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bocadellogs2024-03-25 06:25 pm
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Event 1 - Saving the Slayer
Prelude
In the eerie shadows of the Hellmouth, whispers of impending doom reverberate through the streets of Sunnydale. The Powers That Be control the narrative, leaving us mere mortals grasping at the fragments of truth they deign to bestow upon us. Among these fragments lies the unsettling absence of our fellow warrior, the formidable Slayer Yvonne, vanished without a trace.
In a town fraught with perils, where the malevolent Bringers skulk in the darkness, the disappearance of a Slayer is more than a cause for concern—it's a beacon of dread. We're left to grapple with the harrowing possibility of kidnapped comrades, snatched from our midst by forces unseen and unfathomable. Our directives are clear: brace ourselves for the worst while clutching onto hope like a lifeline in a tempest-tossed sea.
Intel filters through the ranks, a whispered warning of the Bringers' sinister machinations. They seek to rend the fabric of reality, to unseal the very essence of darkness that festers beneath the surface of Cleveland. And in their nefarious designs, they crave the lifeblood of a Slayer, a conduit to unleash their cataclysmic chaos upon the world.
Yet amidst the turmoil, glimmers of hope emerge like beacons in the night. Some among Team Good, blessed with prophetic dreams or visions that pierce the veil of uncertainty, receive cryptic messages that hint at Yvonne's whereabouts. Whether it's a celestial sign etched in the stars or a whisper on the wind, these omens offer a sliver of possibility in the face of overwhelming odds.
The response to these omens varies, a reflection of the diverse tapestry of personalities that compose our ragtag band of heroes. Some seize upon these clues with fervent determination, weaving them into the fabric of their strategy with unwavering resolve. Others, burdened by skepticism or haunted by the specter of past failures, cast these signs aside, clinging instead to the tangible realities of the present.
In the crucible of battle, where the line between victory and defeat blurs like smoke in the night, every decision carries weight. Whether guided by intuition, prophecy, or sheer desperation, each member of Team Good navigates the treacherous landscape of uncertainty, bound together by a common purpose: to defy the darkness and stand as a beacon of light in the gathering shadows of the night.
The Showdown
Destiny, in its quirky way, has led you to this quaint eatery nestled under the ominous moniker of The Haunted House. Despite its claim of serving up only spine-tinglingly delicious cuisine, the décor tells a different tale—one adorned with relics of horror, each piece a testament to the macabre fascination of its patrons. Among the eerie ambiance, weapon props from iconic slasher flicks adorn the walls, a chilling reminder that in Sunnydale, even a casual meal comes with a side of the supernatural.
Outside, Bringers lurk in the shadows like silent sentinels, their presence a stark warning of the dangers that lie within. Yet, fortune smiles upon you as the guard stationed at the entrance succumbs to a well-placed blow, opening a pathway into the heart of the restaurant. As you step over the threshold, a palpable shift in the atmosphere envelops you, a prelude to the looming confrontation that awaits.
Within the dimly lit interior, Bringers stand vigilant, their ominous silhouettes poised for battle. But for those who prefer to leave the heroics to the chosen Slayers and their otherworldly adversaries, a different mission beckons—an urgent quest to locate the missing Yvonne, a fellow warrior ensnared in the clutches of darkness.
Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of The Haunted House, your senses attuned to the slightest whisper of danger, you heed the advice whispered among the ranks: follow the echoes of distress, the haunting symphony of Yvonne's cries. They lead you, like a siren's call, to the heart of the restaurant, where the pantry holds the secrets of her captivity.
Yet, this rescue mission is no mere snatch-and-grab affair. The stakes are higher, the peril more profound. For within the confines of this seemingly innocuous establishment, a sinister plot unfurls—a plan to breach the very fabric of reality itself. The Bringers, unwitting pawns in a larger game of darkness, seek to unleash chaos upon the world by unsealing a forbidden seal.
As you stand on the precipice of this unfolding nightmare, the weight of responsibility bears down upon your shoulders. Every step forward is a gamble, every decision a calculated risk. For in the battle against the forces of darkness, victory is not guaranteed, and the price of failure is too ghastly to contemplate. With determination set like flint in your gaze, you press onward, ready to confront the horrors that lurk within The Haunted House and emerge victorious, if fate permits.
