Who: Cloud Strife, Scáthach, Geralt of Rivia, Prompto Argentum, and Tifa Lockhart. When: Throughout Feb. Where: Aefenglom, Aefenglom forest, beyond the borders. What: Closed threads. New meetings, old meetings, more. Warnings: Fightystuff.
[One long, arduous, (and honestly? Kind of exhausting) week of work later, and Cloud finds himself back within Aefenglom proper. He doesn't like this place, he's come to realize.
It's a lot of things. The aesthetic of the city, with cobblestoned streets, horses and carriages mixed with the industrial nature of the place reminds him, vaguely, of Midgar's upper plate, and the way that the locals, even after all of the time they'd had to get used to them still rub him the wrong way with their stares and their remarks about monsters- and honestly, the fact his lupine ears mean he can pick up the faintest whisper hasn't helped in that regard.
But. He's here. The photo place isn't that hard to find. As mentioned, it's bang in the middle of town, and it doesn't take long to get there. And as he enters, with a swing of the door and maybe even a bell chime from one affixed to the back of it-]
I'm looking for a guy called Prompto.
[Brisk. Direct. To the point. But maybe his eyes widen as he takes sight of the man that was also a shibe. For no reason at all. Nope.]
[They're about the same height too. Weird. This guy though, he's not like him. He's outwardly cheerful, even downright sunny. But that's not important. He tries not to linger, instead making his way to the counter, allowing his gaze to drift to the assorted bits and bobs, and all of the merchandise behind it.]
I spoke to you on the network. ...Mostly about your chocobo. I'm Cloud. You wanted to go hunting, right?
[The Sly Sea Dog sure as hell was just as rowdy as described. The patronage was almost entirely monster as well, and as such, the place wasn't entirely unused to scuffles. One of such was threatening to happen right now.
It wasn't as if monsters were argumentative by their nature. Just... territorial, sometimes, and some of them? They hated each other just because. It seemed to be that way for Cloud, anyway. Not long after he'd walked inside, bought himself a drink and settled into some corner of the bar (...half wondering how the hell he was to identify the hound which had spoken to him without knowing anything about them) he finds himself approached by another turnskin.
Not a hound. More like a tiger, if the scent and the eyes were anything to go by. And there's a saying about cats and dogs.
He's not happy he's been approached by some asshole looking for a fight, sure. But there's something else, too. Something he can't explain, can't even really understand. Something that gets his fists clenched and his heart rate up, even if he's doing his very best to seem surly, disinterested.]
... I can smell at least five other canine turnskins here. [He states, lowly, carefully.] And you're going for me.
[He raises his eyes- too bright eyes to the tigerman.]
I get it. Pick a fight with the person you ain't seen here before, the one that probably doesn't have backup. Coward.
[ The tiger was popping his knuckles, rolling his neck, and staring down daggers at Cloud, not even put off by those shining eyes of his. He snorted, speaking nothing to confirm or deny what Cloud was saying, but it was still pretty obvious. Cloud was new, unspoken for by a regular. That meant he had to get put through the rough...
Well. He was unspoken for only for a moment more, at least.
A woman seemed to just appear from behind the tiger, swinging a blood red actual spear to cross over the tiger's shoulders and slap into him, her leg kicking out his at the same time to send the giant brute crashing to the floor, drawing plenty of eyes to the scene.
The woman, her tail wagging and her laughter brought, spun the spear back around to rest on her shoulder, stepping on the tiger's stomach and digging her heel in, just slightly. ]
Ah, Tim, what have I told you time and again about bullying the newbies? The owner's gonna have your tongue for it. I think only buying the whole room a round will make up for it this time...
[His eyes can't help but shift to the woman as she plays across his field of vision. He's concerned, of course- that this person is something to do with the tiger, that some act of violence is going to come from her- from somewhere he can't see, that the tiger's going to follow up with as many cheap shots as it takes for him to feel he's done something worthwhile with his time at the bar today.
But that's not what happens. Stupid as the man is, obnoxious as he is, ...as disgusting smelling as he is, he's damn good cover. He's broad. Burly, one might say, and tall besides. So as the spear's shaft strikes him squarely between the shoulders, he doesn't fall forward to crush Cloud underneath his bulk. He whirls around, or attempts to- before the woman's kick forces his knees to buckle, forces him backward.
Her heel is planted squarely on him, preventing him from getting up. And normally, Cloud would take it as a cue to leave. Let the both of them do whatever roughhousing they wanted, it was none of his concern anyway.
...But he doesn't. Mainly because now, he smells hound.]
