nexus_crossings | It's a Beautiful Day in the Nexus, and You are a Horrible Coyote: Part 1

It's a Beautiful Day in the Nexus, and You are a Horrible Coyote: Part 1

Perhaps you're browsing the open market, easing through a crowd of strangers of all shapes and sizes and colors, looking for a shiny new trinket or vital supplies to bring home. Perhaps you're taking a stroll through the park near the Plaza, following the walking path around the pond, enjoying the quiet sounds of nature or carrying a pocketful of bread crumbs for the turtleducks. Perhaps you're just after a cup of coffee and you don't plan to stay, or you're looking for work to keep busy, avoiding some task you really don't want to do. Whatever the case, everyone in the Nexus is here for a reason. For a purpose. Everyone is looking for something, whether it's a physical object, a friend, or maybe simple peace of mind.

Wherever you are, you're not alone.

You won't have seen him before he speaks, nor heard his approach. But there he is, as if he has come from nowhere. Perhaps he has. Coyote's suit is immaculately pressed, a pleasant smile pulling his lips back from his teeth. Wherever you are, so is he, looking to you in greeting.

"Hello, friend!" he says, ears perked forward attentively, his furred hands clasped in front of himself. "A question, if I may. What's the one thing you desire most right at this exact moment?"

[OOC: Please READ BEFORE REPLYING! This is part one of a mod-sanctioned event in which your character will have a wish temporarily granted. However, rather than granting the spirit of the wish as intended, Coyote will twist the wording into something your character finds genuinely distressing a la The Monkey's Paw. Please message me to arrange consequences for your character and (if needed) to set boundaries! While your character will not have fun, participating players absolutely should. For those who want to participate but don't want their character in distress, stay tuned for part two. You're also welcome to tag into threads after Coyote has worked his magic and left, though please ask the target player first.]

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The Big Bad Wolf is not used to flushing out so much prey at once. So many decisions to make, so many mewling squirming mouthfuls. Which one to pursue?

The approach of this one simplifies that decision greatly.

He snarls, glowing eyes fixed on the circling creature, pivoting slowly on his forequarters to keep an eye on Josh. A fellow predator, perhaps; but still too small to pose a real threat. To not be possible Food. He smells... wrong, somehow. One of the Enemy? Hard to tell. Not without tasting him.

The words crash against his ears, his normally intelligent brain consumed with bloodlust. A few words grind out behind his teeth, throaty and deep, full of hunger. "Not home." Not here in this maze of cold walls and paved soil, no trees to shelter and shade save for a few pitiful specimens planted along the footpaths. No, this is not home. Not his hunting grounds.

But he is so hungry.

His shoulders tense, dipping him briefly down before he charges at Josh, slavering jaws open and dripping.

Well, don't that just beat all.

Something--someone--intelligent enough to know something's wrong, but not enough control to fight it. No time to let guilt fester. Joshua sucks in a deep breath and lets out an ear piercing screech at a force powerful enough to break any nearby windows. It doesn't, because Deetzilla has already knocked most of them out but for anything with enhanced hearing it's going to hurt without the wendigo having to so much as lift a claw.

All the better for Josh. He needs all his strength to dive out of the way. His clawed hand finds purchase in a nearby wall to heave himself up along tip of it which still won't put him anywhere near even height with the beast but does at least do the work of getting him out of trampling range.

Josh shrieks again, this time with claws out on full display even if he's still tiny. Okay, good job fucko. You've got the big bastard's attention. People are getting the time they need to Run. What was part two of this plan? The wolf getting close enough to swipe at with his claws is really only holding its attention, not hurting it in any meaningful way.

The Wolf isn't expecting the scream, the sound of it like a knife being shoved deep into each ear, loud and shrill and sharp. He can't shut his ears, his own startled yip of pain nearly lost behind the wendigo's screech, and his gait stutters a little as he stumbles.

Enough time for Josh to get out of his path... or up to a more convenient biting height.

Whatever the case, whether this creature is Enemy or Food or not, the Wolf's attention is firmly captured.