The Sneak Attack
The night unfurls with a shattering symphony, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the lobby of the Doubletree Hotel. A jagged rock, propelled with malicious intent, cleaves through the air, punctuating the tranquility of the March evening with a violent intrusion. As the shards of glass rain down, a chilling gust of cold air sweeps through the breach, carrying with it the foreboding presence of the supernatural.
In the wake of the shattered entrance, a horde of vampires materializes, their grotesque visages twisted in sinister delight. With fangs bared and malevolent intent burning in their eyes, they surge into the hotel like a tide of darkness, their predatory instincts honed to a razor's edge. Eight, maybe ten of them, their forms a blur of motion as they lay siege to the unsuspecting sanctuary.
It's a scene straight out of a nightmare, and as chaos reigns supreme, the harsh reality of the situation dawns upon those caught in the fray. In the frantic rush to orchestrate tonight's daring rescue mission, the hierarchy of the Slayer ranks has been laid bare, exposing the fatal flaw in their strategy. The seasoned warriors, the vanguards of the battle against evil, have been deployed to the front lines, leaving the inexperienced and untested to guard the hotel—a tactical misstep with dire consequences.
As the skirmish unfolds with brutal swiftness, the harsh truth becomes painfully evident. In the blink of an eye, one of the fledgling Slayers, her courage outweighed by her inexperience, falls prey to the ravenous hunger of a vampire's embrace. The sickening sound of tearing flesh mingles with her anguished cries, a grim testament to the merciless brutality of the undead.
Yet, even in the face of overwhelming odds, hope flickers like a lone candle in the darkness. Amidst the chaos and carnage, a glimmer of opportunity presents itself—a chance to turn the tide of battle, to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. With grim determination, you steel yourself for the harrowing task ahead, knowing full well that the fate of the hotel—and perhaps even the world—hangs in the balance.
For this is not merely a skirmish, but a full-blown fustercluck of epic proportions, a clash of forces beyond mortal comprehension. In the crucible of conflict, alliances will be tested, courage will be measured, and sacrifices will be made. But through it all, the indomitable spirit of good endures, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness of the night.
The Aftermath
Wildcard - What can your character be found doing after the battle?
In the eerie shadows of the Hellmouth, whispers of impending doom reverberate through the streets of Sunnydale. The Powers That Be control the narrative, leaving us mere mortals grasping at the fragments of truth they deign to bestow upon us. Among these fragments lies the unsettling absence of our fellow warrior, the formidable Slayer Yvonne, vanished without a trace.
In a town fraught with perils, where the malevolent Bringers skulk in the darkness, the disappearance of a Slayer is more than a cause for concern—it's a beacon of dread. We're left to grapple with the harrowing possibility of kidnapped comrades, snatched from our midst by forces unseen and unfathomable. Our directives are clear: brace ourselves for the worst while clutching onto hope like a lifeline in a tempest-tossed sea.
Intel filters through the ranks, a whispered warning of the Bringers' sinister machinations. They seek to rend the fabric of reality, to unseal the very essence of darkness that festers beneath the surface of Cleveland. And in their nefarious designs, they crave the lifeblood of a Slayer, a conduit to unleash their cataclysmic chaos upon the world.
Yet amidst the turmoil, glimmers of hope emerge like beacons in the night. Some among Team Good, blessed with prophetic dreams or visions that pierce the veil of uncertainty, receive cryptic messages that hint at Yvonne's whereabouts. Whether it's a celestial sign etched in the stars or a whisper on the wind, these omens offer a sliver of possibility in the face of overwhelming odds.
The response to these omens varies, a reflection of the diverse tapestry of personalities that compose our ragtag band of heroes. Some seize upon these clues with fervent determination, weaving them into the fabric of their strategy with unwavering resolve. Others, burdened by skepticism or haunted by the specter of past failures, cast these signs aside, clinging instead to the tangible realities of the present.
In the crucible of battle, where the line between victory and defeat blurs like smoke in the night, every decision carries weight. Whether guided by intuition, prophecy, or sheer desperation, each member of Team Good navigates the treacherous landscape of uncertainty, bound together by a common purpose: to defy the darkness and stand as a beacon of light in the gathering shadows of the night.
The Showdown
Destiny, in its quirky way, has led you to this quaint eatery nestled under the ominous moniker of The Haunted House. Despite its claim of serving up only spine-tinglingly delicious cuisine, the décor tells a different tale—one adorned with relics of horror, each piece a testament to the macabre fascination of its patrons. Among the eerie ambiance, weapon props from iconic slasher flicks adorn the walls, a chilling reminder that in Sunnydale, even a casual meal comes with a side of the supernatural.
