#🐺 caught the scent rp 🐺

[chemicalmongrel]

In the dank alleys of a dim city where the air became a heavy molasses that sat in your lungs with an oily consistency, there was a busy intersection where merchants, factory workers and the more daring of Piltover's elite came to rub shoulders with each other. Cogs passed from hand to hand. Words and conversation flowed unbidden. Chempunks lurking at the margins, looking for easy marks. Gutter snipes making deliveries hither and thither. And well-heeled men and women with the auspices of barons enjoyed the security of chem-brutes, bristling with augmentations and vials of shimmer. The undercurrent of danger was the spice that lured people in. What convinced people to look the other way. To ignore the way people's throats strained against the metal of esophiltres. Or how snipes scampered up rickety pipes to get their deliveries done quicker than any adult, gaunt in stature and sallow cheeked. But their willful ignorance made it all the easier for one facet of the twin cities to stalk the shadows.

From the rooftops, tucked under a series of leaky pipes, Zaun's predator watched with mucus-flooded eyes. Its ears were slicked back, laid flat against its head. Fur smoothed out and muzzle drooping with the tips of its canines peeking out from its lips. And yet it kept aprised of all the goings-on proceeding tens of feet below. Already it smelt the stink of iron and copper. That bitter tang that clung to the back of your throat, weeping from your sinuses. Zaun's true currency peeking through the glimmer of cogs. But the scent it trailed was not one of an overzealous pack of chem-thugs or an illusive baron and the broken boulevard they left in their wake. Rather, it was one of paint and gunpowder. Something familiar and nostalgic yet painful and taxing to focus on. But no matter how much it hurt or how hard it became to keep focused on it, the man would not relent. There was something in it, something important. Something he forgot. Something drowned by the beast and its hunt. All he needed was to find the end to the trail, see where it led, and then he would sink back into the dark.

// Starter for @misstantabismuses!

[chemicalmongrel]

Missing to Found

Starter for @arcanescion!

It began in the teary mist of early morning with the sun cresting over the silvered rooftops of Piltovan estates, and long shadows cast across Zaunite spiretops that reached defiantly toward the sky. Dark clouds straddled the horizon. And the chill of autumn's passing rolled over the twin cities, a zephyr with the promise of a storm sown into its seams. Scones and fresh coffee wafted from the thoroughfares with the well-heeled. Pastries, spices and so much more. But the allure of hardier foods and the lingering sting of alcohol from late-night pubbing in the Boundary Markets mingled in with the finer things. Trademark of the other half of the illustrious City of Progress. Altogether an experience one could only partake in if they immersed themselves in the Promenade. In both Zaun and Piltover--as it was meant to be. Steeped in this pleasant quiet, a rare moment when the world forgot who was at whose throat, was when a sump-scraper found his way into Caitlyn's investigation bureau. One swollen from the rampant augmentation required to just survive so far down into the trench and covered in no few articles of clothing to hide that unsightly fact. Their presence was an immediate shift in the atmosphere. All nervousness and anxiety wrapped up in the smell of rusted metal and the acrid pungence of cleaning supplies. Something that clung to the ruffles of their tatter clothing. Beady blue eyes peered out from beneath the shadow of their hood, thrown up over a bundle of gauze that squeezed their neck, the eso-philtre causing it to bulge out and up over their mouth. They took a moment to look around, trying to find something, before settling on waiting off to the side. Somewhere they would not bother others. But if looked for would be obvious at a first glance, all while trying to pull themselves further into their own overabundance of clothing. Waiting, as people of their ilk always did.

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantabismuses:

"Your sister is gone. You know that as well as I do." She had been able to remove most of the debris from Warwick's body, thus allowing the wolf to get on his feet easier, when the large beast spoke again. Jinx stopped digging, holding a chunk of debris in her arms, and listened as the gargled voice revealed a probable place to hide A tavern at the edges of the swamp level. Not The Last Drop as the Lanes were located in the entresol level and for lack of a better word almost the heart of the Undercity. "I think I know where that place is you are talking about. Come on, Wolf. Let's go."

Thunder and rain. You could count the number of natural phenomena the undercity got to experience on one hand. Sometimes on just three fingers, depending on how deep you go. But that did not preclude Zaunites from the joys of experiencing the byproducts of abysmal weather topside. And as the wind from above howled its way down through the spires, alleys, pnuema-tubes, pipes and vent stacks, water begins to pour in from the runoff drains spread all throughout. In time, it would become a deluge that flooded the Sumps. In time, the staccato of an angry god would force factories to shutdown lest they risk incurring the volatile anger of chemtech. In time, everything would become a hazy mist amid the drizzling rain. Just another day in Zaun.