He rears up on his hind legs, forepaws slamming into the wall on which Josh is perched, massive shaggy head in clawing distance. His fur is thick and dense, save for the sensitive spots around the eyes, the nose, lips curled back from sharp fangs.

There's a ripple of not-quite pride to see the wolf stumble back form the force of Josh's warning cries. A sense of accomplishment that he doesn't have to rip and tear to make a difference.

It's so very short lived.

The wolf rears up and suddenly the light is blocked as all of Joshua's immediate surroundings are shadowed by the giant creature looming closer to strike. The wall shudders for the blow, several bricks shaking free of their mortar to twist and bow the wall outward. One or two even knock free and topple into the dirt. Perched atop it Joshua sways and makes a jump rather than risk being taken down by the unstable structure.

He's almost a negligible weight on the wolf's back, though from back here there's very little Josh can sink his claws into that will have any lasting effect on the wolf. Worse, the wolf can probably twist its head round to snap those jaws at him even where the wendigo is clinging on.

The Wolf is fast, but the wendigo is faster. Jaws snap shut on the breeze left in Josh's wake, narrowly missing an ankle. He drops to all fours and shakes himself like a wet dog after a bath, jostling his uninvited passenger.

No luck.

The Wolf's fur is thick and easy to bury one's hand in, providing an excellent anchor. A stopgap measure, like riding a tiger by holding its tail, the only thing keeping sharp teeth at bay. The Wolf twists, striking one flank against the crumbling wall as he twists the other direction, snapping at the man on his back. Hot gusts of breath snort against Josh's exposed flesh. He can almost reach...

Edited 2021-06-24 17:21 (UTC)

"Fuck!" Hot saliva coats the back of his hand. He can still feel the breeze from how close those snapping jaws were to catching him and not the wolf's own fur and empty air. This is wilder than any prey he's ever jumped on before and infinitely more dangerous. A next pass grazes Joshua's shoulder, ripping fabric and digging in to taut emaciated skin, though not quite deep enough for him to bleed.

What little plan and reason Joshua had going into this is being lost in a haze of something bigger than the human. Survival, instinct, and anger mingle like a potent poison in the wendigo's belly. He screams again into the wolf's advancing face and this time when Josh lunges its with the intent to strike back. Razor sharp claws rake across the wolf's snout with the wendigo digging in with one hand to lunge further toward Bigby's face with his left hand positioned to impale those claws into whatever soft flesh he can reach.

It may be the only offensive chance he's got...

The taste is Wrong, somehow. Only a graze, but enough to tell this is not the same corruption he's tasted from the Enemy. This is like meat frozen too long to be palatable, cold earth dug up from a grave. Not Food.

But the Wolf has gone beyond a simple desire to fill his belly, now.

He twists further, his great shaggy head coming around - a sting to his snout, red drops spattering the concrete below - but it doesn't compare to the pain that explodes in his eye.

He yips and snarls, violently rearing back and shaking his head, the fur beneath his left eye quickly staining dark and wet. It hurts, the vision on that side darkened, that great yellow eye's glow vanished beneath a tattered lid. How dare? How dare this creature harm him so?

He can't see on that side anymore. But that just means that he needs not fear further injury there. The wendigo's feather weight tells him exactly where to strike, and this time when he twists to bite, giant jaws snap down on something.

That painful yip and snarl may as well be music to Joshua's ears. He'll deny later that the fleeting feeling saturating him down to his bones is a perverse glee at being the first to prove himself a hunter. He pulls his hand back, needing both to hold on lest the wendigo be thrown completely off and flying through the air. He's expecting the attack to come from the other side where the wolf can still see him if it twists that way.

Not for the creature to twist back further like it had only a moment before with even quicker speed. Josh tries to let go, he's even in the process of jerking back but it's not quick enough. Those massive jaws close around one long leg like a vice. This time the scream that erupts from Joshua's mouth is a primal agony. He's trapped broken and bleeding out at the bottom of the cliffside once more. Every motion is needles in his skin. It hurts it hurts but he's not dead yet why is he still laying here suffering?

A familiar voice asking him if he wants to live...

