Weaver had been away for a few days without word to anyone save a few people here and there. When he does come up to Widget again it's with his usual requests, and one he wnats to attend to himself. First to the riverside markets he leads the wee gremlin, and then to a hidden away little area where he lifts a hand to open the gate. The ogre's dressed in a tanktop with his wings tucked close to his back and in turn reveals much of the still fresh scarring on his torso, jeans, and a pair of boots meant for stomping around in the hedge. "We're trying to find any kinda metal that we can out here or weird blood. Not like yours or mine," as Wyrd and weird as they are. When through the gate and on the other side he stretches out arms and wings when looking around. "Just be real fucking cautious out here. Velvet'd fucking kill me if I let something happen to you, and I'd really like not getting newer scars, m'kay."
Wanna know how to make dumspter diving more exciting? Make it a -magic- dumpster. That thought was why Widget had a /really good idea/. She builds with bits using magic. Bits are taken from dumpsters and stuff. These bits are not magic. She's seen these magic dumpsters before. Bits in magic dumpsters and stuff must come from things that are also magic. Magic bits plus magic to stick bits together equals /double-magic/. Therefore magic dumpster diving makes things objectively better. 20 GOTO 10.
So of course she went along with this plan. The gremlin pokes her head out of the Hedge-skip, dropping a very odd tin can on the ground. It's warped label is quickly lost under more...stuff. Trash. She's gathering trash. But it's /fae-trash/. Weird metal, weird blood. Yes. She's got her jumpsuit on, weapons and tools stuffed away in the pockets and pouches and straps hidden in the oversized garment. Also no shoes, because shoes are restrictive and keep her from realizing she's about to step on something. Like a dead possum thing with too many tails and insect legs, evidently dead after gorging on a pizza box with arabic lettering. They both get tossed out.
Weaver whistles to catch Widgets attention as she keeps going through the dumpster. "Widget. Earth to Widget." He claps his hands to see if that'll work if words and whistles fail. "Try not to get to distracted out here, and-" He grimaces as she steps on a dead hedge beast, and then shakes his head. "You see anything intersting yet? If this place doesn't have much of anything there's some houses much further down, but shit gets weird." Beat. "Weirder."
The alleys are a twisting labyrinth chock full of interesting (horrible) places to find horrible (interesting) things. With the sun partially cut off by the high buildings on either side, the alleyway is cool and damp from recent rain, the sickly-sweet and earthy scents of rotting flesh and detritus lingering at the back of the mouth with every breath. Eau d'Nauseation.
A heavy metallic clunk sounds from farther down the trod, as though something were just dropped on asphalt.
Widget remembered the houses. Everything ticking like a perfect suburban clock with the nice people who would be oh-so-friendly until the knives and teeth and thousand hungry eyes. She did not like the houses. Still! There might be nice loot! This was nice to her, but probably not most others. She was gonna keep this bottle cap and this bit of glass and this jar lid and then she'd be good! ...Okay maybe just this mustard packet because she was kinda hungry. The gremlin finished sorting her bits, hopping out of the dumpster. If possible, she smelled /even worse/ than the alley itself.
When the sound comes, she cocks her head, dropping into a crouch. "Hear that?"
This wasn't nice for Weaver, but he is a man of disgust within his court. His brow quirks as Widge pockets the bottle cap, and he turns his attention further down the alley, and then back from whence they came. "Are you really just gonna take everything you can from here? If that's the case you might just wanna stick a hollow out here. Maybe make good with the other-" He was ready to keep rambling on until the sound hit, and he slowly nods. "Yeah, I did. Probably nothing, but might be something hungry, angry, bloody." Then he smiles wickedly while gesturing in the direction it came from. "Also might be a junk monster with junk guts with enough parts in it to make God knows what."
The sound comes again.
If the duo chooses to pursue it, they find a 'possum, oh, roughly the size of a ten year old human child, head buried in the contents of another dumpster. Its hide is scratched and scarred, and the bottom portion of its tail has been replaced with a metallic pseudo-skeleton. It is the clanking of this tail against the ground which causes the noise, the metal limb thudding down for balance as the creature continues to dig.
Widget does pursue the sound, sneaking about like the trained rusty scavenger she is. Oh! A possum! She knew those well, having fought many of them in the past. From the sun-baked dumpsters of her home to the damp bins of Vermont, she'd found and fought them. This was different, though, mostly because of it's size and robot tail. Ah. She could really make something out of that. Later, though. Now was the time for /thinking/. It needed that tail to balance, and it was a machine. She was a Gremlin.
Yessssssssss.
The gremlin squinted and focused on the tail. Time for sparks!