To describe the trek down through Zaun, toward the golden disc, with any pleasant word would be a lie. Droplets of water plummeted all around the unlikely pair in a steady crescendo. It worsened the visibility of an already abysmal day of Gray. Making the already stagnant, penny-laden air muggy and humid. But the ambient ether was chilly compared to the gouts of steam pouring from the beast's shoulders. While dragging him through the thoroughfares, alleys and abandoned courtyards, the machinery threaded throughout his body vented excess heat into the air. It billowed out from eso-philtre vents. protruding from his shoulders. Bulky, glaring augments that huff and puff with each belabored breath--not dissimilar from the augmetics seen on overwrought chempunks. Although the steam was far more tolerable than the pulped viscera trailing behind them. Especially when squirming intestines, desperate to coil back up into the reforming torso of the beast, caught on something. But blue pushed on, Jinx carried a weight Powder may well have crumpled under--one far greater than even a chempunk could. After a time, the meager livings of lower Entresol gave way to the pauper's half-life in the Sumps. You could tell when you were getting close to the heart of old Zaun when the air curdled. Becoming thick and chunky, something you had to chew to make breathable. Where the Gray was thickest, pooling along the toxic runoff like a fogbank and hiding all manner of awfulness. Or when the streets became crowded, worn down or poorly constructed. Down here was where the truth of Zaun came out in force. Everything was for sale, and everything was stolen--heavy and unsightly augments kept adults from dying while snipes lurked in the shadows of alleys. This was where you went to when the city decided to spit you out. Were it not for Jinx's own reputation and the monster she lugged with her, the paupers and chempunks and runny-nosed snipes might well have pegged her for a mark. But Zaunites always knew their own when they saw them. And tucked away in one of the many rundown ghettos people, for some reason, kept clinging onto was a hint of gold.

Warwick's ear flicked at the sound of glass crunched underfoot and brick kicked aside--some amount of life was coming back to the wolf. Hidden away in a forgotten corner of the neighborhood was a building large enough to be consider a tavern. Perhaps an inn, once? Someplace for sump-scrapers and thugs to hang up their boots for a spell, find a bite to eat and partake of the rotten swill Zaun called alcohol. Except it was a pale imitation of The Last Drop, likely even before it had been turned inside out. A sign with half its letters worn off hung over the ruin of the front door, what few bolts keeping it in place threatening to give way. They read, T-e Su- D--c on the backdrop of what once was a glorious sun. And the contents of the building people had not seen fit to pilfer laid sprawled out afore it like a moth-tattered, mildewed pool of vomit. Inside faired little better. It resembled the platonic ideal of a common room for a tavern or an inn. Full of ruined furniture, a cracked bartender's area in the middle and shattered glass from broken windows above. Letting the rain and the wind in, dripping onto the stone floor. Producing a whistling sound from how it curled along the second floor railing. Something someone had hoped to one day make into what they envisioned an open place full of smiling faces would look like. The only thing left of a time when the fireplaces at either corner of the first floor were lit was a broken sun decoration dangling from cables overhead.

The man smelled the air, sniffing weakly. Where was the bacon and grease? Or the slightly stale beer poured from a recycled cask? It all felt empty, cold. Alone. He was home.

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantabismuses:

"Hey, it's alright, Wolf", Jinx whispered, stumbling over her own words; not knowing what to say, she fell into the mantra, Silco would tell her whenever she lost herself in her own head, "It's not your fault. You are not in the bad place anymore. You are here with me. You are safe. Everything is going to be fine. You'll be fine. I'm not dead, Wolf. See?" The Loose Canon sniffled softly as her tank top slipped to a side, revealing a bad scar parting the skin on her right shoulder. "Despite everything, I am not dead. I'm fine. So no need to worry." Above them, the air carried the smell of approaching rain and thick clouds robbed Zaun of the last few rays of sunshine, which may have fought their way down the dingy streets. The low grumbling of thunder and the wind, thugging at Jinx's braids, promised a storm to come. The Loose Canon peered up at the clouds in wary mistrust. Turning back towards Vander, Jinx said: "We need to get you out of the rubble before the rain hits. Do you have any shelter?"