Pass. [At the upcoming drink offer.] I don't want anything from someone like him.
[ Tim gathered up himself, and his shattered dignity, and grumbled off to leave them be. He knew better than to try his luck with that woman...
Scathach, for her part, settled herself down at the table Cloud had been sitting at, signaling for her drink to be brought over. From that close, her features were more obvous. He drooping ears matched her hair so well as to nearly be unseen, but patches of fur still peaked up over the loose collared blouse she wore. ]
I could tell from just the way you stood there against him you're no slouch. He would never have seen the first blow from you coming...
[Cloud had told Aerith that it would be a few days time until he could get to Aefenglom, but honestly, his concern had made the trip that much shorter because... well, he wasn't stopping. Not for the night, not for bad weather, not for Clywd, not for... well, anything.
He's there tired, sure. He's there borderline exhausted, actually. But he's there, having got the location of Tifa and Aerith's place from Zack as he travelled. And he's letting himself in, not giving a damn for conventional manners associated with knocking at someone's door. Nope.]
[ No, she's not at the Coven. Actually, she's in the kitchen, up and out of her chair as soon as she hears his voice, even if the effort makes her wobble. She's barely been able to sleep, the heightened magic power too much; despite the practice she's been putting in whenever she can, it's apparently not enough to burn off the excess. She's certainly feeling a little better since taking the potion Zack brought around for her, but it didn't reduce the tiredness from days of poor sleep, the feeling like her veins are singing. ]
Hi, Cloud. Welcome back.
[ The tiredness doesn't prevent her from trying to stand tall, one hand propped up against the doorway in an effort to support herself. She doesn't know exactly what Aerith told Cloud, only that the magic has been getting the best of her. And despite all that, she'd rather not appear as weak as she feels. ]
You came a long way, right? Do you want something to drink?
[His tone is distracted, voice distant, eyes wide. Honestly? He wanted a drink. A lot, actually- as well as something to eat, some way to ease the ache in his legs, the vague pain in his feet. But none of that matters. Not at seeing her. Maybe it's the animal side of him that sees it- maybe it's the human side. He doesn't know.
But there's her. Tired-looking, but strong, resolute. Her stance only betrayed by the expression in her eyes- something wavering. But then there's something else- a kind of aura. Something that makes the light bend around her just so- something that wasn't right.
He steps forward, not even bothering to take off his boots. (Sorry, Aerith.)]
You shouldn't be up. Did you take that temporary bond potion? [Had it expired? He didn't know she'd done exactly as he said. But the way she looks...] All of it?
[Perhaps he's being a bit forceful. But he can't help it. Not when panic's rapidly rising to his throat.]
[ She nods, trying a smile on for size; it may be tired and weak, but it's still genuine enough. She knows she shouldn't be up, but she's never been one for lying restless in bed when she could be trying to do something. So she understands it, how Cloud steps forward with something like urgency in his expression, and there's a weird mix of feelings in her gut, joy at his concern for her and guilt at having caused it in the first place, although it all comes second to the relief at having him here.
Perhaps it's a way of placating his worries, or maybe it's the guilt acting, but once he's inside, Tifa doesn't hesitate to lead the way back into the kitchen so she can sit down at the small table again, once again nodding her answer to his question. ]
I took it. All of it. I'm... a lot better than I was before I did.
[ It's not something of which she's particularly proud. But it is the truth.
Tifa sighs. ]
I'm sorry. I should have said something before it got this bad.
[As stated, on the next full moon, Geralt would possibly note something vaguely familiar in the section of the forest of which he hunted.
Maybe he'd remember the presence as something that occassionally ventured into the outskirts of the grounds he'd chosen as his- there briefly, fleetingly. Something hesitant, something that never allowed their paths to cross. It's still hesitant. It could have been noted a few times as it enrouches on neutral territory, and its hesitance would perhaps indicate that it wanted no part of any meeting.
But it's there. Should Geralt follow its scent, track its movements and find it, it would be in a clearing. The creature is almost certainly a wolf- that's for sure- but it's smaller than others of its kind. Its fur is, like most wolves, its summer coat, a bright blonde, with darker patches only visible at the base of its tail. Yet its eyes are unusual. The wolf's eyes are an unnaturally bright blue- practically glowing in the dim light.
And the wolf spies him. From where it had been absently smelling the ground, it raises its head, and its lips curl upward in a faint snarl.]
[ Like usual, Geralt takes to the woods when the moons shine. Rare that he's too far from one of his bonded during the full moons, but lately his mind has felt clear enough during his shift to venture a bit without either Jaskier or Yennefer right by his side.
