bellamonte park invaded!

[Wyrmbreaker] Wyrmbreaker in Bronzeville: plainly dressed for once in a grey and black ski jacket, jeans. The hood is up, not for the look but for the warmth; the fact that this reduces his peripheral vision does not bother him.

Katherine Bellamonte bought, cleansed and renovated a patch of land here. A gift to Gaia and the Sept. That's where he's headed -- to make sure local punks hadn't tampered with it. Much, anyway.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[Ymene] The park went up so quickly that the neighborhood is yet uncertain what to do with it (money like that [power like that] why didn't they [what about] fucking outsiders [why wouldn't they]). The park has yet to see green. The ground has yet to know seed (spring). Perhaps the fountain has yet to murmur water songs to people [birds (animals)]. There is something wrong with the park, once he gets there. Doesn't take hours of looking around, hours of stalking in the shadows, trying to sniff it out. What's wrong?

Listen. There's a metallic whine (faint, incessant). Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and back and back and forth. The sound is like a saw, but not a seesaw. Doesn't sound like someone breaking anything, or someone chiseling at anything. What it sounds like is what it is.

There is a swingset. [Didn't Gossamer Wing like the swingset? Wasn't she joyful over it?] There is more than one swing in this swingset. But there is only one swing, swinging. [No wind.] Nobody there. It's quite possible that somebody just jumped off, that the swing is still moving, because somebody was there not long ago. But it keeps ... keeps

keeps ... keeps ...
keeps ...

on. At the same steady rate. Does not diminish. More ghosts, Lukas?

[Wyrmbreaker] More ghosts? is, in fact, the first thing on his mind. Following that is: goddammit just go to SLEEP, as though ghosts were errant children, misbehaved brats who refused their deserved bedtimes.

Nevertheless, it cannot be said that Wyrmbreaker is not brave, even in the face of phantom menaces and the like. Softly, he lifts the latch on the gate; lets himself in. Snow covers the ground, crunching soft beneath his footsteps as he heads for the solitary swinging swing.

[Ymene] The swinging doesn't stop. He is not attacked from either side by portents or omens. He might, for a brief moment, feel as if the air weren't right. Too full of holes. Dense air, swiss-cheese air. Natural phenomenon. There is fog, lying heavy in the park. There is no ghostly laughter, no lovely women, no blood seeping out from the cracks of the sidewalk [yet?] and no flickering lights either. Just the swing, back-forth, back-forth, back-back-back-back ... forth! And?

[Wyrmbreaker] And Lukas puts out his hand to stop the swing.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10

[Ymene] The swing goes slack as soon as he touches it. There is no pressure at all. Not physically. However: what Lukas feels is something different. He touches the swing and there is a TUG, and his Rage, arguably, one of the larger parts of who he is, something that diminishes in battle, never squandered, always [righteous (glory) fucked up is this world (how dare)], always omnipresent, pit against his will -- it fades. Drains away so suddenly, so quickly, that his head will spin and his bones'll half-want to crunch [change (flare)]. There is no moon above to look at and ask, why? What just happened? But it's very nearly all gone: sudden squall, sudden calm.

[Ymene] ooc: and he's down 5 rage!

[Wyrmbreaker] That's the greater part of his rage there, down the drain, gone in an instant, not so much burnt or spent as simply -- disappeared.

Lukas lets go the chain. There's a sudden stillness inside him where a storm's eye should be, a sense that all his fury has banked to a mere pilot light's worth, a dim blue glow at the center of his soul.

Ironically, it makes him angry, and anger is not the same as rage, though perhaps intrinsically linked. And were he not angry -- outraged -- perhaps he wouldn't do as he does now, which is to stay, and to look around him, to cast around himself, and to seek the source of such an outcome. If he can see nothing out of sorts in this world, he will try in the other, turning his attention inward, and then sideways across the Barrier.

