Generally outsiders not welcome, however Cardinal has been with the Moon Court every leg of their challenges to crash weddings, spike punch bowls, and help the moon rise to its potential.
Exceptions were made,
Criteria was met,
Pre-gaming was a go!
Tonight was the night of the Black Hunt, where they banish the sun from the sky and welcome the first full moon after the true New Year in a plea for Czernobog to fill it up, bestowing his power to make the Moon mighty in this new year, and draw power back down to the court.
Besides, who didn't love to get crazy stoned off their ass and hunt mortals once in a while?
Rorschach stood on the trunk of the car covered in smears of grease, dirt, and someone's blood that was not his. He was a gaunt and garish sight. He signed <<To see WHO among them is FIT to walk away, and who... is the best of them? Find some, sugar them up, chase them into the mine, maybe see what pops out? How do we want to test our volunteers?>>
As far as Zillah's concerned, Cardinal was one of them. Family. The shadowsnake is riding high tonight, a gleam in those blue-black eyes. Her hair's been teased, velvets have given way to leathers. Mostly. There's still a hint of it in her top, because in the end, she is Our Lady of Velvets. She sits on the trunk that Ror stands on, fingers slithering up one of those too-thin legs. "I've not been to the mine," she muses, thoughtfully.
TEAM MOON jacket, duct-taped to perfection and embellished with glow-in-the-dark bits? Check. Lambent green eyes glowing pale like the ever constant orb in the night sky? Yep. Fuzzy ears? Yessss. Tom is carefully studying his own claws, occasionally bending teeth to tug at them as if to sharpen himself up for the night. "I missed the mine as well, but that's a test," the cat observes. He's unusually quiet all over again.
Cardinal is the very moon itself--by some definitions, depending on how you look at it, see the way she shines!--and thus obviously belongs at every moon party. Except the ones she's too flaky too attend. Ya know, waxing and waning and all that lunar nonsense. This one? Definitely here for this one. And dressed mostly appropriately for the chilly weather in dark jeans, faded sneakers--with pastel baubles jangling on the laces--and an oversized black sweater with wide set monstrous teeth dominating the front. Prepared to hunt. The redhead's blue eyes--have they always been blue?--are pale halos around wide black discs in evidence of the pre-party partying, her gaze straying frequently enough that one might wonder if she even caught Rorschach's speech. But people are talking about the mine, which gets her hands to flapping. <<Spooky stuff. Long history of bad stuff. Ain't called Mischance for nothing.>>
The man called Tracy is present and smiling. Pale blue skin, too-long limbs, sawed-off trolls still showing on his forehead, unable to be properly covered by the knit hat - periwinkle blue - with a little pom on top. He's clearly ready to party. Or whatever. Beyond that he's in a black hoodie, jeans, and black boots. He stays quiet for now, arms folded over his chest, but a smile is offered to each and every at the gathering.
Rorschach snap-pointed to Cardinal. She got it in one. The roach looked down stamping twice on the trunk and inside there were disquieted muffled sounds. That sharp wicked skeleton grin stretched wide. He held up two fingers and a thumb. Three. Three people in teh trunk was a good hall yeah? Well then. He signed, mostly because he had to and in part because the fellas in the trunk couldn't hear. Hell if they could, bravo to them though it won't help them much.
<<We have us volunteers who have been, hmmmm, none too nice to people with mental issues in our greater community.>> There was a loo of disdain, but he refrained from relieving himself on the trunk of the car to spite them in effigy. <<We scare the shit out of them and chase them into the cave. Whoever falls? Falls. We give the strongest up to Czernobog! Do our worst and that which survives becomes our guest of honour at His table?>> It was a rare night when open torment was called down on those who were human as they once were. <<After they join our new 'Vivaine' and we will, fix this year for our people.>>
Tom grins at the bug in his heavily-fanged way, and he stops sharpening claws on his teeth to instead scratch on the metal of the car. They might feel the vibrations. It's the expression of a cat playing with his food as it has its last moments of blessed hiding. "We're ready for this plan. Don't worry," he assures his heterosexual-life-mate of a bug-friend. There's a glance at Tracy MacGregor, and maybe a hint of relaxation there; the big man is smiling rather than cornering Tom, which might mean he's not about to get the business for promoting the big man as kingly all over the Freehold. This time.
