Difference between revisions of "Log:Saving Hipsters Near The Market"

16 November, 2017

A stoned hipster walks through a door he shouldn't, and then things get complicated.

H34 - near Rainbowside Markets

There's plenty of reasons to be in the Markets. Looking to glean Glamour, or to find just the right oddbit for a recipe or craft project. To reconnect with humanity, or to escape from too much of it into the anonymity of a crowd. The Hedge Gate here is notorious for leading into a series of Labyrinths, walking one through a paradigm shift from the mortal world into the Deep Hedge. It's not overly used, on account of being so difficult to navigate, but it's at least safer than the path leading through the den of the Lightsippers deep in the Mischance mine.

Safer for -changelings.- But it's not a changeling using the Hedge Gate. It's a mortal hipster, probably spotting it on account of something in his system, pausing at the gate and stepping through into the Rainbow Stalls beyond. It's not too obvious a change of venue- but to any Changelings who see it happening? That right there is a disaster in the making.

Plenty of reasons to be in the Markets, and one of them is 'perusing the selection of trifles at a stall, looking for an oddment or other such item,' or possibly just... being nosy. Teagans are ... very, very nosy. It's practically a job requirement for a Squire, to be at least mildly nosy. Especially since they just randomly found this hedge gate a couple of weeks ago while wandering the streets at night. The appearance of a human -- an intoxicated human -- prompts a brief snarl from the shifting-countenanced Darkling, followed by the words "Fucking hipsters," and no more Teagan. Hopefully. Nope. Still Teagan. Fuck. A quiet snarl, and they just step back away toward one of the spaces between stalls.

cassian had made an early day of selling off all of his wares, and the fruits and foods had gone on to serve better masters. Or, at least, hungrier masters. This meant he had an early afternoon with a pocket full of 'things' with which to trade for himself. A new bracelet for Rozalia was his current interest, and his hand strokes lightly at his chin as he examines one. Beside him, impatient as ever, was a particular madame with whom Cassian had not oft agreed. But she wanted his 'coin'. A gentle 'hmmm', and then a twitch of his ear as he ... senses something tasty. Cassian's gaze turns sidelong to regard the hipster with suspicion.

vanE was, in fact, on the mortal side of the Markets, heading towards the Hedge Gate. Hands in pockets, sunglasses on to shield from the overcast light of day. But he pauses when he sees the hipster beat him to it. And while he doesn't run after the guy, he does hasten his steps, moving faster through the crowd, managing not to smash into anyone or knock anything over as his coat billows darkness around him. He slips through the Gate only a few moments after the human. How far away from him will he get?

The human's not really making very good time, but he's drawing a lot of attention and not the good kind. This isn't the Wild Roses. Here, the only rule is "Cave omnis"- everyone beware. The general social contract keeps things in line, in the interest of better business, but with an unclaimed mortal wandering around? That isn't going to last. The mortal in question isn't in a hurry. He's chill, things look awesome, and he's taking his time.

It's not hard to spot the creeps starting to collect with the relatively clear intention of rolling up on the stoner's grill. There's a handful of them, converging from different points among the stalls, casually blocking off the RIGHT path to follow the trod or retreat, and herding him just off the trod for- presumably- collection, harvesting, or similar nasty ends.

Sometimes Teagan wants to not be seen. Sometimes ... quite the opposite. But Teagan doesn't want to be seen, even though their face looks like a strange, back-of-the-mirror metallic sort of thing. Their face slips and shifts, becoming a little softer here, a little more angular there, until it's such a generic face that it could belong to a blonde Chris starring in an action movie.

That done, their hand drops to their waist, and they smile lopsidedly, approaching the hipster directly, and -- should they be allowed -- slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Hey! I haven't seen you since Morgan's last party. Your pupils are the size of fucking dimes, man. Lemme get you a Lyft, yeah?"