Outside, Bringers lurk in the shadows like silent sentinels, their presence a stark warning of the dangers that lie within. Yet, fortune smiles upon you as the guard stationed at the entrance succumbs to a well-placed blow, opening a pathway into the heart of the restaurant. As you step over the threshold, a palpable shift in the atmosphere envelops you, a prelude to the looming confrontation that awaits.
Within the dimly lit interior, Bringers stand vigilant, their ominous silhouettes poised for battle. But for those who prefer to leave the heroics to the chosen Slayers and their otherworldly adversaries, a different mission beckons—an urgent quest to locate the missing Yvonne, a fellow warrior ensnared in the clutches of darkness.
Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of The Haunted House, your senses attuned to the slightest whisper of danger, you heed the advice whispered among the ranks: follow the echoes of distress, the haunting symphony of Yvonne's cries. They lead you, like a siren's call, to the heart of the restaurant, where the pantry holds the secrets of her captivity.
Yet, this rescue mission is no mere snatch-and-grab affair. The stakes are higher, the peril more profound. For within the confines of this seemingly innocuous establishment, a sinister plot unfurls—a plan to breach the very fabric of reality itself. The Bringers, unwitting pawns in a larger game of darkness, seek to unleash chaos upon the world by unsealing a forbidden seal.
As you stand on the precipice of this unfolding nightmare, the weight of responsibility bears down upon your shoulders. Every step forward is a gamble, every decision a calculated risk. For in the battle against the forces of darkness, victory is not guaranteed, and the price of failure is too ghastly to contemplate. With determination set like flint in your gaze, you press onward, ready to confront the horrors that lurk within The Haunted House and emerge victorious, if fate permits.
The Sneak Attack
The night unfurls with a shattering symphony, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the lobby of the Doubletree Hotel. A jagged rock, propelled with malicious intent, cleaves through the air, punctuating the tranquility of the March evening with a violent intrusion. As the shards of glass rain down, a chilling gust of cold air sweeps through the breach, carrying with it the foreboding presence of the supernatural.
In the wake of the shattered entrance, a horde of vampires materializes, their grotesque visages twisted in sinister delight. With fangs bared and malevolent intent burning in their eyes, they surge into the hotel like a tide of darkness, their predatory instincts honed to a razor's edge. Eight, maybe ten of them, their forms a blur of motion as they lay siege to the unsuspecting sanctuary.
It's a scene straight out of a nightmare, and as chaos reigns supreme, the harsh reality of the situation dawns upon those caught in the fray. In the frantic rush to orchestrate tonight's daring rescue mission, the hierarchy of the Slayer ranks has been laid bare, exposing the fatal flaw in their strategy. The seasoned warriors, the vanguards of the battle against evil, have been deployed to the front lines, leaving the inexperienced and untested to guard the hotel—a tactical misstep with dire consequences.
As the skirmish unfolds with brutal swiftness, the harsh truth becomes painfully evident. In the blink of an eye, one of the fledgling Slayers, her courage outweighed by her inexperience, falls prey to the ravenous hunger of a vampire's embrace. The sickening sound of tearing flesh mingles with her anguished cries, a grim testament to the merciless brutality of the undead.
Yet, even in the face of overwhelming odds, hope flickers like a lone candle in the darkness. Amidst the chaos and carnage, a glimmer of opportunity presents itself—a chance to turn the tide of battle, to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. With grim determination, you steel yourself for the harrowing task ahead, knowing full well that the fate of the hotel—and perhaps even the world—hangs in the balance.
For this is not merely a skirmish, but a full-blown fustercluck of epic proportions, a clash of forces beyond mortal comprehension. In the crucible of conflict, alliances will be tested, courage will be measured, and sacrifices will be made. But through it all, the indomitable spirit of good endures, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness of the night.
The Aftermath
Wildcard - What can your character be found doing after the battle?
Fred Burkle | Angel: The Series
Fred stood in a moment frozen in time, akin to a statue amidst the hustle and bustle of the Doubletree's printing station. The inkjet printer whirred relentlessly, churning out a steady stream of missing posters adorned with Yvonne's beaming visage. Despite only recently gracing their reality, Fred had swiftly become enamored with capturing moments through the lens of her smartphone, leaving her in awe of the smartphone. Fred couldn't help but marvel at the rapid evolution of technology, reminiscing on the archaic devices of her own time, now relegated to mere relics in comparison to the sleek smartphones that had seamlessly integrated into contemporary life.