There's a blown kiss towards Cardinal as she arrives, a lean and shoulder bump to Tom, and Tracy, he gets an elegant waggle of her fingers. They're quick to fly into motion, as Zillah takes up signing as well. <<In the end, they'll all get what they deserve, or a taste of it.>> No, the slithershadow is not too keen on those that prey upon the mentally bothered. Imagine that. <<Blood makes the grass grow.>> She flashes a quick grin, those thin fangs gleaming in the light of the full moon. Leaning, she bites Ror at the back of the knee, before she's rising up to move to Cardinal, to catch some red hair between fingers and place a smooch on her forehead. <<I'm glad you're hunting with us, redbird.>>
Cardinal shivers at the sound of claws-on-car, her shoulders holding that high position for way longer than is necessary, eyes all wide as if something inside of her has gone all electric and maybe short-circuited. Not that she otherwise looks particularly perturbed. It's just all resonating strangely, thank you, oh psychedelics, for that strangeness. The nearness from Zillah seems to unravel that nerve-twisting, shoulders sinking as eyes close that she might press up into that forehead kiss. Once she's reset and all back to nearer normal, she signs over to the evening's huntmaster, <<Can I do anything I want with them?>>
Still, Tracey looks amused. To Rorschach, he gives a few simple nods. "Well put together, Robbie," he says, in that deep voice of his. So soft and soothing! The man ought to record himself reading lullabies. He looks aside, to Cardinal, and there's a chuckle. Tracey's eyes go back to Rorschach. "Now, I can't join you all tonight, but I did want to come and see you off. Trust you'll be able to manage yourself juuuust fine."
Rorschach was about to flourish a bow when godDAMMIT those black eyes went startlingly clear when teeth bit the back of his knee. He signed, and while it looked angry the words that followed were <<That's it. Now you're stuck with me>> The bug hopped off the trunk and signed to Cardinal <<Well how else you supposed to find out which one is the best one?>> This was the way of things. He opened the trunk and whistled sharply for them to clamber out of the back of the trunk. That was not a comfortable fit.
Robbie had a slight limp walking off the sensation of the bite that he was not complaining about in the slightest. The smirk was cruel, perhaps, but justified. <<The consolation, dickweasels, not that you can understand me, is that your grandparents will be well taken care of>>
Zillah gives a bit of internal preening at the reaction she gets from the inkblot, even as she gives that attention - soothing thing it is - to Cardinal. A little balance, from snake to bird. The asked question makes her gleeful, it showing in her eyes, the curve of her lips. "Always good to see you," she murmurs towards Tracey, looking over to Tom, and then settling her eyes on the ringmaster of tonight's show. And the ones he holds in the trunk. Black lips, even in her mask, curve with a cruel, sharp edge.
"Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty kitty," Tom croons from his position. Where there's prey, there's his posture, as he comes to crouch a little and shift his body as if to anticipate a run. It's not particularly sensical, that he's calling for kitty kitty kitty; he is that, after all. But it makes sense in his brain, currently shake-and-baked on the good stuff to jar someone off all their normal paths, ready to pursue the trio that the bug has collected.
<<Best seems really subjective,>> comes with a playful scrunch of Cardinal's nose, but she gets what he's saying and doesn't harp on semantics any farther. Particularly because the trunk was opening. She does her best to present herself to the trio clambering out of the truth as if she might be a respectable creature, as if she, as one of their guides for this evening's adventure, was gonna be the very best camp counselor they've ever had. She gives the lot a cheerful wave and a bright smile before turning that same radiance to Tracy as she waggles her fingers his direction, too. Hello for some, goodbye for another, all delivered with enthusiasm. Which doesn't quite stay in check. She starts toward their prey as if picking which one might be the star pupil, which would should get her blessing. Or which one is tastiest. If one stays still enough, they're gonna get licked...
The trunk opens and Tracey steps forward. He's not leaving just yet. "Oh, hey... good evening," he says, to the volunteers. Even seeing his mask, the man doesn't look quite right, and that's probably not helping right now. "I do hope you enjoy tonight. Sort of a-... team building exercise," he offers, to the volunteers. Then his eyes are on Robbie once more. "Definitely looks good. You'll call me? Let me know who wins?"
