, because same."

You can't see it, but it sure sounds like she's grinning like a fool.

They're wearing this beautiful new charcoal-grey leather duster, and they've done the necessary posturing and even -- this may be a new thing for Sturm, she's never seen this before -- eaten a live spider. Yep. That's a thing Teagan does sometimes. Their duster looks almost exactly the same as Johnnie's, as though the same person made it. "Mmm, I think you don't, but also, you like to kill things," Teagan points out. Leaning in to kiss the corner of Johnnie's mouth, Teagan reaches to pat Sturm's elbow familiarly and then just... stands very still for ten seconds.

Then they're not there anymore. Well, they are. But they're not.

Johnnie returns the kiss- complete with a dip-sweeping flourish, returning Teagan to their feet to vanish on their own time. "Okay, okay, but. Have you considered this?"

...

[DOUBLE MIDDLE FINGERS]

She laughs and flows away, taking the lead while her knife spins and swirls through the air around her on the fingers of her shadows. "There's a new trod branching off through the thorns. Far as I can tell, the trod started on the other end of things. Figured it was worth a wander- see what's down there, you know?" She holds her pace to Sturm's- she'd match Teagan's as well, but she can't see Teagan's pace, so has to assume she'll be informed if they go too quickly.

"Yeah, well. Fuck you too." You can't see Sturm's expression, but it's easy to imagine she's frowning, now. Until about three months ago, she'd avoided just about everything related to the Hedge like the plague whenever she could help it. So this is mostly a stress test for Sturm and her new armor. Just in case she needs it for something far more important than this in the future. Still, she's 6' fuckin' 11" so - while she's mostly following Johnnie - her strides are large enough that most shorter folx'll need to pick up the pace to keep time with her.

The armor is so well made - or maybe she's just so fuckin' strong - that it seems like it hardly slows her down.

The fact that the armor doesn't seem to slow Sturm down doesn't surprise Teagan -- after all, they're used to that from Sigrun's work. They can't be seen (or heard, or smelled, or... ) but they move off to one side, just ahead of the others, and literally just walk up the thorn wall so they can get well above both Sturm and Johnnie, to get a better perspective. And why not, right?

As the trek goes on, as Johnnie rambles more about inconsequential things, and Sturm grumbles through her responses, and Teagan ghosts about, the latter two catch what Vorpal was talking about before they're even strictly in eyeshot. The smell of saltwater, faint on the air- the slight sandy quality of the soil- and then the trod. The thorns here are different- more like vicious succulents than traditional viney briars. The trod's surface is sandy grit, and the scent of the sea is definitely coming from down that direction.

There's also movement- distant, but faint, just barely audible in the plump thorns at the edge of their hearing.

Sturm's entire form seems to go stiff and quiet when she hears - probably thanks to the horn-holes in her helmet - the quiet rustle. She holds up a mailed fist... before then making a gesture in the direction of the noise, rather than actually saying something aloud. She takes a few more deliberate steps forward until she's in step with Vorpal, rather than a few paces behind.


"Mm?" Johnnie murrs at the directive, holding her hand up over her shoulder briefly- long enough for one of her shadows to hand her Sigknifr. For those paying attention, the sounds are working their way nearer, perhaps half a dozen, trailing round the group as Johnnie continues on her way. She seems unperturbed, if she even notices, though considering her habit of making herself the target of oncoming attacks? She might just be playing the fool.

Oh. Wait. One of her shadows is waving at Sturm. Four fingers. Five? Hand wobble. About five? That sounds about right.

Not that you can see her features inside the helmet, but Sturm definitely rolls her eyes. Johnnie's caught her underhanded tricks even while trying to dodge punches, so obviously she's heard the distant approach. Sturm follows wordlessly, though, with a tighter formation than she'd been moving in prior. She clenches her fists expectantly, and there's a small noise as the metal covering her fingers connects with her palms - but otherwise she's as cold and as calm as a glacier when she moves forward.