Cassian's attention fully invests itself upon the wayward youth as he considers some things within his mind. Straightening, he continues to scratch at his chin a moment before he turns to start a slow walk. "Not today, Grilla," He offers towards the merchant. A moment is taken to consider those about them, each heartbeat and tasty soul.

vanE /nearly/ runs straight into the young man, but he manages to dart away from him just as 'Teagan' appears and intervenes. vanE steps into the shadows to watch how this plays out for a moment, because he's not really the type to help with a full-on schmoozing operation. Leave that to people who enjoy acting. He will watch, his eyes glowing softly purple in the darkness.

"Uh... Morgan? I don't- DO I know a Morgan..? I know Malcolm," murmurs the stoner, squinting at his new/old friend. "D'you mean Malcolm's party? Malcolm throws KILLER parties. Izzat what you meant?" He doesn't have an issue with the arm round his shoulder. The hobs slowly closing in do, though, if their move to box Teagan and Co. into a stall-secluded section, one of the four at each of the possible points of exit.

"Yew stahtin' t'sound like a poachah, mayte," crows one of the Hobs, a club bouncing over his shoulder. It looks like a gigantic peg leg- as if some poor Gargantuan sailor someplace is missing the replacement for his missing limb. Sad, really. "Wot say yew stehp off an' leave us t'our biz, nice-like? Aye, glimmer?" The one closest to the trod steps to the side, clearing a path back- but just barely. The two of them together aren't gonna get past that particular sack of lard, not without dealing with the icky looking rapier he's holding like he knows which end goes where, every inch of it carved from some huge thorn.

"Yeaaaaah, yeahyahyeah," Teagan answers with a casual sort of grin. Their Shadows wrap up around their ankles, spread out like ink around their feet, across the ground. They bring the hand at their side up, absently scratching at their temple with their forefinger, palm turned out. This gesture, not so accidentally, turns that palm toward the Gargantuan-leg-stealer and his bro. Scar and all. As if that's an answer in and of itself, that thick, ropy scar. "You still got some of the shit that was going around there? I mean pretty clearly you do... " And as the conversation turns, the Shadowsoul shifts their weight a bit, and turns the kid bodily toward vervanE. "Ey! You remember him," Teagan introduces Hipster!Stoner to Unknown!Blackbird. "From Malcolm's party. He's a bit over-in, I think, can you grab him a water?" Their fractured-mirror eyes glitter sharply, and that free hand drops casually to their hip.

Cassian may have been a lot of things, but, he wasn't the sort to enjoy a good old fashioned shakedown at the markets. Not one he wasn't getting to be on the profitable end of, anyway. As the others close about, an eyebrow is arched, and Cassian surveys them all a bit closer. And, of course, Cassian knew what sort of things happened when hands found hips. "What d'ya think, guys? Maybe a stretch first?" Cassian asks carefully.

He hesitates, but vanE takes a step closer to the outside of the circle. As he should be outside of it -- that was part of the point of not getting cozy with the hipster kid. His own hand appears to be moving slowly inside his coat as his purple-lit eyes, slowly turning more green, move from Teagan to Cassian. He puts a hand out, just like the mortal wasn't surrounded by hobs who probably want to sell his ass to the highest bidder. "Come on." His voice is rich and sonorous, and probably rather soothing to the intoxicated human's ears. "Let's get you hydrated."

Whoa, come on, man," murmurs the stoner real low. "This trip is -excellent-, I don't want to go off and risk harshing my buzz. Like- it'd be -super- lame for this to turn bad. Like you don't even -know.- Your eyes are fuckin' -mirrors-, and -those- guys..." He's not really into leaving- not YET- but he's also not really resisting. Honestly, it's when he turns about and sees the big guy with the sword that he gets a wee bit more cooperative. "...aw, shit, man, I think it's fuckin' turnin'."

"OFF it, elf, this ent yer biz either, now, izzit? No, it ent," blusters the butterball with the rapier.

"Aw, see, now yer wavin' round yer willy, like. 'at's rude, tha' is, but see- we ain't scare, none. Cuz it's we take him- we do you -then- take'im- or we die tryin'. Cuz yew might be a big, nasty squire, SER- but ye can only kill us th'once."