There wasn't any strength left in the chimera's body to lash out at the pain that shot through his shoulder. He could barely even register it. Like a needle lost amid a haystack, the pain was all encompassing. More so than ever before. Yet the image of blue pouring strength that belied her knobby body, all knees and elbows, was forever burned in Warwick's head. So much was different. All of it wrong in ways the man might have struggled with had he all his faculties about him. Then the scene shifted and he felt his head resting against someone's lap. Had he not tapped someone's cheek? When was that, did it happen? All the thoughts in his head were trickling out of the fissure splitting the back of his head. His eyes lolled about until coming to rest upon Jinx (Blue? Powder? Who?), wincing from the blood and grime caked into her face.

Angling back and forth, Warwick's ears chased after blue's voice as it skittered up and down the debris. It was distant yet close. Echoing down the way yet resonating right up against his eardrums. Something that made less and less sense the longer his splintered mind tried to focus on it. He was dying, again. It was a familiar sensation given how many times he, man and beast, had since the madman discarded his broken body. Watching glimpses of sump rats skittering through the bar after hours, jumping up on the tables and knocking over glasses. Heedless to how long it took to clean it after. Seeing fleeting hints of white fur, cloven feet and a massive wolf trailing after the white. All mingled together until it became impossible to tell what was, what is and what wasn't. How pathetic he was. To die in pink's arms, now to die in blue's arms.

Droplets of brackish rain pattered down from on high, slipping from rooftops and gutters and the everpresent smog blanketing Zaun. It was refreshing. It was damning. It was everything a sad, lonely boy bereft of his mother had hoped to see when he looked up toward the absent skyline. Her face, too, faded into the flame. The scar biting into blue's shoulder brought the man back to the forefront, out of the fuzzy reveries of nothing. Even as drops of water started to pool into the crevices of his eyes, even when her words were muted and indistinct. The scar was an island amid the growing hot-cold of his body. It seemed otherwordly against her pale, grimy skin. Like an ugly crag that splits the lip of a cliff, it dips in and turns the pale to an even paler hue. Scar tissue and something else... was there something else? When did she get it? Where did blue wander to find it? For a moment, the crack of thunder scared off the lamb and her hunting dog. Its jagged light would never be seen from so far down. But the tremor of its thunder could be felt from anywhere in Zaun. In how it shook the filling of your teeth, leaving a burnt copper taste against your tongue. And filling your ears with the rattle of hollow pipes. One of Warwick's eyes went cold and dim, but the other still burned with the same pitiful fire as before.

Shelter? A home? The words itched at several parts of his head, made the beast keen and the man remember sights and sounds and smells. Frothy mugs and soft music joined with the occasional boisterous laugh while pool cues clack away. His hands are always busy with something, the cotton of a cloth or the smooth chill of a spigot. Whiffs of smoke mingled with the soupy quality of the undercity air, but the whine (was it meant to be making that noise?) of that expensive exo-philtrator unit he managed to get installed meant it would always be breathable. How could you describe a home in words comprehensible to anyone who hasn't lived in it? Especially when it wasn't yours anymore. But it wasn't the only place. He remembered the scent of oil a few days from expiring as it popped in a pan from the crystal burner stovetop. Soupier air a bit heavier with the Gray than usual. Something you could taste, all gritty and caustic. Made all the worse by how it sat in your lungs, festering in the humidity and sweltering heat, with spoiled lavender. Yet the colors were brighter than outside. And there was a promise of bacon (what passed for it) and sausage and stewed mushrooms. Was this home? He couldn't remember, but a small part of the man knew the latter still existed while the former was a bitter scab for blue, pink and green.

"...gold..." he wheezed "...'ear the sump... border wit'... entresol... a small div' wit'... gold disc fer a... sign..." Then his head slumped back, his one good eye dimming out of consciousness.

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantabismuses:

"Y-you aren't dead", Jinx whispered as she cautiously stepped closer towards the wolf, "Wow. That's impressive." She hadn't tried to kill him of course, but it still astonished her. Normally people didn't survive her explosions. Normally, loved ones didn't survive it when she jinxed everything. "Murderer." Her head shook low as she tried to ignore Mylo's accusation. It was not an accusation; it was the truth. Jinx placed her hand on the metal rod and said: "I am going to pull this out of you, Wolf, if you don't lunge at me. And by the way, my name is Jinx. What's yours? It's clearly not... Well, I don't think I can call you who you used to be, Wolf."