With a stack of freshly printed posters clutched tightly against her chest, Fred ventured into the lobby, her eyes scanning the surroundings for a willing accomplice in her quest to blanket the area with Yvonne's image. Spotting someone seemingly unoccupied, she halted abruptly, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she initiated conversation, "Oh, hey there! Would you be up for helping me plaster some of these posters of Yvonne around? I just need to track down the stapler..." Her gaze wandered aimlessly, as if hoping to stumble upon the elusive stapler in some unforeseen corner of the room.
The Showdown
Crouched behind the shelter of a parked car, Fred embraced the strategic advantage offered by distance, her fingers deftly adjusting the aim of her crossbow with precision honed through countless battles. With a steady hand and keen calculation of variables, she unleashed a deadly bolt, finding its mark with devastating accuracy as it pierced the Bringer's neck. A fleeting glimmer of triumph danced across her features, swiftly overshadowed by the looming threat that lingered.
As the fallen Bringer's comrade, consumed by fury at the loss, lunged forward, Fred found herself ensnared in an unforgiving grip from behind. With a swift maneuver, she managed to deflect the assailant's crude blade, though not without forfeiting her prized crossbow in the fray. In a frenzied exchange of blows, Fred fought valiantly, her determination unwavering even as the odds stacked against her.
Yet, her adversary, fueled by rage and possessed of superior strength, swiftly gained the upper hand, encircling her throat with an iron grip that constricted her airways. Despite her frantic struggles, each gasp for precious breath met only with the cold embrace of suffocating darkness, the Bringer's advantage in both strength and positioning proving formidable in the deadly dance of combat.
Prelude
There is a loaded gun tucked into a holster at the back of his pants. Over his shoulder he carries his backpack with his laptop. He isn't sure yet where he is needed. Or how his abilities would best suit what was going on. Being part of a pack has taught him how to work well in a group, that he doesn't have to lead or be the strongest. Like a hand in a game of poker, you want to want the right cards to beat the other players.
As he makes his way into the lobby he hears Fred before he sees her. That's a start. Stapler in hand as he approaches he offers it to her. "Even snagged an extra box of staples." Those he gives a shake before tucking them into the front pocket of his jeans. "Think I can pick your brain while we put these up? I have questions."
He's hoping she has answers. Or knows where to start.
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"You know, you can always pick my brain," Fred continued, her voice carrying a note of earnestness as she shuffled the posters in her hands, organizing them with meticulous care. "I've got a very pickable brain," she added with a self-deprecating laugh, though her eyes gleamed with a flicker of pride at the thought of her vast reservoir of knowledge. As they made their way out of the hotel, Fred wordlessly guided them down the bustling sidewalk, her steps purposeful yet unhurried.
It was only when they reached the first telephone pole that Fred came to a halt, her gaze flickering with anticipation as she turned to face Ash. "So, what did you want to know?" she inquired, her voice warm with encouragement as she tucked the stack of posters under her arm, freeing up her hands to hold one out for Ash to staple. With a deft motion, she positioned the poster against the weathered wood, her movements fluid and practiced as she awaited his response, her enthusiasm undimmed by the mundane task at hand.
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"Well," He started as he stamped the first staple into the corner of the poster. "I know vampires. From my world...or whatever." Ash still isn't sure if this was just some kind of time travel weirdness or what. "My kind hunt them." Once all four corners are stapled down he slides another poster out from under her arm and moves to the next pole. "They aren't like what I've seen here." He glances at her as he works on hanging the second poster. "Can you tell me about them? Weaknesses, powers, that sort of thing."
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"Vampires? Oh, Buffy's got a knack for sniffin' 'em out, alright. It's like she's got this sixth sense for it, or maybe it's just that they're stuck in a different century with their fashion choices," Fred quipped with a smirk. "But you really know 'em by that snarl, that whole 'Grr' thing they do." Her brow furrowed as she attempted to mimic the menacing visage of a vampire, complete with a feral flash of teeth. "You've seen that, right?"
As she pondered their strengths, Fred's expression shifted to one of contemplation, mentally cataloging their formidable attributes. "Well, they've got strength, that's for sure. Healing too, and don't forget the whole immortality gig. Plus, some of 'em pack a punch with mind games or psychic mojo. And those fangs and claws? Razor sharp, so you best watch out."