"Don't think this lad or'eir compadres feel much like playin' kosher, lads. Do 'em proper, like!" roars the burly hob with the odd club, starting to march menacingly towards the two encircled by their number as the last two draw steel and close ranks.

The expression on Teagan's face is pretty much like Burr during the first Duel song in Hamilton: 'okay, so we're doing this.' Teags doesn't look particularly thrilled by the fact that they're about to get into a great, hoary scrap, possibly because there are all these, like, complicating factors in between them and a nice, good scrap with some kidnappers. "I have ten times as many kill marks from shitheels like you than you have teeth left, blubbermouth," sighs the Darkling...

... and disappears.

What a long, strange trip that poor hipster's having.

"Well," Cassian says, taking another moment to look each of the lot over. "I'm not sure you're sure who you just called Elf so heartlessly," Cassian says, as he takes a moment to kneel and draw his fingers in the dirt around them. "But you're standing in my way," he declares. His other hand coils around the hilt of his whip, as he tugs it free.

As Teagan disappears, and Cassian readies his whip, the air around vanE's hair and coat whips up and intensifies, blasting cold darkness. His eyes glow darkly, green fading into black as he slowly turns his hands palm up. A vortex of what seems like living darkness emerges all around him into a strange, insect-like cloud. With a slight upturn of his chin, the darkness moves in that same insectoid fashion right for the threatening hobs, who've made the mistake of being just a little too close. Things are about to get dark for them -- dark and very uncomfortable.

One of the hobs holding back rushes in with a knife when Teagan vanishes. It's not a COMMON trick, but it's invisibility- or maybe teleportation, but either way, it's the sorta thing gets you cut if you stand around gaping and gasping. So instead, he rushes to take a hostage- the stoner! He's not so far gone he can't defend himself, though, that stoner, and they're struggling for control! Meanwhile, the fatso fencer makes a startlingly fast lunge at an impressively evasive Cassian- and barely catches him across the ribs, failing to draw blood but armor only does so much to blunt the impact of a full-force lunge! It probably doesn't feel great... but significantly better than getting stabbed would have, to be sure.

The fun thing about being invisible is that every attack is a fun surprise!

Well, it's fun for Teagan. It's not so much fun for the people being attacked.

Tactically speaking, the most dangerous of the lot to the human is the one with the gun. Also the most dangerous to Cassian but honestly he's like super Wyrd and probably has access to all kinds of fruit or whatever so like, he can deal. Anyway, there is a line of tactical thinking from Teagan, and it's this: kill the dude with the gun first.

Kinda creepy watching someone get attacked by an invisible person. It's just ... one minute he's totally fine, and the next minute his intestines are coming out of his midsection from a slash that starts somewhere around his left nipple and ends midway through the meat of the right side of his back. Gut wounds hurt, and they stink.

And from nowhere, the sighing words: "This was what we call a bad life choice, guys," as Teagan keeps moving.

Rising, Cassian leans a bit to the right as he tries to beat the sword coming his way--Not quite fast enough. He lets out a grunt, before his black eyes meet the sword-owner. Dirt begins to fall from Cassian's fingertips. His lips curl back into a sneer of jagged teeth. "I said," Pause, "You're in my way." As the words fall from Cassian's lips and the dirt is let free, a flood of glamour pours from Cassian into the area around them. A large area, in fact. The flood seeps into every bit of land about them and tastes sharp, like a washed penny, if it were being burned over a fire. It was ... frightful glamour, telling a tale of what used to be for the former Autumn.

And then, on command, the world around them comes to life. There's cruel laughter of vicious children behind trees to taunt them, a misty cemetery fog rolling in about their feet, and roots break from the ground to grasp for the would-be assailants. The land has turned against them each in turn, and the gentle marketroad has now become a nightmare scape and Cas was pulling the strings.

