do you bare your fangs at us, sir? MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 2, SCENE 2

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors
What: The werewolves who are not sneaking into the party cause a bit of mischief... and did anybody actually agree to keep the peace tonight?
When: The night of the ball itself. [ooc timeline: Feb 6th - 19th]
Where: The city of Montica.
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers.


Waxing Gibbous Moon

In Town

Above the city, the Umbra Mansion stands tall. Its grand doors and windows have been opened, spilling light like a beacon. Music lilts in the air, drifting so far as to be faintly heard even in the neutral centre of the city.

The streets have emptied, particularly in the vampiric half of town. Most of the vampire loyalists have joined the masquerade, leaving their homes and shops unattended. Tonight is a special night - a once in a century event, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Even some werewolves and neutral citizens have been enticed to attend. Jadis the Mystic has created a lotion that will disguise the scent of a werewolf; an effect that is broken by shifting, breaking the skin, or the gradual passage of time. It is not widely distributed, but rumours travel fast. The lotion is only given to any Guildulf-aligned werewolves, but… well, there’s nothing wrong with a little trade here or there. Right?

For all of the wolves in town - with the moon so close to being full, it’s natural for them to feel a bit more excitable. Energetic. Ready to take on the world. And seeing as Montica is so empty, it’s like a playground has just been opened up. The young wolves in particular are eager to take advantage of the empty streets, the sound of not-quite-mature howls breaking through the air in their excitement. There are hardly any people around to be scared if they play too rough or run too fast, and they are taking advantage of this with great enthusiasm.

In the highly-debated 'neutral' zone, some small packs of adolescent werewolves are gathering. There's banter and roughhousing, the not-quite-adults playfully shoving each-other over the invisible line where the vampire territory begins.

Some of the bravest amongst them take the challenge to dart over and brush their fingers over silver doorhandles - their yelps spurring courage and adrenaline in the others. What starts harmlessly enough quickly escalates as they urge each-other on, teenage excitement and the thrill of the moon encouraging all sorts of bad choices. The longer they go without reprimand, the more bold they become; and somewhere along the way, bulbs of garlic start winding up in places they wouldn't normally be found. (There is at least one group who is excitedly challenging each-other to leave the garlic in more and more absurd places. If they happen to sting themselves on some silver ornamentation on the way, all the better.)

Not all homes are unoccupied, though - sooner or later someone’s going to disturb someone else’s peace, and tensions are already so high. Hopefully there are some Responsible Adults around to curtail the worst of the mischief before someone’s temper is sparked.

Comments

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf's attention is split, between helping the wifwulf back to her feet, bumping her with his muzzle to check for wounds, and his large ruddy furred ally, who seemed preternaturally stilled. Was it the stillness of a prey seeking not to be seen, or was it the stillness of the predator before it strikes? Or something else? He only has the two frames of reference, but this didn't seem to quite fit either entirely.

[logosmaxima]

Closer the vampire comes, and closer -- and still the great red wolf doesn't move, nor the other two wolves watching the awful tableau along with Sigwulf and their friend. They'd had enough of a taste of the leech's poison already and don't want to get between that predator and a prey item that's a stranger to them.

"Splendid beast," the vampire croons, setting his hypnotic spell. "Such a huge thing. Think of the havoc you'll cause in the Umbra Court! Old Lord Shadow won't know what's hit him or his city full of human pets ... "

There, there! He thinks he feels it catch, and gestures suddenly toward the other wolves -- those curs who interrupted and resisted his sport, and killed his companion! The giant wolf's head turns in line, single eye fastening on Sigwulf first of all of them.

There's a bright and wicked gleam in the gold of it. He blinks once, slowly, at the Guildulf heir, as the vampire says, "But first -- kill them! Go!"

(What's a wink if you only have one eye?)

lmk if anything needs to change

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf had never seen the bloodkind act like that. It was not the Umbran way--or so he's been told. Umbrans, they said, had willing volunteers. This looked like some compulsion.

Does he understand the blink? No, but he does understand the vampire's words, and those raise his hackles. "Coward!" What creature commands another to do their killing? It is an abomination. Wolfkind might value physical strength and prowess a bit too much, but at least it was a direct contest, fang on fang, claw on claw. No proxies, no hidden puppeteering.

He kicked off the one vampire he had downed, his mouth still slick with the non blood in its veins, snarling as he leaps toward the vampire. If the red wolf is to be compelled, he would find the vampire's body an obstacle at reaching Sigwulf.

this is v good! lmk if I need to change anything in turn

[logosmaxima]

It is a terribly brave, risky thing Sigwulf does -- and the right thing, if the giant wolf had been as ensnared as he appeared. The vampire's concentration wrenches away from his would-be prize. An arrogant creature, he'd been counting on the horror of his mastery over so powerful a beast to stun his opponents long enough for his conquest to do his killing for him. He snarls, spits, swears, raking at Sigwulf with silver-tipped nails on one hand and fumbling with the other for his belt-knife.