"As for weaknesses, they’re susceptible to sunlight, holy water, crosses, wooden stakes to the heart, and beheading.”
Her gaze fixed on him with a hint of curiosity as he mentioned "my kind." "What do you mean by 'your kind'?" she inquired, her interest piqued.
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Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | OTA
[Kavinsky wasn't a stranger to weird dreams, but this one had felt different. He couldn't pin down what, exactly, made it feel that way- it was just what his gut kept telling him. He tended to trust that sort of feeling, much more than he usually trusted anyone else. There was still a problem though-]
So I know shit's kind of fucked in general here, but uh- does that extend to weird ass dreams? I don't think I've ever even read that book about the little pigs, so I don't care about that shit. Wouldn't dream it.
[Yes, he knew what it was properly titled as, no he didn't care to be proper right now.]
Also, should we be hiding something? I don't know if any of this actually means something.
[Or if he was just sharing some normal boring ass shit. He was willing to share the rest of the details though, if someone thought it was worth it.]
ii. The Prelude - Planning - cw: brief mention of drugs
Kavinsky still wasn't entirely sure about how things were going or supposed to go or- It was a combination of trust issues and the fact he didn't have confidence in himself to be able to make a difference for the better. But that didn't mean he was going to just sit around and let everyone else figure shit out. He'd never been a passive participant in anything in his life. There were a lot of problems with trying to figure out how to approach the issue at hand, though, and he'd been alternating between pacing in the hotel lobby and flinging himself into one of the chairs to lounge there like he didn't have a care in the world--except his body language, the set of his shoulders, said differently.
"Not sure if this is a situation where going in guns blazing is a good idea, or if doing it quietly is better," he said, to anyone who also happened to be in the lobby. He was, surprisingly, good at doing things the quiet way, causing as few ripples as possible, in and out without a trace--but this wasn't a drug deal or something, this was something that could get people killed.
"Which also brings up the question of like, guns? Baseball bats?" Both could be non-lethal or deadly, and they each had pros and cons, which was what he was pondering. He wasn't sure what kind of danger to expect, and sure, he'd been reading up on shit, but reading and experiencing things were wildly different.
iii. The Showdown
He had, maybe, underestimated just how he'd feel about facing down a bunch of people who looked more human than not, until he'd actually arrived. He'd made it inside the building easy enough, though he'd also actively been trying to not push his luck for a change, and it probably wasn't something he could readily make a habit of. He'd also opted for a gun--more or less a replica of the silver pistol he'd dreamt in the field with Ronan, complete with the words dream killer engraved on the muzzle--and a spiked baseball bat. He had the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, keeping his hands free for the bat for now--mostly because if he started firing, the whole damn place would know he was there and he'd rather avoid that for now.
Especially since there seemed to be a lot of non-friendlies inside, all of which he was trying to keep away from--but it really wasn't easy. He was much more frustrated than he was worried about himself or anything like that. He wasn't in immediate danger, after all, not like some probably were, and not like the girl they were trying to save definitely was.
He managed to slip through a door to what he assumed was the kitchen, which he hoped wouldn't also be stocked full of bad guys, and instead nearly walked right into someone that he thought--hoped--was a friendly. Either way, he flinched back, raising his bat halfway before stopping.
"Jesus fuck," he hissed, keeping his voice down as he continued, "I guess I can't bitch about sneaking around, but- have you found anything useful?"
iv. The Aftermath - The Odeon - cw: underage drinking/drunkenness
It was a relief for everything to be done with--for now, anyway. This was starting to feel like a 'one step at a time' problem, which was like most of the problems he'd already been dealing with. Nothing was ever a fast or easy solve. Story of his life. But things were...okay right now.
Which was enough of an excuse as he ever needed to get drunk. He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had at this point, but he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't still deftly shuffle and fidget with the deck of playing cards he'd gotten from somewhere. There was a chance they might have been dreamed, or else he'd found a very interesting deck with a design of a snarl of thorns and roses with a dragon nestled in the middle on the back of each card. They could absolutely be perfectly mundane.
Either way, Kavinsky was eyeing people from his table, ready to gesture someone to join him or, if no one seemed interested, he wasn't going to be shy about inviting himself to their table, or the seat next to them at the bar. All he needed was to catch someone's eye or have even a moment to speak, so he could say- "Hey. How do you feel about strip poker?" Or any kind of poker, really.