Suddenly! In a total surprise to nobody at all, a few briarwolves- four, it looks like- pop free of the underbrush! There's definitely still the sounds of some in the distance, not yet in view, but these four seem determined to set their quarry to running!

Not that that's how this is gonna go down, mind.

The first wave comes down on the "totally surprised and off guard wait no they totally aren't" Vorpal and Sturm, and lash out with old reliable- a couple of claws raking at sides and arms! This is a great tactic for driving prey to panic without ruining their mobility and reducing the fun.

However, against veterans like Johnnie and Sturm, it proves... lacking. Neither blow lands, and Johnnie's movements look for all the world like she saw the blow coming before it was started- it lances through empty space she no longer occupies as she weaves past the creature to strike out on her own. She takes a sidelong pose that seems designed to reduce her profile relative to the wolves, one hand lifted to guard her face, the other low and behind, blade lingering in her own shadows- and then she whips the blade forward and up!

A thin black flicker, and blood erupts a razorthin streak across the creature's chest. It staggers back, howling and clutching at its chest, before roaring in furious defiance and continuing its charge all the same!

It's a comedy of errors for the beast that swiped at Sturm. Not only is the armored Jotunn is much faster than she has any right to be - she dodges with a grace you wouldn't imagine her capable of... and delivers a swift, retributive punch to it's snout.

First, there's a beast that swings at Sturm, and then the beast that swung at Sturm is... literally falling apart. A line down the middle appears down the wolf's body, and it begins to sort of slowly part, like the Red Sea, only with much more arterial spray and far fewer Israelites. The thing is technically still alive but... just sort of falling apart around the blade of the Summer Spy who went from not existing to bisecting a direwolf.

Teagan's broken-mirror eyes glitter sharply as they pull Baby's blade out of the almost-corpse with a sound that blades don't normally make when coming out of meat -- for all the world it sounds like a vocal trill, almost like a single sung note -- and they flash the Snowskin a grin that's as sharp as the Hedgespun blade and far more feral and wild than anything she's seen from them yet. Some people meet over a cup of coffee or a dinner table; Teagan tosses that smile across a falling body.

"Hey doll," they greet, swinging their blade to flick blood off of Baby's blade as they turn toward the other wolves. Two seconds ago they were invisible, and now they stand out against the Hedge: when they hold that blade, eyes are drawn to them, a strange chiaroscuro effect of the mind instead of light.

"Hey," is all she manages in response. Sturm's voice is a low growl. She's not one for witty repartee - and thankfully, it's impossible for Teagan to read (or even see) her expressions behind the full helmet and visor... because she's definitely not doing anything that might give away her attraction to the Mirrorskin. At all. She side-steps around the nearly-disemboweled (and apparently unconscious) wolf, and goes to work on another of the pesky beasts. With her fuckin' giant armored fists.

There's a tremendous meaty twack that's followed by a sickening crunching sound as bones and flesh give way to the Jotunn's furious fists. In the opening her first strike created, her boxing training takes over - and she follows the tremendous first punch with a blindingly fast cross from the other hand.

In instants, the quartet is demolished. Only the very first aggressor, the one angling for Vorpal, is still unharmed after the first onslaught, and it takes advantage of the chaos to sneak a blow on Johnnie's back with claws that can rend straight through lesser armors! By all rights, it should have shredded right through the light armor Vorpal wears, but Teagan's protections turn a slashing rip into little more than an aggravating bump-and-bruise. There's an initial yelp of pain, and then- Johnnie starts laughing, turning slowly towards the offending wolf.

The Hedge is always dangerous. The Hedge is always trying to kill you. But Teagan always feels very alive when things are trying to kill them. It's fun when they're out in the Hedge together, killing briarwolves together, doing patrols together.

And then one of them actually hits Johnnie, and it isn't funny anymore.

What was a minute ago a fierce and delighted grin turns into a furious Summer shriek, and Teagan storms up on that bullshit and totally steals Johnnie's kill, for which they will hopefully be forgiven. Their broken-mirror eyes flash red reflections of blood as Baby arcs upwards along the briarwolf's back, slicing it in half and finishing the work that Johnnie's Fae Cunning started. If Doug Marcaida were assessing Baby, surely he would delightedly inform us all: it will kill.