[Ymene] There is a space of time when all is silent [hushed]. Then: the swing begins to swing again. Not very loudly, not very strongly, just enough that it would be difficult to dismiss as the product of wind. If there were any wind to speak of. It is beginning to snow, and there is nothing, nothing at all, except, perhaps, a pattern in the frost [density] on the swingset's metal arc, that is in any ways unusual, and even that [dream? (you're imagining things) what do you know?] is subtle, could easily be explained away, lost. The snow falls like ash, and Lukas looks sideways.

Adjusts his eyes. He's peeking now at the umbral landscape and this is what he sees: the swingset is as dense as smoke and twice as solid; the swing is swinging in the umbra, too, back and forth, back, and back, and back, and back and forth. Still nobody in the swing itself, but -- how closely does he look? Strands, attached to the swing, working it. Pushing it, pulling it.

There are trails on the ground, snail-iridescent, moonlight-on-water tracks, and they go from the swingset [puddle, pool] off the path and toward the ghost building of the restroom. The park has yet to grow, but it is a clean place, cleansed, and no blight or blackness blots it and ruins its face.

[Wyrmbreaker] For the while that Wyrmbreaker looks across the Gauntlet, his physical self is still, wearing a dazed expression that, perhaps, well suits his state.

Then abruptly he pulls his consciousness back where it belongs. Shakes himself once, then turns resolutely away from the swinging swing to track across the snow to the restrooms. His eyes are alert for any sign, any trail in the snow.

[Ymene] There is absolutely nothing to see when he returns his vision to the [real world (true reflection)] physical world around him. No trail. No footprints. Nothing.

Well. There is a tequila bottle. All alone. Unloved. By the restrooms.

[Wyrmbreaker] Cautious now -- and just a touch hesitant, if the umbral trail had let to the ladies' room -- Lukas pushes the bathroom door open.

[Ymene] The umbral trail did indeed lead to the ladies' room. The ladies' room in Bellamonte park is empty, spacious and echoing, and the dimness within is dispelled as soon as a light is flicked on. Then, no doubt! illuminated radiance. Kate would probably like the public restrooms to be pristine [as possible], and they're not too bad. They haven't been used very often. There's not even any trash on the ground. The place looks clean as clean can possibly be clean without some serious bleach action going on. As a joke, somebody apparently duct-taped a body outline on the bathroom floor.

And the sink turns on. Water, pouring out, pouring out, black as black can be.

[Wyrmbreaker] Some part of him must be self-destructive. Seeing the water pour out like ink, dread crawls down Wyrmbreaker's spine. Simultaneously, he's struck with the urge to stick his hand under that. See if it's warm or cold. See if it feels the way it looks: pure, silken black, utterly without deviation or perturbation.

He doesn't. He learned from touching the swing where that gets you. A sense of self against self then -- he hadn't thought of it immediately, but it occurs to him now, in retrospect. Something to be filed away for later.

Lukas does, however, circle closer to the sink. He looks in the mirror. He looks at the sink, and under it. He goes into one of the toilet stalls and gets a long strand of toilet paper, the end of which he dips into the black water.

[Ymene] [let's see how fast this moves]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Ymene] The drain is clogged and the sink is filling up with that black [unreflective] water. No faster than it would, were the clog natural, were the water just left on by some unrepentent kid. But still: steadily. The sink is nearly full by the time Lukas touches that long, long strip of toilet paper to the water. And -- well. The toilet paper soaks the water up fast. Really, really, really fast. Indeed, faster than Lukas can really process. One moment, the toilet paper is white. The next, its black, and his wrist (under his coat) feels as if it was struck by [venom (ice)].

In its wake, something different. He has far more connection to the spirit than most human-born garou ever reach [of course, they die so quick]. And he feels that surge, a push, a pop. And he feels ...

... even closer than he was before.

[Ymene] ooc: two more points of gnosis for you!

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas drops the toilet paper almost instantly, but of course, that almost makes all the difference. Perhaps it hits the ground with a splat. Perhaps it hovers. In any case, it's too late -- the water has touched him, altered him even as the swingset has, and

he's tearing open the snap-button cuff of his ski jacket to inspect his hand, his wrist.

