Anyphaena celer

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Anyphaena celer

[Video, Otherworld days]

[The view starts off mostly dark. There's a very faint reflection off Frankie's glasses. Her knees are pulled up close to her chin, letting her wedge into - something, some kind of hiding place. It looks like she's maybe hiding behind a bar.

Behind her, something passes slowly into view. A giant spider the size of a minivan, stark white and gently, eerily glowing, lumbers past. Once it lumbers out of view again, after a few more beats, she whispers fiercely,]

Can I have my glock now, Mister House of Belmont?

[Spam, otherworld]

Spiders are always nearby, with franky, always pale, softly glowing. Most of them are small, fist-sized at most. Some of them, though, are massive. She isn't afraid of spiders, but she keeps her distance from those anyway.

It's probably the little spiders that chitter and whisper traitor traitor traitor. Fishing lines hang from the ceiling, swaying, here and there in her path, slender sharp hooks on diaphanous strings.

Frankie picked up a piece of rebar somewhere, and carries it like a baseball bat; she does her best to keep moving.

[Monster Mash time!]

It's not the spiders that have her really running. It's the spiders looming over her, when she finally gets tangled in the fishing lines and falls. There's a thing, roughly man-shaped but almost nine feet tall. Black, thick-set, built powerfully under fat, with fists bigger than her head, with a slashed-open gut, intestines spilling out into a writhing, slick loincloth, and an open furnace grate where the head should be. He grabs her whole leg in one hand, drags, twists, smashes a crater into the floor next to her head with the other. He leans over her, hot coals spilling out of the place where his face should be. She flinches and sizzles, grits her teeth, refuses to scream.

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[ Madelyne peers at the spider with blithe fascination. A few of the small demons dogging her own steps are spider-like, eight eyes bulging obscenely above steadily dripping pincers, but they aren't attacking. ]

I don't have anything long-range. How good are you at stabbing real hard and running away?

Uh, I don't know, medium? I got sensible shoes but those long legs go fast. I'll take anything, though.

Hmm...

[ She twists around a bit to grab something strapped to her back. (She's finally forgone her tattered regalia for something a little more sensible; accessorising with a random assortment of rusty, gore-stained weapons doesn't look as ridiculous.)

What she presents a camera is a steel pole fractured into a sharp point. ]

This is my longest one. Should buy you some good time if you go for the eyes. [ It doesn't look super durable, though. ]

You're a pal.

[The spiders have a lot of eyes to go through, but if she can fuck up the chelicerae they'll have a harder time hurting her. And she knows where the brain and the book lungs are; if she can punch deep enough through the exoskeleton, it'll do.]

Where do I find you?

[ One of her own spiders shrieks ANGLER FISH which is an obscure enough dig that Madelyne just arches an eyebrow at it for a second before shrugging and moving on. ]

Level five, near the library.

...you gonna snap me up, Red?

[But it gets a thin little smile out of her, before she finally darts out of her hiding spot.]

Only if you ask nicely.

[ Look, she can't resist a line like that.

Of course, she isn't invested enough to shorten the trip any; she stands right where she is, leaning against a wall and twirling her pole. ]

He sees the thing roar over a prone figure and that's all he has time to register before Blitzø slams into it from behind, stabbing and clawing his way up the bulk of the creature to where its head should be. He has no idea if he's hurting it at all, but at the very least he can hope for being a distraction.

"Fucking let go of her!"

It's not really her father.

Still. No one's ever -

It does bleed, it bellows in rage, although it doesn't seem deeply impeded by the cuts. It tries to grab for him with huge, meaty hands radiating terrible heat, but it's not terribly flexible; on his back might be the safest place.

Frankie gasps and scrambles backward as soon as he does let go to try to grab Blitzø. She grabs her piece of rebar back up and wields it like a baseball bat, right at the thing's massive kneecap.

"You're already dead, you stupid brute motherfucker," she screams, because rage feels better than either terror or the horrible pain in her hip, which nearly blots out the fresh, ugly burns scattered over her face and arms.

Blitzø doesn't expect to be able to last, but it's enough to see that it lets go of her and tries to reach for him instead, giving Frankie a chance to get some distance and a weapon. He slashes at the reaching fists, stabs at the neck and shoulders, but even if it were human still, his knife is small and the figure is massive. He can feel the heat pouring off of its hands as it grasps at him, and fingers tag one of his horns and almost get a grip on it.