Moments before the WRETCHED gun with O N E E Y E hefted against blue's shoulder snapped at the BEAST, everything ground to a stop. The world got caught up in a picture frame. One you could put your hand through, feel around and mess with what it depicted. But only for it all to snap back into position. A moment to ponder, frozen in time. Voices layered atop one another until garbled memories jumbled into a Gordion Knot. Goggles and lockpicks and scabbed knuckles and symbol monkies. Jokes and jabs traded over a store counter. A man held beneath the Pilt, blood clouding already caustic waters. Years of promises shattered in a single night. He thought of the wordless promise he made the bodies lying on the bridge, scarlet pooling around them. Of the word he gave to two scared little girls, lost twisting in the wind. An oath of blood shared between brothers. Names and faces fading in the flames. It was happening again, only now he didn't have the excuse of leather strips biting into his extremities. Binding him down. Leaving him helpless to fight for those he took so much from already. QUIET.. A failure through and through- Heroes always die... ...I have never been better than this... This ignominious end seemed only fitting.

Despite itself, the BEAST bellowed with white-hot anguish clawing at its throat--one that shone through the missile's shout. Fire licked up its matted hide with the feverish appetite of a scampering sump rat. Oranges and yellows and reds mingled with crimson and phlegm-flecked chemicals. It CHARRED its flesh and SCOURED dark blue fur until it better resembled charcoal. Feeling like the hellish spawn between a first-degree burn and a heat rash. And then came the force of a HUNDRED hammers against its body. Bone and flesh RUPTURED, old scars splitting at the seams and weeping caustic ichor. Every limb cried out. It JOLTED back. The air sucked down its throat felt hot, tasted of rotten pennies and rancid mucus that threatened to POP its lungs. Burning shrapnel peppered the roof, ricocheting off shattered slate and riddling the MONSTER'S body. Some piercing clean-through. Others getting embedded like wasp stingers or coming to rest within the jagged canals burrowed into its MEAT! Worse still was how quick its body tried to mend itself. Like an overeager seamstress looking to claw out some recognition so she might have the means to start her own business. Its flesh writhed around where air ran razors over its body. Trying to knit itself back together, force SPLINTERED bone back into a cohesive shape. Despite it all, though, Warwick never took its eyes off blue. Was there a glimmer of a man in those eyes? A ghost of a man who always handed her a bucket of scrap metal, screws and oil crayons when he saw a burst of inspiration flash in her eyes? Something sad and angry, disappointed? Bitter, griefstricken? Who could say, really? The roof gave way.

At least a ton of stone, metal and burning wood was sent careening toward the crossroads below. Like a landslide without any incline to tumble down. Missing a walkway entirely and slipping down past several layers of Zaun. Punching a hole through the Gray. Leaving dust and detritus drifting in its wake. Swallowing the MONSTER in a dense, cloying cloud. Falling in the same manner Jinx had when, for the first time, her machinery worked. Only Warwick had no time to ponder before a heavy dose of reality shattered his spine and unzipped his backside like an overstuffed sausage. Then the rest of the debris came tumbling onto him, SMASHING his limbs and RUPTURING his body. Driving rebar and sections of pipe through his guts. Saddling the BEAST with punctured lungs and viscera turned to speckled jelly. So when she, Jinx, came upon the handiwork of her inventions--describing the pitiful sight before her as anything more than a dog that forgot how to die was generosity personified.

Whatever was left of the beast incited by the chambers and plungers had lost the strength to give blue the time of day. Having its very life spread out from under the rock and metal crushing its body would do that. Ichor and chemicals oozed from Warwick's split, ruined lips. Something important had broken inside his body. Despite that, whatever kept him going could be seen trying to put his body back together. When she spoke, his one good ear flicked before the eye that hadn't been smashed and starting to ooze out the sides drifted to attention. It was no longer crimson, nor was it a mucus green. It was a weak, pale blue.

He saw her face and felt his head pinch, trying to sift through the jumbled mess of its psyche. Searching for anything substantial. Anything to grab onto. Warwick barely even felt the rod lodged in his shoulder get removed. All he could do was muster the will to raise his ruined arm not pinned beneath rock and metal toward blue, toward Jinx, toward Powder. A name--if nothing else, a name would do. He remembered tapping her cheek with two knuckles when she was pouting. Whenever she had a fight with her sister, with pink. She always came to the same stool at the bar, face downcast and eyes puffy. Then he took out her cup, a jug of juice, filled it to the brim in front of her before then tapping two knuckles on her cheek to get her attention. So he did just that. Reached out to her face, straining his arm, before tapping her cheek. "...am sorry..." he croaked. "...'m fault..."