Sturm has been (save for her comment at Teagan) completely silent through the entire melee. She hears Teagan's screech, and stops dead in her tracks on her way to the final briarwolf. Seems like that one's claimed - by one, or the other - so the Jotunn just watches from within the expressionless plate helmet as the beast it is mercilessly slain. Again, she's thankful for the full mask. It's a lifesaver for someone who doesn't want anyone around her to know that she has feelings.

After the poor briarwolf that dared to strike Johnnie falls to the ground in multiple pieces, Sturm makes the slow and imposing walk back to the one she'd knocked unconscious a few seconds earlier. There's another thud as she plants one of her sabatons on the beast's back, and leans down - gripping it's head with one hand at the base of it's skull, and the other on the underside of it's muzzle. The Jotunn lifts her quarry off the ground enough that it's front legs dangle helplessly, and then she wrenches the wolf's neck - causing another horrible crunch - leaving it splayed at an awkward and unnatural angle before tossing it aside like a ragdoll.

Seeing her like this, it's easy to picture Sturm as a monsterous and brutal Jötunn from the Eddas.

Johnnie blinks as the thing falls apart, and- rather than explode with fury- simply leans over the corpse and smirks while Sturm dispatches the last of the quartet. "You see? Violate the natural order, and I don't even have to kill you myse-"

Something roars.

It's not a briarwolf- there's something ... reedy, reptilian to the roar, that divorces it from the mammalian. There is, to be clear, a briarwolf, rushing towards the group, but it's abruptly carried to ground by something erupting from the thorns behind it. It isn't charging the trio, it's fleeing and in an instant, it's clear why. The something is halfway between a land-bound dragon and large cat, and it outmaneuvers the briarwolf and rips its legs out from beneath it before dragging it to the ground and savaging it. The only thing it doesn't seem to have going for it?

It doesn't have a pack.

One more briarwolf- the last, as the keen senses of those arrayed in opposition can confirm- tears free of the canopy overhead and descends towards the thing savaging its packmate. Johnnie's eyes narrow violently, and her shadows coalesce for an instant on her form as she draws her blade back with lazy, liquid speed- and then seven different limbs arc through the air before her, each leaving a rippling plane of darkness that bisects the descending hobgoblin.

It hits the ground around the lizard-thing in pieces, prompting the thing to rear up and rattle at the trio, like a snake warning off a predator.

The Summer drags their forearm across their mouth, wiping the blood spatter from their lower face, and is about to say something to Johnnie -- maybe an apology -- when the sound happens, and Teagan's blade spins, swinging lazily next to them. Their gaze flickers over toward Sturm, checking in with -- oh, so that's why Sigrun reacts the way she does, okay, yep, that scans -- but there's a slightly different timbre to the look that slides over the Snowskin than the one that Sigrun gives.

Yes, let's go with slightly different.

And then briarwolf parts start raining down around the lizard-thing, and Teagan's sharp grin comes back. The look they give up to Johnnie is openly lascivious and adoring. "You good, babe?"

Leaving the discarded briarwolf behind her, Sturm - thankful that she'd been outside the splatterline of Johnnie's obscene anime-style briarwolf bisection - paces back to her comrades with a blank expression that is completely and utterly devoid of any awe or attraction whatsoever. Thanks Sigrun. Did Sturm know what this helmet was even called last month? Absolutely not - but she definitely should've started wearing a bevor and sallet years ago!

The Jotunn makes a small, disgusted noise as she kicks a chunk of... something out of her way and off to the side, before adopting a position near the pair. Her sigh echoes inside the metal helmet. "Gross. Cool, obviously, but... gross."

"Oh, quite well. Laura hit harder than that, she did. I'll be better before I even take the coat off. And of course it's gross, Sturm, that's what dismemberment is. Not all of us have the delicacy to leave all those ruptured vessels and severed bones inside the skin." Wait, couldn't Johnnie have just as easily struck with the knuckles instead of the blade?