"We gotta get the fuck out of here!" he yells, struggling to keep his balance as it stumbles from her blow. He doesn't know if she can run on that leg, but he does know he can probably carry her and run for it if it comes to that.

"Hit it again!"

She lunges, tries to stab him with it, right in the back of the joint as he twists around, and she can't keep her balance but she does it anyway, lets the full bodyweight of her fall shove the metal into the messy contraption of ligaments and tendons; she keeps holding on as she crumples over, twisting it, making him roar like a wildfire, like a city sinkhole collapse, a huge devouring ruining thing. He tries to stomp on her but his balance is fucked by the rebar now, and he sways like a half-hewn tree, like a skyscraper in an earthquake, like a fucking drunk. He staggers, bad enough that Blitzø, at least, could definitely scamper away faster than he can chase. Frankie tries to roll out of the way, barely missing having her head smashed in by those too-familiar fists.

"Go -" she shouts, instead of help me up, because she doesn't have the leverage to make that one happen.

tick tick tick tick

At first she thinks it's just broken bits of concrete skittering, or her ears ringing, but it's a real noise: tick tick tick tick, like her Aunt's disapproving nails rapping on the table, little shrapnel legs carrying something closer. tick tick tick tick

Blitzø leaps from the creature's back as it staggers and lands on the ground close enough to see how Frankie tries to get away and the way her leg seems to drag and make it clear that isn't happening any time soon. He bites down on a curse and dashes close, unheeding of the ticking sound and her shouting for him to run. Instead he scoops her up, and while he's smaller than her he's strong, stronger than many people realise, and it's just like lifting up Loona the few times he'd had to before.

He hisses out a "sorry", knowing that lifting her is going to hurt that leg any more, but they don't have time to worry about that. Whatever that ticking noise is he imagines it's nothing good.

As soon as she's in his arms, he's bolting from the area, half expecting that the thing's about to blow up behind them.

"Shitfuck," she gasps, 70% pain to 30% sheer surprise that he can carry her, but she hold on to him, still trying to scan their surroundings.

tick tick tick tick -

She catches a flash of bright plastic-primary red out of the corner of her eye, and it's a lunchbox, a child's red lunchbox with some stupid superhero decal on one side, and long metal spiderlegs tapping on the grate as it comes closer to them from the opposite direction. And also another, faster ticking from whatever's inside.

It swivels at Frankie's curse, and comes charging straight toward them, insectile legs absurdly fast. Fortunately, the way Blitzø is carrying her, she's still close to the ground; she reaches out and grabs the handle as the legs flail at her, and flings the bomb back towards the monster.

"Run run run run -" she gasps, like he isn't already trying.

"Bitch, I'm going as fast as I can!" Blitzø snarls, and while he doesn't see what she grabs and throws, the sound screams 'bomb' and he's pushing himself to run even faster, throwing them both behind cover right before the explosion rips through the area. Heat washes past them and Blitzø covers her as best as he can, although he knows it's going to be hell on her leg.

As soon as it's past, he pops his head out, ready to grab her and run again if he has to.

The boom shudders all the rusty railings, but at least it's too loud for them to hear the structure creaking. Smoke and bloody mist spatter all the areas beyond their cover, little steaming, melted fragments of lunchbox skittering like drops of water on a hot stove, stinking of burnt plastic, a counterpoint to the overpowering smell of scorching meat.

What they don't hear is lumbering footsteps, or even animal grunts of pain. But Frankie still isn't poking her head out to check right away.

Blitzø slips out properly as the silence starts to settle around them, the various plinks of cooling metal and creak of settling concrete the only things to be heard. He prods a couple of melted and burning chunks of plastic but once nothing else seems to happen, retreats back to Frankie's side.

"Looks like we've got some time. How's your leg?"

"He pulled my hip out of the fucking socket. Prop me up by the railing, we're gonna have to shove it back in."

And sure enough, one of her legs looks horribly wrong, too-long and too-lumpy in the thigh, dragging like meat. It's gonna hurt like a bitch to fix, but the alternative is worse.