Besides. He's curious if the Turnkskin he'd spoken to might make an appearance. A few Turnskins have crossed his path. None have been a wolf like him.
Well. Almost like him. Not quite. The wolf he sees in the distance is smaller than he expects. Geralt, by contrast, is larger than most wolves, thick coat a shining white under the moonlight except where scars have left the fur missing. His medallion circles his neck -- an emblem those who've met him before might find familiar.
The Turnskin hadn't said who he was when he'd asked for company. It's the eyes that clue him in: that luminescent blue. There are only two people here who share that color. Not entirely a stranger of a Turnskin, then. Even if he knows more of Cloud through Zack than through Cloud himself.
Geralt takes a single step forward before stopping as the wolf lifts its head. He tilts his own head, watching with ears perked. Hard to say how much of himself Cloud retains on the full moons. He waits instead, sitting down to let the other Turnskin examine him at will. Just in case his size comes off as a threat by itself. ]
That's confusing, and the smaller one seems confused. It doesn't take its eyes off the larger one. It knows, well, not to do that- lest it invite teeth at its neck or claws. It hesitates though. Its gums retract over its teeth, and it paces from side to side, breath coming out of its nose in a faint mist against the cold air.
It doesn't know what to do. This large wolf seems benign. It seems content to just stay there, and it shows no signs of aggression. So, what seems like inch by inch, the smaller one paws its way over, raising its snout as it does.
This wolf smells okay. He can't see teeth, can't hear a growl, and doesn't detect any malice. So as he gets closer, it's not without a faint, small sound.
...Yes, he borked. If he remembered anything about this? He'd probably dig himself a hole.]
[ As the smaller wolf approaches, Geralt leans in, giving Cloud a sniff of his own. Hmm. No fear or aggression he can smell. He has to wonder what Cloud has been doing during his change if not hunting. He can't imagine avoiding that instinct for long -- it's nearly overpowering for him.
The sound Cloud makes is friendly enough. Geralt's tail thumps once on the ground before he gets up. Seems he's been accepted. That's all he needs to be going. The moons make him restless.
When he speaks, his voice is even rougher than his usual, jagged around the edges. ]
This way. [ He turns around. He's been through enough full moons by now to know a Monster can't always talk during a shift. Worth a try, though. Maybe Cloud at least understands the words. ] You remember me?
[In the late hours of the full moon, someone's home. As there tends to be on nights of the full moon, there's a bit of a ruckus outside. Banging, scratching, and pacing until he discovers a way in, and then the sound of something heavy barrelling its way up the stairs.
There's pacing in the hallway, and then a bang as the creature forces its way into Zack's room by pushing its face against the door until it gives way. More pacing, probably in a circle, and then...
Well, the bed sags- combined weight and all. There's a faint sensation of something cold and wet at the back of Zack's neck as the creature huffs in his scent, and that's followed up by a series of scratches to his shoulder, intended to rouse.
[ While some full moons got Zack worked up enough that he did need to go out into the Wilde to work off that excess energy and keep himself in check, that's not always the case anymore. Having a steady Bond, especially with someone who's usually so physically close, tends to help. The threat of going feral hasn't been a real concern for some time now, which is a relief.
It doesn't make the transformation any easier. While Zack has less additional parts to gain now than he did when he first came here, there's still the pesky problem of his wings, which grow out of his back with no small amount of violence each and every time.
Tonight is no different, though Zack knows how to prepare now. He pulls off his shirt and sits in the bathroom when it happens. The blood is easier to clean that way.
After that, the easiest thing to do is try and sleep it off, assuming he can get himself relaxed enough to actually fall asleep in the first place. He's laid on his side in his bed, wings half hanging off, and just starting to drift off when—
He hears it, hurried footsteps approaching. The bang of the door slamming open causes him to tense, but he doesn't even have the time to sit up before he's got a sizable wolf climbing into the bed with him and sniffing away. One of those paws almost scratches near his shoulderblade, and Zack has to twist awkwardly to try and avoid any crushing of feathers. ]
Hey, buddy.
[ What is that smell. Oh boy. ]
What's going on?
[ This is only Zack's second encounter with Cloud in his full turnskin form, and he does want to encourage him to feel comfortable doing this. But some kind of warning would have been nice... ]
Hey, why're you twisting yourself up like that. Why can he smell blood. Why does something on your shoulder look like an injury. Hey, he can make it better.
His ears tilt forward curiously, and he parks his back end onto the bedsheets (and hey. Probably Zack's legs.) to sniff at his back. A series of light, small sniffs dances around the area of which one wing protrudes, and then a heavy huff.