Even if he's gotten his wings back it'll take some getting used to having them again. When something new ariss Weaver instead sinks lower to the ground. His hands drop to the ground, and he sticks his hand in the leavings of something likely larger than him. Then he sees the likely source, and he swears under his breath. His milky gaze is turned to Widget to say something, but then he sees how intensely she's looking at that creature. "Widget," he whispers, "what are yo planning?"
There are no sparks, but there IS a puzzled giant 'possum when it tries to swing its tail and the joints mysteriously lock up. Some snuffling noises and a grunt follow, and the four-foot beast scrabbles its way out of the dumpster to sniff its tail, pawing at the locked joints, then sniffs around again. The tail itself appears to be made of a copper alloy of some kind, not a bit of iron in it.
The appearance of the faux-possum startles the beast, which jerks up, revealing a scarred and tattered collar with a little metal tag on it. It looks like the beast has tried to claw it off, but hasn't yet been successful, and the leather of the collar is far too old and worn to have been a recent acquisition. The tag appears to have some form of writing on it.
Unfortunately, while it is hissing at the illusion, it catches a glimpse of Widget off to the side, snaggle-teeth bared even more as it backs up, dragging its stiff tail, to get its back against the security of the dumpster.
Ha! She did it! And Weaver was distracting so there was no way it could...see....her. Um. It looked really angry. At least it was backing away, for now. The gremlin wasn't really sure what do, whispering to Weaver and hoping she didn't blow his cover. "What do I do?" Her normal possum-fighting strategy of "stab it until it stops moving" or "smash the dumpster lid on it a bunch" might not work. She could still /try/, granted, but Weaver was good at fighting maybe. He might know!
Weaver stands up, revealing himself with a snarl of his own. Wings flare out as he stretches his arms wide to stand in front of Widget. "Good, um, boy? Girl?" he queries more than anything else. "If it rushes you shoot it, stab it, or see if you can just throw something really heavy and hard." Easy enough for the Ogre to say. "Who's your owner? You wanna meet 'em again, or you got a taste for something worse?"
If? If it rushes? Make that 'when' it rushes, because the sight of Weaver sparks a territorial note in that peanut brain, and, teeth bared, the giant 'possum trundle-runs their way!
Widget is ready this time! There's the sound of a zipper getting pulled down, the slither of plant-matter on flesh, and the gremlin is holding a thorn dagger. It's quite badly burnt, but seems to have been brought back to functionality with a few bits of sharpened metal stuck into it. Letting out a hiss, she goes to strike at the possum and....completely whiffs. Butts.
"I'm gonna rip your fuckin' head off, and shove it up your ass!" Weaver shouts as he dashes forward. He almost stumbles on the way, and pushes himself up with one hand. When he's within prime sniffing distance he lifts up his hand and his mantle flares in a tenebrous display. The draconic brings down his claws with everything he can bear.
The 'possum hisses in pain as Weaver slices it, red blood dribbling down its sparsely furred hide. Backing up a tic, it lunges for Widget instead, jaw wide, but doesn't quite manage to latch on to the gremlin's leg. When SHE attacks it, too, it hisses in pain again, tail dragging awkwardly behind it.
Widget eeps, managing to get her leg away from the snaggly possum teeth and even land a hit on it! Jagged and rusty bits of metal cut into the possum, not very deep but rather unpleasant. She lets out a mad little cackle, eyes flickering sharply as she draws blood. Bloodlust rising!
Weaver's left looking at the gunk of its ichor on his claws for a bit too long, and in the moment of that distraction the hedgebeast lunges at Widget. Right away he's back to it because he'd really like not explaining this to Velvet for obvious reasons. "Widget!" he roars. "Put everything you got into it!" His mantle flares again, shrouding more of his section of the alleyway in growing darkness.
The bleeding beast falters when it tries to attack Widget again, its movements oddly uncoordinated compared to its previous attempt. It misses by a mile!
Widget lets out another series of unhinged laughter, raking the metal shards against the possum's hide. There's a flicker of remorse over her features, but it's quickly lost under impish madness.
Weaver's not used to someone else being madder, and for a moment he's taken aback by the gremlins cackling. His wings come stretch and up as he leaps on top of the beast, and in turn gets a good helping of its stench. "Finish this bastard off," he growls while trying to wrangle down the hedge-possum.
The opossum struggles against Weaver's hold, hissing and wriggling, but can't quite get its claws around to scratch the man.
Widget smiles like a tiny demon, readying her cruel weapon to take out the possum. She raises it, aaaand... pauses. She actually kneels down, looking at the possum like someone would with an angry stray kitten. Aw. Maybe it was scared or something. Or hungry! Widget got really funny when she was hungry and stuff so maybe if she fed it something other than themselves...
So, uh, she's gonna try and feed it for a bit, with some nice mortal jerky. "Hi, Coco! Food?"