[Ymene] It looks as if he was burned. He's blistering.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Kurva! Zkurvysyn!" Now -- now, Lukas, He of the Iron Will and Steely Resolve, He of the Control, is really, really angry. He balls up his fist and smashes the mirror above the sink, nevermind that Katherine will have to replace it. No one's here to hear him, anyway; well, except whoever or whatever the hell is behind this.

The sink looks ready to overflow. Lukas has a dim idea that he doesn't want it to do so. He doesn't bother looking for a mop or a broom or a ten foot pole; he doesn't expect that'll do any good. Reaching out with his hand, he toggles the faucet handle up and down, trying to shut it off

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8)

[Ymene] [how fast this time?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Ymene] This does not work. He tries, and we'll give Lukas credit for that: he really tries. There are pieces of mirror floating on top of the black water [shouldn't they have sunk?], rising higher, and higher, and as soon as he touches the faucet handle he feels it again. Push! Pop. And he is more full of Gnosis than he has ever, ever been before [and likely ever will again]. His very marrow sings with it [more spirit than man or beast].

He also has plenty of time to leisurely regard just what is coming out of the black black water-that-isn't to attach its lamprey mouth on his face. He can see it push out of the water, slowly: humanoid, except for that mouth, no eyes, just indentation, water running off of the shape, the impression, slicking back, back, as it gathers itself, draws itself out of the water [is water], higher, higher, a vaguely feminine (human?ish) head atop a snake of water, open mouth, snake-waving on a glass cage as if hungry, coiling itself up

and ready for the strike. It looks at him, somehow, although it only has impressions where eyes should be, opens its mouth wider. The sound of water hissing gets louder.

[Wyrmbreaker] It doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. Still, Wyrmbreaker slams the handle up and down several times, harder and harder, the way one punches remote control buttons when one knows it's running out of batteries. The jolt of spirit energy that fills him, himself to himself, like odin on the tree of life, is ignored.

The thing rising from the water is not.

Lukas backs away from the overflowing sink, which is not so much overflowing now as it is simply rising. He shouts at it, as though perhaps it will understand: "What are you? What do you want?"

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Ymene] [how fast this time?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Ymene] The water hits the top. Does, indeed, overflow. Where it hits the floor, the sound is an unpleasant plop. A slap. The thing (spirit?) continues to rise, and then, slowly, as if it were smoke and not water, begins to undulate toward Lukas. Its little 'jaw' opens and closes, hungrily, instinctually, nearly blindly. The water, slowly! pours toward Lukas' boots.

But it talks to him! Or he can at least pretend he hears words in a language similar to the High Tongue of the wolf-shapechanters [Hello, garou] in the hissing of the water.

Heart. Blood. Heart's blood.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Failure at target 9)

[Wyrmbreaker] To which he replies, instantly and furiously, a rough, raw roar of a shout: "NO!"

By the last syllable, he's across the Gauntlet, in the otherworld, his rage and gnosis so wildly out of balance -- and so opposite to what one might expect of an Ahroun -- that the raw spiritual thereness of his own self startles him.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ymene] When Lukas peeked across the Gauntlet, the swing was moving there, too. And there was nothing there. It follows, logically, that once he is sucked across the Gauntlet, finds himself standing on the spiritual wasteland [the park is cleansed (Bronzeville is not: Weaver-calficiation, everywhere, buildings hard-as-bone, ghosts, decay], nearly burning with Gnosis, a star, something delicious, the water will still be pouring out of the sinks across the floor toward him, and the snake-woman-head thing of water will likewise still be there, coming for him.

Not so. There is no water, because there are no sinks, just pipes. The pipes give a cough, and a chug, and he feels a little bit of his Rage return -- but it's still so little, so scant, compared to what is usually his that it might as well be nothing.

Drop in the bucket.

[Wyrmbreaker] There are some Garou who are prone to accidental crossings; who seem barely able to anchor themselves to one world. Not so, Lukas, and for him to find him abruptly in one world when he expects to be in the other is... jarring.

He blinks. He looks around. No electric lights here; only the vague diffuse moonlight streaming through quasireal walls.