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantabismuses:

She was about to hoist the heavy bucket over her shoulder when a new sound caught her attention. It had been barely audible, however, it had been unmistakably the sounds of paw prints and dark claws touching the cobblestone. Though the creature seemed to be able to move remarkably quietly for its size.

Interesting.

Jinx put the paint bucket down again and pulled out her Gatling gun. Hand resting on the handle, she tried to figure out where the monster was coming from. Jinx cleared her throat and called: "Heyah! I know you are here, big monster. Why don't you come out? I promise I ain't gonna shoot yah...yet."

Something dull and muffled echoed in the beast's ears. They snapped to attention and angled toward the source. But it was hidden amid the alleys and thoroughfares, drowned out by the gathered throngs incessant chatter and foot traffic. So wherever it may have came from was lost, heard by the monster alone in the city that never slept. Then the iron and copper filtered into its nostrils. It lifted its head off its forearms and looked down the street.

Burnt, twisted metal mingled with the pungent stench of gunpowder. Notes of sulfur indicated a discharge. Like someone had packed too much ground pepper into a single bite of chicken and felt it up in their sinuses. Yet there was something else running undercurrent to the poignant awfulness. Something threaded through the caustic gray hanging heavy in the air. The iron and copper. A heady scent the howler could pick out from halfway across the city, whether topside or skirting along the sumps. One that incited the chambers in its back to shift and grind glass against metal. Regardless of whether this was what the man was looking for, it was something neither could ignore.

It rose up and shifted across the rooftops, scaling the pipeworks and weaving through vent stacks. Smog clung to its fur. Wispy trails of the gray curled past its shoulders. Each breath leaving a gout of the chemical pollutants billowing out from the esophiltres lodged in its shoulders. This city was the howler's hunting ground. No hazard it had could hamper the hunt. Wandering toward an alley where the flicker of chem-lumens was dimmest, the beast smelt something new. It was one of citrus with a metallic tang. But it was minute compared to the intensity of the gunpowder and iron. Whoever was behind it knew how to pick secluded spots. For this alley was out of the way of any prying eyes. A sharp mind. The scrap of glass against metal grew while the mechanisms woven throughout the creature whirred in anticipation. Mucus-green eyes cut through the dark and saw a small woman standing amid a ruin of paint, the aftermath of an explosion and the telltale signs of tinkering. Her twin tails brushed the cobble. Each a vibrant cobalt blue that clashed with the droll palette of the alley. Blue. A painful sensation yanked at the man, tugging the beast's heart and head. It dropped from the roof and landed with nary a sound save the click of its claws against the ground. But it was still enough for the woman's attention to be piqued. Another predator? Possibly. She spoke and his ears cringed, flattening back against his skull. Blue. Pink? SHUT UP! The monster emerged from the shadows when she turned, eyes pointed toward where the shadows were densest. It towered over her, hunched over as it was. And unveiled the fur and teeth and sick green glow of the chemicals coursing through its body.

Glaring down at her, the creature snuffed the air while the machinery in its back whirred. "You were there..." came the low rumble of gravel from the back of its throat.

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantbismuses:

Vi hadn't been able to accept that Jinx had changed. The Loose Canon was not going to make that same mistake when it came to the wolf. Vander was no longer Vander. He was someone new, someone more dangerous, someone monstrous. There was something comforting about that fact really! Simply because it confirmed everything, Silco had taught her years ago. Monsters survived. People succumbed. Finally, Jinx reached a very narrow street. Between the two house walls were a few balustrades and staircases, which created a strange and hard-to-recognise web. Jinx landed back on the ground and hoisted Fishbones off her back, propping him on her shoulders. Fingers looped around the trigger and she directed the shark's nose upwards, ready to fire. "Here, wolfy-wolf."