And the red wolf finally moves, pouncing for Sigwulf as if to obey the command he's been given. The other three werewolves scatter with alarmed barks -- and the giant wolf bowls into the vampire and Sigwulf alike.

And the vampire begins to scream, horribly, flopping to the stone of the street with a horrid crack of a skull against pavement. One giant paw comes down on his chest, and the red wolf says simply, "No."

oh magnus you fluffy red badass you

[angel_of_baal]

Sigwulf will convince himself that his attack at least partially broke the control that the bloodkind was attempting. It certainly distracted the vampire from moving out of the way, with the preternatural speed most of its kind had.

The kind of speed with which it recovered, raking hot lines of fire down Sigwulf's side, pulling a yowl of pain from him as he rolled to rake his hind claws on the other--just as the huge red wolf launched at them both. Which meant Sigwulf was on the bottom, already out of most of the force, and the attack rolled him halfway back up onto his paws. He scrambles the rest of the way up, panting from the shock of the injury. "Sorcery," he says, spitting the word through his fangs, growling at the downed vampire.

Give him a reason, bloodkind.

a primarch is a primarch, no matter how floof

[logosmaxima]

For a moment, there, Magnus had brushed up against the young werewolf -- but it is only after he has the thrashing vampire secured beneath the press of both paw and mind that what he learned from that contact percolates through his battle focus. Beating wings, the copper taste of blood filling the mouth, a graciousness and a fury unlike any other --

"Sanguinius?" he rumbles -- more to himself, than the brother he knows cannot, will not, recognize him in that encapsulated shape. The Great Ocean has drowned all but the veriest spark of the other primarch -- a phenomenon the sorcerer's seen in dream-lost mortals, but never, never someone so willful as one of his own flesh and blood.

His respect -- and concern -- for the power of the Library grows.

"Sorcery," he then says, louder. Leans down to press his nose to the spasming vampire's forehead; it gives a final clonic jerk and falls still. "He would wield it against me." The fool, says the disgust in the red wolf's tone.

"Now he cannot make that mistake again."

[angel_of_baal]

"It's cowardice, is what it is." He stalks around the fallen vampire, just to make sure it was going to stay dead. One never knew with that kind. "We at least hunt fairly." When they do hunt, it is in the wild, testing their wits against the wild animals. Not soft, gentle civilians.

How could one prove one's worth in blood and fang against simple civilians?

But wait. The red wolf...did he just also use sorcery? Sigwulf takes a pace or two back, eyes fixed on the red wolf, warily.

[logosmaxima]

The vampire has the look of something true-dead -- it's certainly not moving anymore, its face frozen in a rictus of horror -- but as Sigwulf knows that's no guarantee.

But the red wolf does take his paw from it after another moment, and promptly ignores it in favor of regarding his smaller -- brother -- with an eye gray as a weeping overcast sky. A canine face isn't so flexible as a human one, but there is a certain grief written in those large features.

While Sanguinius in essence, this young man before him is also not the brother who wept with him over the injustice done at Nikaea, one of his staunch supporters in fostering the Librarians. Sigwulf Guildulf is his own man -- his own wolf -- with his own history and his own prejudices. Foolish to expect those products of a whole life -- even a dream-life -- to match up with Sanguinius' own, and yet --

And yet that suspicion still stings Magnus.

"Some esteem it so," he rumbles. "To use weapons of mind and magic alongside tooth and claw. I would sooner use my gifts to heal, build, and teach, but so long as such as this," a disdainful jerk of his head to the vampire's corpse, "would hurt the innocent, I will match them at their game."

Then he falls silent -- waiting. He has admitted to his nature, and what he had done. It remains for the other wolf to weigh judgment.

[angel_of_baal]

It's not...quite...suspicion. But it is, at the very least, Concern. Who is this person and how has he allied himself to Sigwulf's family?

His mane ripples, the outward sign of his inner agitation, before it settles. "All of us, I would like to think, would rather pursue peace and knowledge, but that is not the path the stars have for us this night."

He points his muzzle at the downed vampire. "Their gift is dishonorable. It should be expunged." That was all he had to say about that. There is grim business afoot tonight and the revelation that the bloodkind can do this is another thing goading his footsteps toward home.

[logosmaxima]

It's a worthy question to ask. One must pursue wisdom, whatever the cost, and Sigwulf has proven himself a seeker of wisdom.

The giant wolf seats himself on his haunches, feet square beneath him -- he won't make himself small, but he can take up the least space possible and so be less intimidating. "Those who use it as they do," he intones, "do not deserve it."

Agreement, of a sort.

He can see, in the young wolf's aura, the pull to home. The other three -- the ones they rescued -- have already begun to slink off. One mumbles an uncertain thanks as they do.

"I do not think you need me to tell you, but this -- creature -- was not Clan Umbra. It had another name for itself. Intentions to destroy the peace of your city. Perhaps out of spite." That, he thinks, will be very important for House Guildulf to know. And if the wolves they saved can carry the rumor, so much the better if it cools relations between the two disputing Houses.