Edited 2024-09-06 00:04 (UTC)

"Gonna hurt like a fucking bitch," he warns, but it's not to try and talk her out of it. He's helped Mills with enough shit in their years together to know that they gotta do what they gotta do. Especially since who even knew if the infirmary was even an option right now.

Blitzø helps her get up on the railing, then drops down to take a grip on her leg. He doesn't try to do any count down or tell her to brace for it; as soon as he's certain she's not going to fall over immediately, he grips and shoves.

She hadn't - she'd expected -

She'd planned that she'd do it, one shove with her bodyweight, after she'd got something to fucking bite on. Instead her whole vision goes grey, and makes a small, choking moan. If he didn't have a solid grip on her, she would have fallen over, hands going slack on the railing for few moments as her whole brain goes woozy with the pain.

She gulps tiny, weak gasps of air and manages to hold on.

"Holy shit, you awful little thing," she grumbles when she has her voice back. At least, she muses distantly, she doesn't have to find anything she's willing to put in her mouth. "Fuck. Thanks."

"Over fast and you're good," he retorts, though there's an edge of concern to his voice. He knows it's a lot and it's impressive that she's still conscious; he'd half expected he'd have to catch her and get them both to cover until they found a way out of here or she woke up.

Taking a break is probably still a good idea, especially since that thing is gone now and they'll hopefully have a little breathing room before anything else comes along, especially since her face looks a little grey still. "You need a minute?"

She takes a couple deep, gulping breaths, beating back both the fuzzy spots in her vision and the nebulous nausea.

"Okay, okay. Is there - I don't know, a long piece of rebar around somewhere?" A walking stick she can also use to jab at range sounds amazing right now."

Maggie smells burning flesh, and she recognizes whose it is. She's pretty sure Frankie is real, which is more than she can say for some of the familiar faces she's seen today. So she comes running, and for once she doesn't stop short out of her long-running aversion to mammalian blood. Whether this thing is a mammal seems questionable, anyway.

She shrugs out of the the small emergency pack she has on her before she comes in range, holding it in her mouth, and flings it toward Frankie with a toss of her head. It contains a t-shirt and leggings, a small bottle containing a couple pills, her communicator, and most importantly, a pistol and a couple clips.

Then, Maggie sinks her teeth into his leg.

Edited 2024-08-25 15:34 (UTC)

It tastes like a mammal, and it bellows like a hippopotamus, huge fists swinging to smash Maggie's jaw and singe her fur - they're red-hot, too, although the leg isn't, just a massive amount of meat.

A gun, thank fuck, and Frankie has it loaded in seconds, and puts a point-blank round right into his wrist where he's trying to grab the wolf's whole head in his crushing-furnace grip, making the hand spasm before it can close.

Edited 2024-08-25 23:42 (UTC)

Maggie yelps once with pain, followed by a low, keening whimper. She's not going to be much use with her jaw shattered like this, but she'll stay low to the ground and harry him at least a little, darting in and back away as quickly as she can manage. Leaving Frankie plenty of room to shoot above her.

She's about to call John for reinforcements and healing, especially if her gun doesn't do the trick immediately; he's the one person she can easily reach right now.

He roars, the massive spasming hand hanging by a scorched ruin of tendon; Frankie scuttles backwards, puts another three bullets right wear his heart should be, which makes him stagger but not fall. There's an eerie, distant cry of a train signal, getting closer.

"Fuck," Frankie breathes, and empties the rest of the clip into the furnace grate the monster has instead of a face, sending embers scattering around the room as the metal door shreds. It wheels around, groping with its remaining hand, not killed but apparently blinded. Frankie drags herself to her feet, hobbles backwards toward the train noises, keeping her eye on the creature, waving to Maggie to come with her in retreat.

At this point, Maggie isn't fucking around. She reaches out for John, calls his name in her mind, lets him catch a bit of the pain and fear running through her. He left the line open, and she promised to use it if she needed to.

Need you. We've tried gun and teeth already, and he's hurt but not down. Both hurt.

She's moving alongside Frankie, careful to match the woman's pace rather than running ahead. If that monster manages to follow them, he'll almost certainly go for Frankie rather than her. He's her monster, not Maggie's. These horrors seem personal.

There is a shift as reality adjusts, one that they'll feel instead of see since it happens behind them But the next time they turn to look at the monster that's racing after them, they'll get to see something bigger, seemingly too big for the space of where they are.