The beastie does not appear particularly interested in Widget's jerky. It pauses when it's offered, sure, but from the way it's still struggling in Weaver's hold and snapping its teeth, its priority is elsewhere.
"Widget, I swear to fucking God if you don't kill this thing I will, and it's gonna be so much worse." The dragon states this matter-of-factly, although it doesn't sound so pleasant. Weaver keeps his old of the beast steady as it continues so snap and scratch, even when distracted by jerky.
Widget looks a little crestfallen. Popping the jerky into her mouth, the gremlin deftly saws into the beast's throat without hesitation. Maybe next time!
The opossum's tag, this close, clearly says 'COCO' on it, though Widget will need to wipe off a bit of bloody fur to read it after slicing the poor beastie's throat like that.
Speaking of 'poor' people, poor Weaver now has reeking revolting opossum stink all over his clothes.
Weaver lets it fall to the ground with a thud. He stands up, dusting off his shirt and only gets more of the stink and blood on him. "I'm gonna sink myself in teh Tam when we get back on the other side." He grumps, and then looks back up to Widget. "You need help skinning this thing, or wanna drag it off somewhere like it is?"
Widget does notice it, looking rather upset when she sees it. She raises it so Weaver can see. "Was it a pet? Someone gonna miss it?" Oh no! Did they...sh-should they put up posters? Was it lost? Was it just looking for it's owner? Th-that'd never find 'cause she just killed a-an'....
Widget shakes her head, going to skin and gut the creature right there in the filthy alley, chopping off the metal bits of the tail to take it with her. Sure, she was sad, but she still, like, /wanted it's bits/. "D'you w-want the teeth?"
Weaver shrugs idly, and moves to watch the alley leading off to the row houses. "Don't know, don't care. If it was somebody's pet they shouldn't have left the fuckugly fucker off its fucking leash. Anyway it's dead so fuck it and fuck 'em if it is a pet." ANother shrug follows. "If you're offering, gimme the heart. Better yet, you keep it. I need something made. So that plus the blood might do me some good later."
Widget sniffs, nodding as she cracks open it's ribcage. Poor Coco. She would not go to waste. A scrounged water bottle full of musky possum blood and a heart wrapped in a newspaper comes Weaver's way, while Widget takes about everything else. Tail segments, teeth, funky-looking bones, interesting organs, odd fluids, etc. It was like someone stripping a car for parts, but waaaay grosser. And the collar, she was gonna take that too. When she gets up from the mutilated corpse, she's caked in possum viscera and dumpster filth.
So of course she tightly hugs Weaver.
"Thanks for taking me here."
Weaver doesn't have as much remorse nor regret for the beast's demise. Instead he just watches back to the wizened and her work every so often. When she's done he looks over what little remains of the beast are left. He remarks, "You're like a damned-" Then he's wrapped up the gremlin, and he frowns. "We both smell like shit and really need a shower. So I'm gonna need you to stop now. Please."
Widget lets the hug linger for juuust long enough for the smell to really seep in there, stepping back with a nod. "Okay!" Widget lugged her bag of offal over her shoulder, turning to wander back to where they entered the Hedge. She still takes Weaver's hand, of course, even if it's slapped away a number of times. She's persistent. "Can I use yours?" She broke the last one she tried to make better. This one would be different, surely.
Weaver does indeed slap her hand away constantly until he finally just gives up. "Sure, you can probably use one in the hotel. Just don't try to fix anything, and if you break anything just leave it alone. I know you know your shit, but the family has a maintenance dude for that."
Widget nods, walking along quietly. Every so often there's a wet sound as she sheds a bit of meat or some other questionable substance. There would have been more but she did a good job of sharing them with Weaver, so by the time they get to the gate she's just disgusting rather than absolutely appalling. Coating-wise, anyway, because the smell could cause someone to grow body hair and then melt it off. She's still sticking close to Weaver, though, just in case the guts-trail attracts anything nasty. Really close.
Squish.
After a certain point Weaver just tries not to breathe as much. Because with the way they smell his worry doesn't come from what may happen upon them on the trod. "Yeah. Shower second. We're gonna hit you with the hose first. I know a place we can stash the guts, but nowhere for you to really work on anything in there. Not like you should in the first place, but that's beside the fucking point. This shit is beyond rnak, and I'd like for my mother not to kill me because we dragged this stank into the hotel."
"Hose?" He might have well said 'Napalm'. She knew the dreaded hose. The 'How did you get into the engine bay oh god look at your dress what even is that' hose. Her grandmother has used the hose many times. And then...the /scrub-brush/. Brrrr. All her lovely smells and layers, gone. But it was Weaver's mom. She didn't want to upset Weaver's mom. She was probably a nice lady.
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