....And yes. Mlems. They're probably uncomfortable. Possibly even painful. But he can't help it. He really, truly believes he's helping. And yes. As Zack's eyes get used to the dark, maybe he'd find the source of the smell.
[ There's not a whole lot that Zack can do about a wolf this size climbing onto his bed and doing everything in its power to sniff and then lick at his wounds. While he knows this comes out of a desire to help or make things better, it may as well be like salt in a wound, and he hisses as he tries to shove the wolf's face away from his back. ]
Look, I'm fine, really —
[ But as Zack gets a better look, fully waking up, he can now see that the wolf's legs are covered in mud, which is being tracked all over the place. He'd take this over blood every time, but it does mean that he is yet again faced with the ordeal of having to clean it all up come morning.
So he can't quite hold back on a frustrated groan. Cloud, buddy, he loves you, but they really need to work out a better system for this... ]
You know, if you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask.
[ At this point he gives up on any thoughts of sleep and shifts around until he can sit up, his wings fanning out on the bed behind him. A small laugh escapes him as he shakes his head at his visitor. ]
[The woodland seemed to grow darker and darker the closer to it the pair got. Distant calls of animals seemed to fade into nothing, trees grew thicker, wilder, thick, ancient branches spreading out haphazardly, foliage blocking out the sun above their heads. Likewise, the closer they get to it, the more the ground seems to stick to their feet. Their steps get heavier, and more of the ground seems to come with their feet as they raise them. It's not just mud that comes up. It's the earth itself- flowers, and grass, and thick clumps of soil seemingly melting from the surface beneath their feet, falling back down with a series of horrid squelches.
Should Sephiroth, in particular, decide his wings should bear the burden, should he decide to fly, he wouldn't get anywhere easily. The woodland is that thick, it appears that there isn't even a faint breeze, let alone any sort of upcurrent he could use to get himself aloft.
And it's darker. Darker, and darker, and darker it gets, until when it appears that night has already fallen, they see it.
It was once a tree. A great oak tree, should either of them have any knowledge of botany, but it hardly matters should they not. It is no longer anything natural. It is dead, long dead, and now it is little more than a vessel for new life.
It seems to move. But it is not moving. The movement is the creatures, the smallest of which, the workers, about the size of large dogs. They burrow in it, out of it, cover every square inch of it with activity, taking what rotten strips of bark they can peel off it within their gigantic mandibles and scurrying inside- replaced with another instant later.
It's disgusting. The smell of dead tree, Cwyld, and their activity is almost gag-inducing.
But where there are workers, there are soldiers. The soldiers of which are alerted. The size of horses- the creatures trundle, in uniform, toward the pair.
Instantly, from beneath both men's feet, the ground gives way. And they fall. Through mud, through sludge, through loose earth and through some foul substance, before they land.
They're underground. It's pitch-black.
And all around them is squirming with bright white, squirming, larvae. Each is shrieking in a tone perhaps too high-pitched to be observed by (mostly)human ears. But if one could perceive it- it would not be pleasant.]
[It’s as though they’ve walked into the maw of corruption itself, just a sickening display of dark ichor nestled in the cavernous hollow of a giant tree. Danger is expected; it isn’t feared, but wariness grows with each step. There’s not much room to move without brushing against the rot, and to breathe feels suffocating.
And then the chittering. The movement. All of it upon them in the blink of an eye, things with too many legs, twisted by the Cwyld, and looking to punish trespassers. Sephiroth readies Masamune, opens his mouth to utter a command to Cloud with his wings flared—
And the world falls out from beneath their feet.
And instead of black, they’re surrounded by white. White and wiggling, larvae surrounding them from all sides, and landing on his feet is a precarious thing at best, mostly because it’s—
Squishy. And the forms of impaled larvae wiggly weakly on his blade, unluckily impaled on the way down.]
Cloud—!
[Well, things are more complicated now. For when Sephiroth cranes his gaze upwards, eyes barely glow enough to pierce the gloom, he sees those insectoids begin their downwards crawl into the hole they’ve fallen through.]
[Just a moment, he's trying to pull his foot out of another unfortunate, unfortunate larva. He's, regrettably ankle-deep in this thing's white, mushy, cold insides, and after his foot's out-]
-Shit.
[True enough, the creatures are coming, through ...thankfully, the size of them seems to be holding them up. The hole that was left behind by both men is too small for them to fit through without major wriggling and major widening, after all- and both holes, the dim gloom peeking through is more or less engulfed by the first... third of two creatures as they peek into each hole, receptively.