It was every NIGHTMARE the man could ever conceive made manifest right before his very eyes. Something that dwelled in the darkest corner of his heart. Tormenting his FRACTURED mind. Always shattering whatever semblance of normal he thought to have scrapped up from the floor he was left battered and BROKEN against. Chasing down blue. But the liquid FIRE scalding the BEAST from the inside out left nothing sacred. Not when the world was bathed in RED! Tainted by a MADMAN! Until there is nothing left but SHOUTING and SCREAMING!! Dont hurt her! BLOOD!! Don't hunt blue! BROKEN!! Please, listen, stop! NOTHING LEFT!! Every thought he had, it had, was stained by the chemicals and the madman with his wretched knives and foul tinctures. Both voices warped at the edges. Started to blend into a single screeching cacophony. Leaving its ears flicked back, pelt bristled and lips drawn back so its crushing teeth might taste the rancid air. Whatever lucidity Warwick, the BEAST might have had, it was drowned in the chemicals pooling into its lungs, heart and skull.

The chambers protruding from the MONSTER'S backside plunged in, slow and certain, while the arrow-tipped plunger burrowed into its MEAT. Like a drill scouring the land for oil. Clouding the sky with discarded detris. It fills it with FIRE and HATE until its body glowed a bright orange-red and felt ready to snap like a coil wound too tight. Steam drifted up off its body, gouts of smoke belching from the philtres in its shoulders, tendrils of smoke trailing from the corners of its lips and nostrils. Rotten BLOOD sprays across the cobble and metal, sizzling chemicals pockmarking both while bladed claws erupt from their MEAT casings. Until they are razor swords that burned with the intensity of a wildfire, one that RAGED throughout its body and produced a vivid orange glow. One that rivaled the sun so often hidden from the city below. Like a warning light cueing in passersby of the danger a moment too late. An echoing crack! resounded from the alley before a deafening ROAR startled the already panicked crowd a blue-haired woman tore through.

The scent of BLOOD trailed off out of the alley and into the crowd, so the BEAST gave chase! Kept low to the ground like a bull exposed to red, the MONSTER leaped out of the alley and barreled through crowds of gawkers. Leaving behind burning tracks with every thunderous stride. Scouring the rock and metal. Men and women were sent flying. Each screaming, shouting warnings to those caught in the way of a runaway train. But the pigtails twisting and flailing behind a blurred woman hopped up on her own BLOOD was the only thing the creature cared to keep its blazing eyes anchored onto. She VANISHED! Where did she go? BLUE!! Its eyes darted here and there before an ear snapped to attention, angling every which way at the sound of worn heels hitting slate. That's when it dug into the ground beneath, skidding to a halt and leaving a series of deep gouges across the thoroughfare. Craned its neck and sprung up with all the grace of cargo freight propelled by a canon. Before IMPACTING the roof, shattering slate and slapping whoever owned the building with a hefty repair bill in the future.

It turned every which way, searching for BLUE yet felt every hair on its body stand on end. Then it saw why. O N E E Y E Either arm rose up to shield itself from the grinning maniac resting in her hands while the chambers ground away in its backside.

[chemicalmongrel]

misstamtabismuses:

"Vi's on the other side of the river", Jinx revealed and venom dripped from each word, "She's in a big cosy house with a big cosy girlfriend. She left me...again. She chose that blasted sister thief over me. But it's fine." An angry chuckle left her lips. "It's fine. I am fine! I got Fishbones. I need no one else."

Jinx reached up with her hand and softly patted against the shark rocket launcher's snout. The Loose Canon had turned her head a bit to be able to properly look into dark blue glowing eyes, sharp, jagged teeth and the gash, parting one of the shark's eyes. He looked so much like him. But that had been intentional. After all, Fishbones had been meant as a gift for him. Just like the pepperbox was in some ways, once she had worked out all the kinks. After all, why else give the weapon seven barrels?

Was any of this even real? The thought echoed in his head until it was all the man could think about. Like something out of a radio talkshow. One where the host kept drilling the guest with the same confounded question, again and again. Yet no amount of deflecting could clue the witless bastard in on the room's atmosphere. JUST READ THE ROOM!! It was made all the worse by the fact that there was no air conditioning. Just a muggy, humid sort of heat. Something you could only get when too much polluted air congregated in one place. Thus all the irksome scents rife in the air were magnified. BLOOD!! No! Stay focused, don't hurt blue! Don't lose control, stay in the now! Warwick felt the chill touch of metal pressed up to his chest and recoiled as if struck. His chest was rising and falling in rapid motion. It was difficult to breathe. He felt something trying to claw its way out of his throat. But he stuffed it back down until it burned his heart, focusing on what was afore him. Yet he could feel himself tittering on a razor edge--emphasized by how the chambers in his back whirred.