The wendigo can't do much to fight back from this angle. Any time one of its flailing arms can reach it slices and cuts at Bigby's snout and lips, drawing blood where he can but much of what he can do is get shaken around like a toy. Bones too sturdy to break creak and throb with the whiplash but do not snap. Not yet at least. And all the while the taste of Wrongness floods the wolf's mouth every time it bites down on its prey.

There!

The scream in his ear is a better sound, now. Still earsplittingly loud and shrill, striking deeper into the ear on his blinded side, but the Wolf's teeth are sunk into flesh now.

He rips the wendigo off his back with a toss of his head, red spattering the concrete as it drips from his muzzle. The only blood he can taste is his own, soaking into his fur and dripping from his lips. The taste of the creature in his teeth is Wrong, Wrong, dark and cold and bitter, unpalatable on a deeper level than any of the Adversary's forces had ever been. This creature is not Food.

It's a threat.

He shakes his head back and forth a few times, and at the apex of the swing, he opens his jaws.

The wolf's enormous fangs have a hard time puncturing something so much smaller than itself. They grind and mash cloth and skin alike instead with every shake of that massive head. The wendigo slashes and stabs at the muzzle enveloping half his body with a feverish rabid frenzy every time he can reach far enough to do so but the wolf's blood trickling in to its cavernous mouth won't wash away the taste of the wendigo.

All it does is further anger the beast into flinging Joshua off--away from the massive beast where he can no longer cause harm. Josh won't even have time to register he's free before he's hitting the ground hard enough to bounce, sending him into a roll of gangly limbs, scraped hands, and ripped flannel that has nothing at all to do with the wendigo trying to escape. Momentum carries him to a stop and for a few seconds all Joshua can do is lay there.

Dizzy. Disoriented. In a level of pain he hasn't known for some time. And beneath that, as older magics than anything here begin to knit his flesh....hungry. He needs...he needs to eat, or he'll starve. He's starving, dying. He needs...The wendigo lifts his head and the sight of movement--fleeing prey things--is tempting. But he's injured. There are larger hunters here.

Joshua picks himself off the ground slowly, trying to attract as little attention as possible. The second he gets feet underneath him, he's going to flee back toward the forest.

The Wolf snorts, shakes his head, lifts a paw to nudge the side of it against his muzzle as if he could wipe the taste from his mouth. His ears listen for the sound of a renewed attack, satisfied for the moment that his prey seems to be stunned if not dying, giving him a moment to focus on his own comfort before he plans to close in for the kill.

What is this creature? How can something living taste this disgusting?

He does not notice the wendigo making an exit until the scrape of shoes on concrete alerts him, the rapidly accelerating patter of running feet making a break for it. He whips his head around, his one good eye going to the dark patch where his target had been lying. Empty.

He snarls, ignoring the way the bitter cold earth coats his teeth and tongue, and inhales a deep lungful of the wendigo's scent. He does not need his eyes to track down his prey, no doubt going to ground in its own territory, seeking refuge on familiar grounds. He follows, not quite as quickly, ears and nose alert to the signs left in Josh's wake.

He needs to get Out.

Away from the crowds and the open ground. It means away from the soft things but he has food at home. Food he desperately needs he's starving he's dying he's mad with the idea of it. Meat and fat clinging to bone. The wendigo tears for the forested edges of the wilds with far less stealth than he usually employs. Gangly limbs gouge and grab at hanging branches, hurtling him deeper into the Wilds and toward relative safety.

Despite the protection the AV field often gives to visitors of the Nexus, Joshua doesn't feel Safe until he scents his own territory. Until he knows every tree and winding crook to the stream nearby and every rock. Everything where it should be. His little shack tucked away, hidden deep in the dense woods.

So delirious is he from hunger his healing properties have left him with that he nearly rips the door of his fridge off its hinges when he grabs for a butchered roast of venison out of a tupperware that's in there. The plastic tub is thrown aside before Josh squats down in front of the open fridge and eats the whole thing right there. The cold air is calming, the food a poultice to the fevered instinct screaming apart his senses.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus. Josh shuts the fridge and makes sure no lights are on in his shack. He still hurts but he can think again now. He didn't attack anyone. Didn't put anyone at risk. Now all he has to do is hide....