Something made of teeth and tentacles and if one looks within that deep and void-dark maw, stars, that slams into the furnace creature tentacles-first, wrapping around each one of it's limbs, stopping it in its tracks. The fires do not seem to bother the too-dark tentacles, slick with black waters that do not burn, that hold twin suns every evening.

A voice both of them know though deeper, darker, ever more monstrous, speaks then.

Ṯ̸̮̎͛̏͒̅͗͐̊̑̄͑͜h̴̢̼̲̰̮͔͓̆̄͛̈́͑͂͌i̸̛̮̲̭s̷̹̦̬̒̽̔̎̑̿ ̸̩̩͕̰̜̰̑̓̂̾̄̎̓͜ï̵̢͖͈̝̤̑̄̎͗͘s̷̝̖͇̖̟̠̖̘̲̥̰͚̽̏͜ ̷̧̨̯̩̞̳̪̌͋̔ẃ̸̡̛͉͍̥́̽̆̈́̒̅͛̐̈́͜͝ḩ̷͎̝̃͒̈̉a̶̯̼̾̓͒̒͗̈́͐̉̄̑͘͘͠t̶̪̥̦͈͉̹͔̗̥̃́̆͊̾́̕ͅͅ ̸̰͇͇̜̬̪̓̌̀̚͝h̷̤̗͓̟̱͛͋ű̵͔͕̜̯͉̬̬̥́̒̓͑̓̀̐̒͐̈́͘͠r̸̡̼͖̖̺͈̻̯͆̈́̕t̶̪̣̮̱̭̗̩̗̹̺̲̪̰̐̈́̐͐̅̈͒̾̔͌͠ ̴̭̟̠̗̯͔͉͙́̀̀̈́̑̍͌y̴̡̱͙̥͖͓̬̩͕͗̇ǫ̸̫̗̠͉̀ů̵̦̥̮̟̱͓͈̣̪̯̈́͆̈́̎͐́?̵̬̑͒̾̏̂͆̈͋̽̉̈́̾

The creature does not appear to have eyes but there is is the feeling of attention first towards Maggie, and then towards Frankie.

K̶̩͈̰̊́͛͌̈̕i̵̡̛̩̩̹̺̰̝͈̱̽͌̚l̸̢̛̼̖̫̫̯̫̼̪̬̊̓̔̋̈̏́͛̂̃̊̈́̕ͅͅͅl̴̢̻̟̜͚̱̬̞̤̘͍̦͙̫͙̏ ̶͉̲̘̭̠̮̺̖̙̝̽̔̊̒͊̊̅͠ͅȋ̵̧̺̭͖̦͙̝̤̞͖̹̔͑̾͌́ṱ̸̨̛̝̗̄̍̊̄͆͛͑͐͋̾͛̏̓̚̚?̸̨̼̪̼̪͔̺͔͕͈̩̗̟̲̌̓͒̈́͛̚

He's assuming this is Frankie's. He's talked to Maggie a little about her monsters. They don't look like this.

It's like watch Aunt Bea's tentacles come out, or Damien's, but turned up to a thousand. It's so big, compared to the little glimpses she's got before. Like the planetarium's milky way, compared to the three stars she can usually see in the city.

But she does recognize it, that otherside-seething writhing reaching - the powers she'd always fought not to envy, the ones her father respected. The ones she could use just as well, through Silence, through Sid.

But she can't pull the strings on this. There would be a thrill of fear for that, except that he's asking her, and that's a thrill of a completely different sort, hot vindictive triumphant hunger, a ravenous ambitious roar in her chest. She doesn't have to trick and coax in the shadows. She can just give the order.

She grips a fistful of Maggie's fur, her eyes bright and fierce as she growls, with twenty years of burning, yearning conviction forged into one adamant command.

"Tear the bitch apart."

Edited 2024-08-31 21:10 (UTC)

Maggie's mind is still open to John when he appears, and there's not an ounce of fear at seeing what lurks under his human shape. Just love and relief. She feels safe with him, whatever he looks like. Perhaps even safer for it; if she has to be surrounded by horrors, at least one of those horrors is someone she trusts, down to the bottom of her heart.

She leans ever so gently into Frankie's leg, avoiding the worst of the wounds, bolstering her more emotionally than physically.