No sinks. No water. Just pipes. Pipes that end, perhaps, where a sink would be. He turns -- he looks through the walls at the swingset again -- then turns again, bends, carefully, peers into one of the pipes. Kicks away the umbral earth, too, to see if he can see where the pipes lead.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Ymene] [A'ight, sir. These are your temper scores now: Gnosis: 10. Rage: 2. WP: 4.]

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (oops!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Ymene] [how fast do I move this time? +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Ymene] [how fast do I move this time? +2]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Ymene] [what 'bout me? ah was first! +3]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Wyrmbreaker] [me too!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ymene] The swing is still swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and back and back and forth. There is still no shape in the swing, not on this plane of reality, and very likely not on the next. Just those threads, tenuous, control. As he turns away to investigate the pipes, however, the swing stops swinging.

The pipes lead under the [umbral (vibrant)] earth, but very likely Lukas won't kick the umbral earth away on purpose to see where the pipes lead, because as soon as he bends to peer into one of the pipes, darkness boils out and strikes at his left eye. He doesn't manage to avoid this one. He has time to see it coming, and then his vision is halved, and suck, slurp on his eye. It feels just the way his wrist felt when whatever struck him earlier struck him.

And it divides [splits], and snakes, smoke-tendril, around him to strike through his back at his heart. He can avoid that one.

And there is a third. The first. It follows him across the Gauntlet [lightning], appears as water welling between his feet, and then it strikes -- but upwards. Under his pants. Up his calf, wind, wind, twist, twist, water pouring upwards, up his thigh, up, up.

[Wyrmbreaker] The instant blackness splashes into his eye, Lukas begins to rear back, shouting. By the time he's upright, he's not shouting but snarling, and the hand clamped to his naked face is a handpaw clamped to black fur.

The second strand of water whips up, strikes. He can avoid that one, and he does, by instinct, twisting aside fast enough to feel it comb his fur. The third is winding up his leg, and without thinking twice Wyrmbreaker simply

leaps upward, straight up, to grasp or climb onto whatever he can.

[Ymene] There isn't anything hanging over Lukas' head. He leaps upward, straight up, and there is no tree [this is the Scab, son. This park is new, seeds are sleeping, spirits still just birthing under umbral dirt, not rich enough yet, no. This is the Scab, son, ain't nothin' healing up here] or helpful overhang. However; He leaps upward. Straight up. And the thing that has his eye

plucks it out. Falls to earth. Eats it. He likely doesn't see (no joke) this happen. He's still in the air. The water that had been pouring up his body, twisting, winding around his leg -- breaks, and falls back to earth like a stream of water, splatter, splatter, hiss, dissipate. He's free! Minus one eye, which doesn't want to heal yet, but free.

Until he hits the ground again, at least.

[Wyrmbreaker] A Garou can jump very high. A Garou in warform can just about soar: a good hard push-off can result in a leap that dwarfs large houses and small buildings. He has a few seconds in the air, then, which is not a lot but better than nothing, and he loses an eye, which vexes him but not terribly; he also loses all depth perception and awareness on that side of his body, which is a greater handicap. No matter; his body breaks through the semireal barrier of the restroom's roof, continues upward, night wind in his fur now, and he thinks:

he blazes with spirit; everything else, largely sapped. Heart's blood, was that literal or figurative? No time. The apex of his ascent. Downward now, falling again, and he reaches into his handy little sack of talens -- why the hell not, when he's bursting with Gnosis -- grabs one, activates one at random, it doesn't matter which, it only matters that it burns with Gnosis --

and he throws it, not as far as he can but away from the ground directly beneath him, within twenty or thirty feet of the seething mass of not-water beneath him.

Go fetch.

Hopefully.

[Ymene] The not-water pours out of the [wraithly] restroom after the talen. And the ground beneath Lukas is dry (safe?). Whatever talen he activated disappears, under the not-water (black, blacker, blackest) which ... well, there's a lot of it. And it spreads across the park like a sheet, or begins to. A shallow sheet of darkness, gleams just like real water, ripples just like real water.