The snagging, lashing roots grab the hob with the gun and drag him straight beneath the cobbles with a sickening, wet sound. The others fare better, still strong enough to defend themselves against rooty assaults, sustaining battering wounds for their trouble. Their leader- mister Foot Club himself- isn't panicked. He's unhappy, sure, but he seems like he feels like this was the only way things could go. He lunges towards his friend with the hedgespun flintlock, and swings wildly, raking the massive chunk of wood through the air to no avail. "OI! Glimmerbitch! Git yer shoiny eyes back out here an' fight proper-like, ye yellow-arsed cunt!!!" He howls, the horror of children's laughter and low-lying nimbus fresh in his ears and eyes.

Game: Cassian takes 1 Bashing damage.

This is going to be the worst trip of this guy's life. The guy who was just about to grab our hipster friend?

Splits. In. Half.

Ooops?

Throughout the chaos, panic and confusion, vanE tosses out distractions of darkness, mainly so he can get to the poor, confused, scared-looking mortal. The black-coated Darkling should be nimble enough to get around the inconvenienced swordsman, should all go right. He drops several black feathers in his wake, and when he gets close enough to the poor hipster kid, if he can, he'll squeeze a hand onto his shoulder. "Now's the time," he says, in his rich, resonantly-toned voice. "Come with me. I'll lead you to safety."

"In your way, yeah?!" The fencer snorts rudely, and starts a retort- as that terrible magic slams through the area. The butterball bladesman cries out and lashes with his rapier at the clasping, crushing roots snatching at ankles and legs, fending them off in part. At the last, he lunges, tripping over the roots as sheer, determined happenstance corrects his blind, wild thrust and uses his tumbling bulk to drive the blade's tip in a bruising blow against the "Elf." He nearly falls, only catching his feet at the last second and whirling roughly back towards his erstwhile opponent, completely missing the rushing figure moving to comfort and escort the hostage. "Aw, HELLS, WHAT IS THIS."

The leader lets out a deeply angry, frustrated growl as another of his men falls to literal pieces, leaping back towards the corpse of his buddy and swinging blindly again, to precisely the same degree of efficacy as before! No go, bucko.

Feeling the brunt of the falling swordsman's blow, Cassian offers another grunt before his right hand rises quickly, before falling. It might seem simple at first, except for it setting to motion the darkened, handwoven vine whip Cassian held. A loud crack echoes out, before the end of the whip falls back and coils about the swordsman. "You're going to taste terrible," Cassian says, before grinning, "But I'll manage."

While all of this is going on, vanE and the presumably shell-shocked mortal make for the Hedge Gate, vanE's hand on the mortal's shoulder all the while, his black coat swirling up as though to conceal his "cargo." With all of the hubbub going on, the two should be able to make their exit with no problems...and on the other side, vanE will properly hydrate the poor hipster and get him home. And then probably...keep an eye on him, for some time afterwards, to make sure there are no serious repercussions. And somewhere during all of that, maybe sit down with a bottle of wine and try and forget this day happened.

In a minute, Teagan will be more concerned about the human again -- though the Blackbird has that well in hand. (Hooray for Blackbirds and their sanity-saving ways, amirite?) But right now?

Right now, everything that Teagan has done to anyone else prior to this looks like they've been casually poking at people with a butter knife. Because one moment, there's a Gargantuan-leg-stealing hob shouting cuss words and swinging a club... and then he just sort of ... bifurcates. Directly. Down. The. Middle. Skull splits open, brains kinda slowly flop out like jello that isn't entirely set sliding out of a mold, spine parted neatly with spinal cord parting like string cheese. Intestines and stomach all flop out like so many wet leaves spilling out of a bag. Ew.

With Cassian handling the last of the guys, and Teagan not being a kill-stealer, now's when the Darkling, artistically-splashed with arterial spray, appears, crouching over the sectioned hob, and hisses: "Clio. Says. We. Don't. Say. Cunt."

Cassian utilizes the whip to control the movements of the man. It's slow, drawing him closer and closer as Cassian coils the whip over his shoulder to control the length. Then, suddenly, Cassian's left hand darts out and wraps around the man's throat. "Dinnertime," he says, growling, before Cassian begins draining the life from the thing.