And she'll defer to Frankie's judgement here, but she's glad to hear that order, how firm and sure it is. She doesn't bother answering with words, only a low snarl through her shattered snout, and a wordless sense of agreement.

John's answer isn't so much words as the sound of a thousand violins snarling in chorus as he does just that. The tentacles pull and limbs will yank out of sockets, or in a couple of spots, it seems as if he's forgotten to keep the tentacles blunt because they slice straight through. Arms, legs, even the furnace-covered head is being pulled off with a sickening crack and a scream of twisted metal before it's tossed into the endless rows of teeth and starlight and the crunching starts. Pieces are tossed in in various states of tear or slice and further destroyed before disappearing into the darkness until there is nothing left but a few embers burned into the floor and quite a lot of blood.

One of the tentacles moves to wipe around the maw even as the creature shrinks and changes and soon enough that is a hand on a large but essentially human-looking man, golden eyes still glowing with the molten heat of anger at this whole bullshit thing going on. He barely knows Frankie, but he still doesn't like this happening to her, doesn't like her having to face someone that she'd so viscerally request to be destroyed in front of her.

And he definitely doesn't like Maggie being hurt. Not at all.

"Okay," and his voice is back to normal, "would you two like me to heal you before I go? Or- I mean, I can maybe escort you somewhere. Unless... that is to say..." a glance down "it's pretty fucking dead but that's up to you. Though I would like to heal you both."

Edited (slight rephrase) 2024-09-02 01:00 (UTC)

It takes longer than it did when Sid killed him. He's bigger this time around, of course, but that doesn't really seem like enough to account for it.

You cannot imagine how much I hate that man, she'd told him, and oh, it's true. Even if this version isn't really him - it's the truth of him, the bellowing brute stupidity, the looming awful inescapable bulwark that crushed her mother into despair and treated her like trash. It's the very core of him, this monster, and watching him shred underneath a greater power his fire can't save him from - it satisfies something in her, deep and cold, like a drink of ice water after years in the desert, like cool aloe on the burns that dapple her arms and face like fingerprint bruises. The pain feels very far away, compared to that satisfaction, but she's still practical.

"He got her jaw bad, maybe a concussion," Frankie says, stroking Maggie's ears a little, thanks and apology. "And my knee's wrenched."

The burns and bruises just hurt, but she doesn't like her prospects if she can't run.

There's a slight flinch as John begins his attack, but then Maggie stands still, not looking away. And when it's done, when John is asking to heal them and Frankie's answering, she inclines her head the tiniest fraction of an inch.

Of course, darling. Jaw feels broken. Not sure about concussion. I never lost consciousness, but the blow was pretty bad and my head aches.

She takes a small step closer to him.

Will you also ask Frankie to pass my clothes, and to look away if she has any objection to nudity, or to seeing me transform? The middle ground between human and wolf is much uglier than either end form.

...If you saw or felt me flinch, it was the sound. That was a lot for my ears in this shape. I was never afraid of you.

...I never thought you were. But thank you.

Sorry about the noise.

Sometimes, his temper gets the best of him. It's less of a problem here, where everyone is so very firmly a person to him with hopes and dreams and loved ones. He finds it so much harder to be angry in that case. But some kind of figment brought to life by bullshit that hurt people?

Fuuuuck that.

"Maggie would like her clothing," he says as he starts in on Frankie. He'll get the knee first, and then the burns and bruises. Then he's starting on Maggie. The head pain will fade first, then the jaw as it settles into the right place.

He'll breath out with a huff once he's done.

"Did I miss anything?"

She clicks the gun's safety on and stashes it in her pocket rather than just putting it down somewhere, then wipes her hands off on her own pants before digging the clothes out of the bag, setting them in a pile in the cleanest spot nearby, underthings on top. She doesn't make a production of looking away, but she does turn to focus on stretching out her knee, before looking up at John.

"Thank you," she says, in a low, soft voice, so different from her usual light, casual tone. "Seriously." Not so much for saving them as for hurting him - it - for wanting to hurt it.

The answer he gives to that is a gruff nod. He's pretty damn sure from the emotion in her voice, then and now, that there's a lot more to it than 'scary thing that was trying to hurt me'. And he's sure as fuck not asking about it right now.