He looked to blue and saw her face soften, tension draining from her every muscle. Her scent shifted from predator to something else. Something old. Something new. There was a new face beneath that blue and it had a hardset jaw that had seen a hundred fresh horrors it never ought to have endured. But it was also the same, shaped different now, but still had all the hallmarks of an energetic little girl who needed a cup of juice when things didn't go how she wanted. STOP!! Icy needles pressed into the recesses of his cranium, cracking the bone and rearranging the gray matter. His thoughts were all over the place. Scenes and places from a lifetime ago flittered by. Then blue said a name and the needles became white hot. PAIN... NOTHING!! Vander Vander Vander Vander VandervandERvaNDErVAnD- Quiet! Emotions ran rampant and it showed in the caustic sludge burbling in the chambers and tubing. From green to blue to violet to black to crimson and back again. It was a phenomenon seen in his eyes, too, dancing down that same gradient. What did he do, what did he not do? All PAIN and scalpels and shimmer-poisoned food forced down your throat through a tube. Keep EATING until you become big and strong, an efficient MONSTER. Just like you always have been! But then you just vomit BLOOD and feel your bones cracking! He was brought out from the spiral by another touch, warmer, sticky. Something he recoiled from again. Only now the grinding of his chambers became deafening in his ears. His blood raced at the irresistible scent of blood. Could feel his heart hammer away and his breathing worsen, could feel how the ooze in his veins grew hotter by the moment. Saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth but he held on, ground his teeth to dust and clamped onto his own tongue until he tasted iron.

"...other side? What..." its voice faltered toward the end. Sister stealer? Shacked up with a well-heeled Piltie? There was something interwoven with the name and how blue said it. How she spoke of pink. It was everything but what the faint recollection the man still retained said it was. Like reaching out and taking a bundle of thread, only to find they're frayed and tied off to wildly different sections of a tapestry. One you had no hand in making. One you had been cut out of by the hands of another. His eyes trailed across blue's face--what was her name?--until drifting to the item she tapped with a hand. Then his eyes and the sludge threatening to scald him from the inside out turned a black-mottled crimson. Jagged teeth and a crooked smile. Face offset and attention brought to an eye that was hewn. It glittered. Stared him down, glaring a crooked sneer. O N E G L I T T E R I N G E Y E!

Liquid FIRE fills its veins! A madman's plunger splits muscle and pierces bone! Its world is RED and ORANGE and ANGER and PAIN!! But the man held the beast off, even as its entire body recoiled and tensed enough to make its bones creak from the effort. "NO... SCREAMS-- RUN!!"

[chemicalmongrel]

misstantabismuses:

"Hhhrrrrr", made Jinx and nervousness and pain twisted up her stomach. Her anxiety needled at her and the static in her head grew with each passing minute. Mylo and Claggor were lingering just out of sight like two jaguars, ready to pounce upon an unexpecting stag. Her hand trembled and Jinx slowly pulled it backwards, moving the trigger inch by inch. Pow-Pow's barrels were starting to rotate, however, no shot was being fired yet. "Where?", asked Jinx, feeling the words press their way through her teeth like her whole subconsciousness was desperately trying to stop her from questioning this development, "Where did you see me, wolf?"

Blue. She was right here and blue, bluer than she was before. But who was she? Blue. She was blue and indigo and violet and bruised and alone. Why was she alone? Strong, stronger than she knew but she shouldn't be alone. Not yet. Not in this town where blood flowed free. BE QUIET!! Words and scenes rebounded in the beast's head while the man spiraled. It was a hornet's nest. All buzzing and fleeting and stinging and pain. Enough to make the beast sick of the little man's snivelling little voice! Pink! No matter what, she would never leave blue to fend for herself! Never in a hundred years, a million years! SHUT UP!! No, there will be no peace until the man had an answer!

"...where is Pink?..." The words just fell from its lips, voice ragged and croaking from disuse. "...where..." Despite the whirring of the chamber and the spinning barrels threatening to air the lupine creature out, it took a step forward. Something made threatening by its size. Yet the way its tail hung limp and fur smoothed across its body, ears angled back. It made to reach out with its hand, the one in which metal and flesh melded together.

But it stopped, face spasming as the anguish burbled to the surface.