Yes.

Shut up.

"Besides, I thought the ambush at the end was rather unsporting. Thought perhaps the poor thing might enjoy some kibbles and-" You know. Bits.

The dragoncat lowers its head again, watching the group warily for a moment while it feeds on the one it downed. For now, it seems content.

"Showoff," Teagan offers over to Johnnie, flicking the blade of Baby lazily in the air and sliding the weapon over the outside of their new greatcoat to get most of the rest of it off. "The poor thing, hunh?" The Mirrorskin's eyes turn toward the dragoncat. "Are you gonna tell Sigrun that it followed us home?"

They're not convinced, obviously.

"Aww. It's like a... weird little cat or something." Sturm's posture and imposing form is absolutely unbecoming of the almost cutesy tone of voice she's adopted - and then, veeeery quietly in Animal Crossing style tiny text. "I love cats."

She peeks past Johnnie and Teagan to get a better look.

"What? Me? Show off? Neeeever," Johnnie croons, deflecting the "criticism." She does turn to glance at Sturm at the "little cat" comment. "I-" A glance between the two, momentarily. "It's bigger than you are, Sturm." Little cat, indeed.

Johnnie turns more fully towards Teagan, and the creature pauses, lifting its head. There's a look between Johnnie and the pieces and carcass around it.

"Followed us home? What do you-"

Thump.

The carcass rolls to a stop next to Johnnie's feet, but by the time she turns to look, the creature is gnawing on one of the, uh... "drumsticks" from the one Johnnie butchered. It's watching, though.

"All cats are little," Sturm quickly interjects to defend herself - reasserting her gruff tone. "Even the big ones. It's a fact."

The Mirrorskin hooks their thumbs on the pockets of their greatcoat and plants their feet shoulder width apart, one corner of their mouth curling up in profound amusement. "Mmmhm," Teagan noises in the back of their throat. "Yeah, so. " Deep amusement plays across their face.

Johnnie looks down at the dead murderbeast at her feet, then up at the dragoncat, and to Teagan and Sturm. She lifts a hand and scratches her head with a hand wrapped in scaled leather strips. "You're not saying things, Teagan. And I'm not sure if I'm more or less lost about the big cats being little thing. Can someone catch me up to speed on what everyone else is saying?"

"Probably not." Sturm doesn't say anything else. She just does her best to mirror Teagan's pose. Well. Okay, she doesn't have pockets - or the ability to convey a facial expression - so in reality this translates to Sturm crossing her burly arms over her chest, feet shoulder width apart, and waiting for Johnnie to figure it out or for Teagan to explain their mouth noises.

"You fed it," Teagan explains, thumbs still hooked in the pockets of their coat, black hair spiked up with splattered briarwolf blood. "It's yours now." Look, Teagan knows about the rules of stray cats, being one themself. "Give it another five minutes, tops, and it's going to start nudging you with that giant head and making little cooing noises."

"What? That was a bits and pieces joke, I didn't-" Johnnie looks back at the dragoncat chewing down to the bone of its "drumstick."

"... it's... more like a wingless dragon than a cat."

Is it though?

"I didn't feed it, I just- whacked the jerk trying to interrupt its meal. It ate one of ours, I hacked up one of its. Fair's fair. We can go now." Weren't they patrolling? Ope, well, Johnnie's turning around anyway. Her shadows are all but fawning over the thing, but she's trying real hard to turn around before she ends up Responsible for something else. Not that that stops the thing from grabbing the other drumstick and taking a few paces after Johnnie, pausing only to rattle at Sturm and Teagan in the way, scales rippling red as it tries to scare them out of its way.

"Yeah, Johnnie... Right." Sturm gives Teagan a look, and then moves out of the big cat's way with a sarcastic little head bow.

When the path is cleared, the stray follows along. Johnnie has definitely lost this match of Cat Chicken to both Teagan and the dragoncat.