Rorschach tilted his head back and sighed with much amusement <<Hell, Hoss, I'll bring the bourbon by and tell you in person. You'll know when we have a winner.>> He watched the three shitwads look at Cardinal as if she was going to get them out of- nope. She was licking them and that was changing the rules of the game entirely.
The Roach waited until blessings were bestowed and signed letting people translate or not <<Last one standing gets a prize, boys.>> He pulled out three short blades and pointedly threw them into the ground at their feet one at a time and signed resting his hand on the hilt of the Geiger Blade at his lower back. <<Yeah if you think of turning that on me you'd better hope you're faster than I am because that will not go well for you. Those are for the mines. Whatever you gotta do. It's dangerous in there.>>
Three fingers were held up.
3...
2...
1...
The odds will never be in their favour. Scrambling away from the crazy people they took their steak knives and ran like hell AT the mines. There was no sign but a pointing. PURSUE! The hunt was on!
Ever so helpful, Zillah offers the loose translation of the Roach's words. "Last one standing gets a prize," the slithershadow hisses. "Knives for the mines. You know the legends. So dangerous. Tsk." Her eyse flash, and she's sliding around behind the bug. Touching his cheek, his forehead, and then placing a finger over his lips. "Hunt well, loves." Softer, those words, as she glances over shoulder to the runners. Waiting....waiting...before she's taking off herself.
They're running. AND THEY'RE OFF, and Tom's hindbrain just kicks right on in, all instinct. The thing that flees the cat is the prey, and he puts on a nice burst of speed after a three-count to give them a head start. Fair is fair. He doesn't go down to all fours, but he does make a noise that suggests...well. It would be more impressive if it didn't sound like a housecat at midnight trying to get out and kill small furry animals. But it's feral enough.
What's a little madness between friends? Cardinal only gets to lick one of the poor souls with that weird tongue of hers, all black and pointed and too long and too thin. Abyssal. Strange. Madness bearing. Poor thing's going to have a hard time with things like clothes and walls and maybe even caves. Or crowds. Social convention. Being human. He just wants to run free, alright? That one's not waiting for GO to grab a knife and get going, scrambling away as soon as he can, much to the redbird's delight. She makes kissy faces at the next one, but... nope. Not standing still. Meanie. As Snake and Cat go chasing after the mice that have run toward the mine, Bird--nevermind that she's not a bird--claps delightedly... and patient strolls thattaway herself.
"Bon chance!" Tracey calls, in the worst fucking French accent ever heard in this state. He gives a hearty chuckle. "You kids go have fun," she says, with a little shake of his head. Then he's turning and heading back to his car. "I look forward to that bourbon, Robbie!" he calls over his shoulder.
Rorschach grinned like a scarred skeleton grin ear to ear already covered and oil, blood, and the bits of earth smudged that he acquired when he helped get the volunteers to begin with. He pointed go, go, go! The rate of people getting hurt in there... assured. Here was to hoping no one they still liked fell in a hole. They were off. He started the stopwatch, and took off at a slow prowl first. Let them get in, deep deep down in the earth like tasty worms burrowing and hiding and trying to find a new way out of bide their time or... no one really warned them about the trod either. Well, it wasn't Friday so one supposed they had that going for them.
Tom might have missed Jenny's arrival. He's more or less forgotten being a person, although after his initial sprint and thunder-cat approach, he opts for something stealthier once he's in the dark to stalk his way through. He does not, however, stop making noise. Echoing sounds. Yowls like the monster he is. And occasionally, the mad laughter he holds back some of the time. On his quiet little cat feet, he wanders, looking for signs of those who will fall and who will be raised up to the Dark One, alike.
Cardinal takes her time stalking the little mouseys who've gone a-wandering into Mischance Mine because it seemed the safer option. She revels in the echoing sounds, several minutes spent not far from the mouth of the mine just listening to Tom moving about through the darkness, the laughter echoing down dark corridors, the terrified yelps and hurried scrambling of one who's had the misfortune of crossing paths with one of the hunters. Until she catches scent of something nearer with that twitchy might-be-wolf nose of hers. Then she, more lupine than avian, goes stalking into the darkness, too, prowling after a poor, paranoid morsel that she need only touch to break in such interesting ways, bestowing the moon's blessing of bedlam. When better to develop an acute case of nyctophobia than when surrounded by an absence of light? Maybe if he overcomes that fear, he'll be able to chase the glowing light in the distance which simply must lead somewhere safer. Nevermind that it's all a cruel illusion that'll lead him deeper into danger.