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 8)

[Ymene] [ain't nothin' to see here]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] Seconds later Wyrmbreaker comes back down, landing on all fours with a muted thump that shakes the earth. The dry earth. Hungry little shits, aren't they? He touches his empty eyesocket, is not particularly surprised to find it's yet to even begin healing. Fine; one eyed he'll remain for the time. He has healing talens, but he looks at the way they swarm to that use of energy and decides against it.

For the now, Lukas focuses his will (his will? that's odd.) inward to cross the Gauntlet.

[Ymene] [how much d'we get?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Ymene] He threw a storm feather. That's what the blacker than black water devours. That's what Lukas activated [made burn]. The umbral skies go dark (this is how storms should be [wild (impossible)]). The air snaps with clarity, that jittery, nervous before-the-storm-hits feeling. He hits the ground and, for a second, he is safe. He focuses: tries to cross.

And finds that his desire to leave is halved -- sucked away, as surely, if not quite as violently, as his Rage had been sucked away earlier. The Gauntlet [or some other will] is keeping him, dragging at his heels, surely as gravity.

Boom! Thunder. A storm in the umbra is always an impressive thing [awe (terror)], and this is no exception. The sky cracks open: it begins to rain. Not-water, though. And as it rains, the black not-water slides [scythes] back across the park toward Lukas. And for a terrible second? He doesn't even want to move [pinned (fixed) like an insect].

The not-water is trailing up his calves, again. And it is falling on his head. The first thick splatters of (rain) storm: as soon as it touches, it hisses, half-whispering words. Heart's blood. Blood, heart. You, your. You and yours yours and you heart's bloodnowwant please. And once again, he feels something that is distinctly his pulled out. TUG.

No more Rage.
Nearly no more will.
And now? Very nearly no more gnosis, as well.

[Ymene] [so! Rage: 0. WP: 1. Gnosis: 3.]

[Ymene] [Er, Gnosis: 2.]

[Wyrmbreaker] Even as a child, Lukas was not afraid of thunder. How could he be? Thunder is in his blood, and in his ancestors' blood. Thunder is what his lineage is made of, not merely figuratively but literally, physically, spiritually. Thunder is what his pack follows now, though before they followed a whirlwind of raptors. Thunder in the form of the thunder-god: storms and eagles and oaks and war.

When the skies overhead darken, Lukas's heart gladdens

but only for a moment.

Then rain comes. Not-rain. Black fluid, whatever the fuck it is crawling out of the pipes of this godforsaken park -- cleansed, Kate said! -- pelting down from the skies. For a moment Wyrmbreaker doesn't even care anymore. He turns his face up to the sky, closes his eyes; no, correction, closes his eye and his empty socket; lets it wash over him and drive him to his hands and knees and pull from him almost everything.

All rage.
All-but-all will.
All-but-all spirit.

Caught under his handpaw: the rawhide bag of tricks. His claws feel sluggish and slow. He fumbles past vials, darts, strips of flaking stiff cloth. He finds a tiny clay bead, doesn't even have the strength of purpose to bring it to his mouth; simply crushes it beneath his claws.

And sinks wearily into the bosom of the earth, away from the sky and the rain.

And turns into the earth, clay and loam.

[-1Gn - trapdoor boon!]

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ymene] And there, he finally is safe.

Above, who knows? Who knows what's happening to the spiritual reflection of Bellamonte park? Below, Lukas is safe, and the earth is cool, and the earth is quiet, and it holds him close. Some of its steadiness, its solidity, sinks through him [transitive power], will coil around his heart, and he'll find some of his will returned. Not nearly enough. When was the last time he felt this low? Did he ever, since childhood, feel so weak?

Maybe he waits, part of the dirt, for a long time. Maybe it is less out of caution, and more out of the inability to muster up the urge to do much else, maybe he is even afraid, maybe he's just tired, drained, shell-of-himself, husk, alone and palely loitering, withered. Howsoeverlong he waits, when he decides to become himself again, the water is gone. The swing is still. There's absolutely nothing, except luminous trails on the ground, toward the restroom, and -- well, all around.

When he leaves, behind him, the swing will start swinging again.

[Ymene] [final tally. Rage: 0. WP: 2. Gnosis: 2.]