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A faint, eerie chant echoed from beneath a nearby door, sending a shiver down Buffy's spine. With a determined expression, she slowly pushed the door open, motioning for Kavinsky to follow her into the unknown. If Yvonne wasn't behind that door, then trouble sure was, and they were both geared up for a brawl.
"Come on, partner in crime. I could definitely use your backup," Buffy urged, already stepping over the threshold into the darkness beyond. With a glance back, she nodded at Kavinsky, a silent promise that they'd face whatever awaited them together.
no subject
Kavinsky made a face when he registered the sound of the chanting, acting like it didn't make the back of his neck prickle. He said nothing when Buffy pushed the door open, though he watched, intent, like he was expecting some sort of ambush. When nothing happened, he didn't relax or lower his guard. He also didn't hesitate to follow after her, resting his bat on his shoulder.
"Sure, I've got you covered," he said, though he hoped things wouldn't get messy. This would be a different sort of mess than what he was used to. "You do this sort of thing often? Swooping in heroically?"
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With a protective instinct kicking in, Buffy raised a hand to signal Kavinsky to hold back. Two Bringers, two demons—clearly, they were outnumbered. "Wait for me to thin out their numbers before you charge in, alright?" she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of authority laced with genuine concern. She might come off as cocky, but Buffy's primary goal was to ensure nobody got hurt under her watch.
True to form, she strode into the heart of the makeshift gathering beneath where Yvonne hung suspended. "A party? And I didn't even get an invite? If I actually belonged in this world, I might be offended," Buffy quipped, her words intended to throw the Bringers off balance for just a moment. It was all she needed. But before she could focus fully on the threat at hand, she spared a quick glance at the tearful Yvonne. "Are you okay?" she asked, receiving a nod in response before the chaos erupted.
In a blur of motion fueled by righteous fury, Buffy unleashed her pent-up anger upon the Bringers. With a swift movement, she snapped the neck of one, sending his lifeless body tumbling aside. The other lunged at her, wrapping a sinewy arm around her neck while its free hand groped blindly, aiming for her eyes.
no subject
Kavinsky stopped immediately when Buffy raised a hand, despite having been mid-step. Anyone could say he was an absolute fucking gremlin with authority issues, but no one could say he didn't follow instructions in a dangerous situation. He would listen if someone seemed like they knew what they were doing, and Buffy was confident enough. "You got it." He even managed to hold back from tacking on a reflexive sweetheart to the end of that.
He stayed back while she interrupted the...whatever it was that was going on- spell? Ritual? He liked her attitude, though maybe he was biased because it was the sort of thing he would've said, if he'd been the one strolling in to interrupt some nefarious shit. If things were less serious, less tense, he would've commented that she'd always be invited to his parties.
It wasn't his first time witnessing death, or even his second, but he'd never heard the sound of a bone breaking, a neck snapping. It wasn't pleasant. There wasn't time to dwell on it or become distracted. He knew she'd said to wait until she'd thinned the numbers, but there were only four of them, now three, and he didn't feel good about just standing around and waiting to see if she got blinded or not.
He still didn't want to start shooting, though it probably would have made things easier. It also would have brought the whole place to them and he wasn't sure just how many Bringers were in the rest of the building. It was an emergency option right now. So, he left his gun tucked into his waistband, shifted his grip on his bat, and strode over. He didn't give a warning, he didn't announce himself, he just swung, careful enough where he wouldn't hit Buffy, but with enough force to drive the nails on the end of the bat into the Bringer's side.
The Aftermath
One of his special skills is letting shit go and moving on.
Needing a new drink he slid up to the bar. Then immediately laughed when he heard what Kavinsky said. "Are you trying to get me undressed, K?" He teased back before taking a gulp of his drink.
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"Maybe," he replied, prompt and carefree, like he was absolutely not still thinking about everything that had happened just a little while ago. Like he wasn't bothered, wasn't remembering the violence with awful detail. He'd done the right thing, he thought, but he knew that 'the right thing' didn't always feel like it. It was complicated.
It was also easier to smirk, gaze flickering over Ash, head to toe. "I already like what I see; there's no way things wouldn't be even better."
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"Poker later. I promise. Right now," He gulps down his drink. Then takes hold of K's hand. "Right now I think we should dance...I think you should dance with me. DJ isn't half bad."