Meanwhile, Mr. Cage Shock has stripped free of all of his clothes, racing through the mine with not a stitch of clothing on him, holding onto that knife like he might go stab himself a rabbit and eat it raw. Nevermind that the most likely thing he'll run into anytime soon is one of his fellow 'volunteers.'
Ah, the children of the Moon. What music they make. Zillah sticks to the shadowy places, deep in the darkness. An ambush predator, more than anything. That forked tongue, tasting the air. Feeding on the emotions that flavor the night, as much as the high that she's on. She strikes from the darkness in the mine, and it is quick. But not deadly. What's a little hamstringing between friends?
It was a few moments later bit the roach ran into teh tunnels and then up onto the walls and ceiling scurrying avter them //draaaaaaaagging// his blades across the ceiling occasionally. With him the darkness was dreged with him blotting out the last vestages of light with him leaving hell chitter noises to resonate around the cavern.
It wasn't long before three became two when one of the 'volunteers' turned on one of the others and knifed him to slow his fleeing. Ooooh dirty pool. Were they zombies, or bears, (or let's face it zombie bears) that would have worked. Nope nope nope.
Tom's eyes shine in the dark and his voice, so long used for singing lovely songs, now rasps and echoes all throughout the caverns. It's a voice thrown everywhere to amplify himself through the darkness, like there's several of him and they could be there around any corner. But it's only one of the surviving unfortunates that runs into him -- runs into a set of claws, not lethally, but more importantly, runs into his tongue at the same time. No one's coming out of this with sanity unshaken and bodies unbloodied. He lets that momentary prey go again just as soon as he's put that little twist on the twists of the knives in the dark, another one maddened in the dark and set to run. Run, little rodents.
Cardinal draws no weapon, offers no direct injury or imposition of her own, slight thing that she is, but she is oh so very glad to build upon the foundations others have laid, to sit within the darkness and weave this illusion or that, to give just enough shape to the shadows to magnify the threat inherent in all the awfulness echoing through the stony corridors. To those who can see her, truly see her, she is a beacon of delighted ease settled in the dirt, all too happily letting her own drug-distracted brain--and a little bit of glamour--make impossible monsters to feed the madness of the dwindling survivors, to offer moments of hope which are all too quickly devoured by the next yowl or snikt or skitter, by claw or tooth or blade.
Snakes are silent hunters, and once, Zillah was nothing more than the shadow of a step. There are traits that die hard. And watching, watching is one of them. She licks the blood from her blade, as she watches one of the volunteers take out the other. As Tom licks his chosen prey, and the sanity of the night continues to slip. There are some traits that die hard, but there is a chortle of dark laughter that spills out from black lips, as she slides out of her shadowed spot, and treads over the runner that had fallen. Fingertips caress his cheek, oh so sweetly, before she tsks. "Not. Good. Enough." Whispered, hissed words before she's off to rejoin the hunt, and see which of their victims is left.
The hunt dragged on.
It was never about the kill, it was exposing the grotesque part of human nature. In the end they had their winner. In the end the most wretched of those attractive young faces that took to the mines like it was their own personal Hunger Games was found alone, and covered
with the blood of one of the other competitors. He was left to fend for himself. He never helped anyone else before so he should be great at finding his own aid now...or not.
In the end he was brought out, disarmed by the group and told, with rising mania, they had a present for him. The young man's eyes went wide in shock.
It was in the next morning's paper that an article read:
Young couple found dead in the river, hands tied together. The young man was found with blood on his fingers and a knife in his back pocket that forensics claims was the murder weapon of another missing young man seems to have turned into a murder suicide.
and somewhere, somewhere, Czernobog laughed.
The offering? Is good.
For those that gave an offering? They slept better, and more soundlessly than any other night. Tomorrow? Tomorrow they may take on the world.
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