"Glad I could help," he says honestly. Because even if his own monster doesn't get to die in front of him yet, maybe it's a little cathartic to kill someone else's for them.

He turns to Maggie.

"Do you want me to make a little curtain for you?"

Much better.

Once she's healed, Maggie licks and nuzzles John's hand, and she'll also butt her head affectionately against Frankie's leg.

I don't care. I was never especially shy, and becoming a wolf made me less so.

Whether John hides her or not, Maggie will start her transformation, bones cracking as her body reshapes, skin raw and painful as her fur vanishes, a soft whimper of pain that starts canine and ends human. If she's in view, there are gunshot and surgical scars visible on her stomach. As she quickly throws clothes on, she says, "Giving my senses a break. They're stronger than human in any shape, but this blunts the edges a little. Too much blood and noise for me. I'm so goddamn grateful you came, John."

While Maggie is doing that, Frankie scans the area around them, stare a little far-away. There's not much left of the boiler-monster, and what there is doesn't seem like it's in the same place as it was before. She can't see any hints of her father's spider - she didn't see it flicker out and fail to escape John's clutches, either.

Probably it isn't here, or to the extent that it is here - it's inside her, still.

"It feels like this place doesn't end," she says quietly. "How do we get back -"

It's just a shadow, that catches her eye. A stoop-shouldered shape in the darkness, ground down by despair. Frankie is on her feet before she stops to think, then bites the inside of her cheek, hard. All anyone needs to run off and be stupid is the right nudge, and this fucking place is trying to play her.

She hears the distant jangle of the train crossing bells once again, a little closer.

Edited 2024-09-03 00:42 (UTC)

John turns to look where she looked, but he doesn't see what she sees, doesn't know the shape in the darkness for what it is. It's just another thing that might come after them.

"I haven't... tried leaving this world. I'm not sure what might happen if I push too hard." He does not want to tear through something and damage the Barge or hurt people on either side of the divide. His power, in its raw form, without him carefully filtering it through safe spells, is not something he's comfortable with pushing. It's not something he remembers enough to.

"Maybe-"

And then something seems to call his attention in the distance. He breathes in deep and breathes out slowly.

"I think we might want to separate, though. If you think you're good?"

Maggie darts in for a very quick hug, just a tight squeeze for a fraction of a second, then tells him, "Go. I'll call again if I need you. Be safe."

As for Frankie... Maggie tells her, "Keep the gun. When all of this is over, you're either returning it, or we're telling your warden you have it. I'll stay with you if I can, but I want you armed if we get separated."

She slides in a fresh clip with practiced efficiency.

"I knew you were gonna be my favorite," she says, trying to keep her voice light; the strain only shows through a little.

"She should be. She's great."

John isn't going to miss a chance to be a cheerleader to one of his friends. Not hardly.

...but something is coming down the hallway.

"Okay, whatever that is might fuck with your heads just by looking at it. I'm going to head out. It'll probably follow me." A pause as he looks to Frankie. "You can call too if you need help. Just think it with intention."

Beat.

"If you can't use the communicator for some reason. That's easier, obviously."

And then he's going to start running towards the strange shape before veering off down a hallway.

Maggie gives Frankie and John a crooked smile at the compliments.

And once John is gone, Maggie tells her, "Telepathy is really convenient when I don't have human hands or vocal cords. Couldn't have called for help any other way just then."

She tilts her head. "I'm guessing this is not a talk-about-feelings moment, but if you need anything, let me know, okay? This thing's been digging into my issues too. I'm glad you got the catharsis of seeing yours torn to bits."

"Gotta be honest with you, this place is not being subtle. The most horrifying part of all of this is that didn't make the monster version of my dad wear some fucking underwear."

The mass of disgorged intestines had covered any visible genitals, but there was definitely a lot of butt visible, before he'd been shredded.

Her father, huh? "Yikes. Nothing like some parental nudity to go along with all the other sorts of trauma we're getting this week."

"I killed him," Frankie - tries to growl, but it comes out small and shaky. Because she didn't really, did she? Her plan, her fucking coup, but Sid killed him. She'd have been helpless, without him. Just like she was here.

"Let's keep moving."

She slings the pack onto her own back, and her hands are steady on the reloaded weapon as she starts to walk in the direction of that maybe-distant train horn.

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