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Buffy Summers | Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
Buffy grumbled in frustration as her finger met the unforgiving surface of the return key with an audible thud. "Seriously, Willow always made this typing thing look like a breeze!" She slouched further into the worn desk chair, her brows furrowed in annoyance. "What happened to Ask Jeeves anyway? Time travel's like a one-way ticket to Confusionville, and my head's been on a non-stop rollercoaster ride since I landed in this whacked-out place."
The Doubletree was practically buzzing with chatter about the vanished Slayer, and Buffy couldn't shake the feeling that her dreams held some vital clue, even if she was unconscious when they hit. Yvonne's face kept haunting her, dragged down some shadowy street into God knows where. Buffy squinted in concentration, trying to piece together the fuzzy images from her dream. All she could make out was the Cedar Lee, apparently some fancy-schmancy movie theater. Thing is, she'd never stumbled upon it during her patrols or her casual explorations of the city, which meant it had to be tucked away somewhere a short distance away.
With a determined flick of her head, Buffy scanned the lobby, her eyes locking onto the nerdiest-looking person she could spot. "Hey, excuse me!" she called out, her voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Any chance one of you brainiacs from the future can lend a hand to a lady who's a little lost in time? I need the lowdown on a certain movie place," she paused, her cheeks coloring slightly, "one that might just lead me to where Yvonne's being held captive?"
[The Showdown]
With all the gusto of a Summers on a mission, Buffy effortlessly infiltrated The Haunted House restaurant. Spending her days back home vanquishing vampires in dimly lit graveyards, confronting the Bringers amidst walls adorned with bloodied prop machetes and hockey masks didn't even make her flinch.
As she navigated through the eerie atmosphere, Buffy couldn't shake the feeling that she was a visitor in this strange world, handling it delicately like cradling someone else's precious child. That's precisely why safeguarding it from the looming apocalypse felt like her sacred duty – this world had been entrusted to her guardianship.
After dispatching a few stubborn Bringers (they wobbled, but stubbornly refused to fall down), Buffy swiftly kicked open the pantry door. "In here!" her voice rang out, cutting through the eerie silence, mingling with the haunting chants of the First Evil's minions and Yvonne's anguished cries. Without a moment's hesitation, Buffy charged into the fray, knowing that waiting for backup was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Hello There!
She says Ask Jeeves and he grins and peels himself away from the couch he is lounging on.
"Someone gave Jeeves a pair of socks." Ash answers as he drags a chair along with him. Turning it around he sits on it backwards and does the same to his ballcap, twisting it around on his head. His eyes are locked on the machine she is sitting in front of, wary and suspicious of the older device.
"Which movie theater?" He asks as he slips his backpack off his shoulder. Retrieving his laptop he boots the device up and places it on the desk. "Hi. Again."
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"Hey there. Ash, right? Sorry if I seem a bit scatterbrained, but all this supernatural stuff tends to scramble my brain," Buffy greeted, her tone easygoing yet tinged with curiosity. Her eyebrows arched as she took in the modern marvel of technology before her. "That's one snazzy laptop you got there. And let me guess, we're not exactly from the same era, are we?" she added with a chuckle, letting the words spill out in a characteristic Buffy-esque run-on sentence. It was a wonder how all that machinery fit into such a sleek package. If she were less confident, it might have sparked a bout of self-doubt.
"So, about that dream..." Buffy began, her expression growing serious as she recalled the unsettling visions that had plagued her sleep. "The movie theater, Cedar Lee. That's where it all went down in my dream. Yvonne, she got dragged into some building nearby," she recounted, her hand absently scratching the back of her neck as she tried to piece together the fragmented images in her mind. The memory sent a shiver down her spine; those Bringers were seriously creepy. And Yvonne, she had to have been drugged or something, otherwise, she would've put up a better fight against those things.
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Ash isn't completely joking about the device. The custom built laptop has been buried in the dirt for a week. A ritual performed with a spirit to charm it into doing exactly what he wanted and keeping his actions hidden.
"You have dreams like that a lot?" He's looking up the theater for coordinates. "When was she taken?"
Unfortunately they won't have the advantage of the massive network of Ring cameras. But, CCTV at surrounding businesses and traffic cameras might help them trace her movements.
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Aftermath
So he's sitting in the dining room himself, looking like he'd collapsed into a chair and just hasn't gotten up again yet. His normally impeccable jacket and tie are smudged and even torn, and part of his hair is sticking up funny in the back.