And wait for this to pass.

The signs are obvious, easily tracked by a Wolf's nose, his quarry making no attempt to conceal himself. Broken branches, trampled weeds, disturbed leaves. The lingering scent of Wrong, bright as a beacon in his nostrils, straight as an arrow piercing into deep woods.

The Wolf hasn't run these grounds before, but this is far more familiar than the concrete and metal forest behind. He moves easily through the trees, leaving enormous tracks of his own in the dirt and mud, following the wendigo-signs.

There.

It's small, buried deep in shadow, but the straight lines of a handbuilt structure marks the end of the scent trail. Everything is dark, more than his eye can be blamed for, but he does not need his eye to hunt. To listen for the sounds of breathing, a heartbeat slowing down from a hummingbird's pace. The quarry thinks it's safe. Maybe that it's outsmarted him.

He circles the shack, watching for exits, for weak spots he can exploit. An enormous nose sniffs at the door.

The shack stinks of game blood, a hunter's lair, a small piece of shelter deep within the forests of the wilds. Barely large enough for the basics. So simple there's an outhouse a little ways away and a well the wolf has already passed rather than plumbing. Within that simple wooden structure Joshua sits, curled up against his door. It's locked, for what little good that will do.

He doesn't need enhanced senses to hear the wolf snuffling at the shack strong enough to rattle the shutters on the only window in this tiny structure. Its curtains are drawn up tight. Joshua inhales slowly and holds his breath. Keeps still. He can't stop his own heart though.

He's afraid. Nothing's ever come so far into his territory before. Never touched his home. But the monster in him understands a predator is also prey before a larger hunter. Anger is tempered by that pervasive fear. If the wolf knocks down the door or worse....Joshua's only option is to Run.

Something about this rings a vague bell, deep in the recesses of the Wolf's mind. Another house, built of straw - or was it sticks? Not quite the same, no fatty morsel cowering inside. He dismisses it, snuffling at the space under the door. Inhaling the scent of his quarry, just on the other side.

He could knock down the door. It would be easy, lock or no. But a cornered animal is dangerous, even to a predator. The prey fights the hardest when it sees no other escape.

Which means that he can't be allowed to see it coming.

The Wolf takes a few steps back, drops his head to his chest, and begins to inhale in a long, drawn breath. The local winds stir slightly, seeming to fill his lungs, like sucking the air out of a room before an explosion.

There's no fire. No flash of light. But the force that strikes the shack is destructive all the same, a derecho blown from the Wolf's lips, as powerful as a hurricane.

There's something Wrong.

No time to parse it, really. Nothing more than a few seconds. Long enough to feel his exhale stolen, his ears to pop with a sudden change in pressure. Not long enough to Understand. Only enough to tense before--

The wood rattles and shakes and bangs against itself. The roof barely gives more than a shudder or two before with a great creaking heave it's ripping away. Exposing more sides of the structure to the devastating wind that bends the planks of wood as if they were nothing more than strips of paper fluttering in the breeze. They're ripping free of the dirt, breaking where they don't simply uproot. Josh is thrown prone by his own door before the gust flings him into the dark as easily as it had the rest of his home.

Somewhere a mattress and bedding will find itself impaled on gnarled branches. A scavenger will find the remnants of Joshua's fridge or the device itself, hanging open where it's been tumbled end over end into a stream. May find scraps of the photos that had been stuck into the pinboard or scraps of clothing from Joshua's small dresser. It's all scattered to the winds, viscera of a small life carved out into the depths of this place smeared out in all directions. A home scattered in ruin.

It's owner fleeing further into the wilds because it's the only way he might survive to see tomorrow.

Edited (spelling is hard) 2021-07-17 13:11 (UTC)

Gone, scoured to rubble. The Wolf sniffs at the destruction, satisfied that this smaller predator no longer serves a threat. He howls, a cry of dominance and triumph, and lopes away back toward the smells of meat.

The night is long, and the Wolf is only just getting started.

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It's a Beautiful Day in the Nexus, and You are a Horrible Coyote: Part 1

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[TW for violence]

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