He looks up at Maddie's arrival. "You have food?" he says hopefully, as if considering asking if she can share. He isn't aware yet that it's technically ghost food.
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It takes her a few minutes to realize what he might actually want with the question he asked. She looks somewhat apologetic, "It doesn't work like that."
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He's so tired, okay. He doesn't know how the people who actually did the fighting are managing. Maybe most of them have already gone to bed.
He considers her food then her face with it's apologetic expression, and asks, "How does it work?"
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Jack Russell | Werewolf By Night (MCU)
Jack is not one of those gifted with visions or signs. He is, in fact, rather oblivious to anything sinister going on beyond the obvious spooky atmosphere. Even that, really, doesn't bother him much. He spends his time exploring the city and doing his level best to make as many friends, or at least friendly-inclined people, as possible.
At a cafe, he has coffee and asks his neighbor at the counter, "Have you eaten here before? What would you suggest for a good lunch?"
Or at the hotel, he greets people in the lobby-- where he hands out quite a bit, really, as his room is kind of lonely and smells funny-- with a bright smile and a, "Good morning! Have you had any luck out there?"
II. Sneak Attack
As Jack has been very clear about ever since his arrival, he cannot fight. No punches thrown, no kicks, nothing but swift dodging and fleeing. So when the whole fight thing happens, he's staying behind at the hotel, though he does keep to the lobby and keep his ears and nose alert for trouble. That much he can do.
So whoever's next to him at the time gets a couple seconds' warning before the glass breaks, in that his brow furrows and he asks, "What's that smell?"
Then there's the window break, and the invasion, and he leaps behind the lobby counter with a little squeak. He peeks out around the edge of the counter, near floor level and hopefully less obvious, and after a moment, starts throwing things: staplers, keys, paperweights, his own shoes, whatever he can get his hands on. He might not be a fighter, but he has pretty good aim. And sure, a stapler probably won't knock out a vampire, but it will distract one at just the right moment for someone else to finish them off.
Eventually one finds him, and he does what any sorta-sensible normal-ish person would do: he holds up his hands, gives a nervous smile, and says, "Perhaps we can talk about this." And promptly ducks under a lunge, should the vampire be less amenable to talking than he would hope.
III. Aftermath
Lucky for a variety of people, Jack knows a lot of first aid. The wolf has mauled more people than he'd care to count over the years, and half of those he hadn't wanted to come to harm, so he'd had to do some patching up in the end. He finds the first aid kid he'd used as a projectile weapon during the fight mostly intact, and finds a clean sheet he can tear into strips for bandages, and gets to work.
"Hold still," he warns his current patient. "You have glass in your leg. I am going to get it out, okay?"
And then, when everyone is as tended as possible, and the bodies of those dead have been covered or carried out, he slumps onto the remains of one of the couches and says, "Well, that was terrible."
Prelude
If Mack were to be honest with herself (an insurmountable task as it was already), she would have known things didn't seem quite right the minute she chose a tunnel. Something like spindly fingers had wrapped around her heart, and she'd felt awful fine with the feeling. However, she'd also been hearing whispers. A lot of things she didn't understand and some things that made her nervous. Not so much for the world at large (she didn't care about that) but for her own ass, and whatever nonsense that sucked her here, whatever nonsense that was definitely not how she ended up in New York before all this.
For now, though, she is sat at a cafe counter, her nose in a newspaper as she peruses for... something. Maybe a job. Maybe an estate sale. She loves the obituaries.
"First time," she tells the man next to her. In front of her is a half-eaten egg croissant sandwich and an overly full cup of coffee. She doesn't pick the cup up, instead opting to lean over her plate and suck coffee from the rim of the cup nosily. "You should get the BLT. That's what I was gonna get, but then I changed my mind."
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Then he offers her a little, almost surprised smile, to see her out in the light of day, doing such very human things as ordering lunch at a cafe. But of course she must. She can't be a coyote or a roadrunner all the time. "Hello again."
i'm sorry again, life has been nuts but i promise i will be faster from now on!
"The coffee ain't bad, though," she adds. "Though not sure this place is much of a step up from the cemetery." She points her thumb at a sign on the wall depicting a cartoon of a sleepy dog holding a cup of coffee. There's text over the dog that reads: 'Coffee: because murder is wrong.'
nooooo worries. I don't even have an excuse I was just distracted :D
i know that life!
Re: i know that life!
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