It would be a blessing. Or a small one, anyway, save for the fact that the ground above sure as hell isn't solid. It's only a few moments before more dirt, more sludge, and more disgusting, pulpy matter rains down on their heads.
And what's not a blessing...
It's dark. He can barely see what's happening, but there's an acrid smell, harsh enough to pierce the background stench of rot, waste, and decay. He's vaguely wet, he's sure, and the sensation is like walking through mist.
...If mist felt fizzy. To most people, what had just happened would probably be devastating. Most people would likely feel discomfort, burning, and they'd sure as hell have the urge to scratch their skin off. But most people don't have the sort of cellular reinforcement, the sort of vitality, this pair have. Should Sephiroth get doused as well, he'd likely feel it popping, vaguely, on his skin. Yet his skin would not be damaged.
Cloud, though. He's doused all right, and he can feel his clothes seem to grow hard, like fabric browns when glanced over with a lighter. He's got no idea what it is. But a shaking- a deep tremor in this room is far more important. It takes a few seconds, sure, since the acid mist filled the air.
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[CLOSED] Prompto;
It's a lot of things. The aesthetic of the city, with cobblestoned streets, horses and carriages mixed with the industrial nature of the place reminds him, vaguely, of Midgar's upper plate, and the way that the locals, even after all of the time they'd had to get used to them still rub him the wrong way with their stares and their remarks about monsters- and honestly, the fact his lupine ears mean he can pick up the faintest whisper hasn't helped in that regard.
But. He's here.
The photo place isn't that hard to find. As mentioned, it's bang in the middle of town, and it doesn't take long to get there. And as he enters, with a swing of the door and maybe even a bell chime from one affixed to the back of it-]
I'm looking for a guy called Prompto.
[Brisk. Direct. To the point. But maybe his eyes widen as he takes sight of the man that was also a shibe. For no reason at all. Nope.]
...You know where he is?
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Though this guy's looks a bit less gelled.]
Thaaat's me. How can I help ya?
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[They're about the same height too. Weird. This guy though, he's not like him. He's outwardly cheerful, even downright sunny. But that's not important. He tries not to linger, instead making his way to the counter, allowing his gaze to drift to the assorted bits and bobs, and all of the merchandise behind it.]
I spoke to you on the network. ...Mostly about your chocobo. I'm Cloud. You wanted to go hunting, right?
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He grins when the guy gives his name.]
Yeah, or at least run with you while you hunt. Not, uh, not too sure how good I'll be at the hunting.
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[That question comes first. A few others come to mind, sure, but that's most important. As well as something else.]
...I don't remember anything when I change. Pretty sure I don't act like myself too. You sure you want to do this?
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[CLOSED] Scáthach;
It wasn't as if monsters were argumentative by their nature. Just... territorial, sometimes, and some of them? They hated each other just because. It seemed to be that way for Cloud, anyway. Not long after he'd walked inside, bought himself a drink and settled into some corner of the bar (...half wondering how the hell he was to identify the hound which had spoken to him without knowing anything about them) he finds himself approached by another turnskin.
Not a hound. More like a tiger, if the scent and the eyes were anything to go by. And there's a saying about cats and dogs.
He's not happy he's been approached by some asshole looking for a fight, sure. But there's something else, too. Something he can't explain, can't even really understand. Something that gets his fists clenched and his heart rate up, even if he's doing his very best to seem surly, disinterested.]
... I can smell at least five other canine turnskins here. [He states, lowly, carefully.] And you're going for me.
[He raises his eyes- too bright eyes to the tigerman.]
I get it. Pick a fight with the person you ain't seen here before, the one that probably doesn't have backup. Coward.
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Well. He was unspoken for only for a moment more, at least.
A woman seemed to just appear from behind the tiger, swinging a blood red actual spear to cross over the tiger's shoulders and slap into him, her leg kicking out his at the same time to send the giant brute crashing to the floor, drawing plenty of eyes to the scene.
The woman, her tail wagging and her laughter brought, spun the spear back around to rest on her shoulder, stepping on the tiger's stomach and digging her heel in, just slightly. ]
Ah, Tim, what have I told you time and again about bullying the newbies? The owner's gonna have your tongue for it. I think only buying the whole room a round will make up for it this time...
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But that's not what happens. Stupid as the man is, obnoxious as he is, ...as disgusting smelling as he is, he's damn good cover. He's broad. Burly, one might say, and tall besides. So as the spear's shaft strikes him squarely between the shoulders, he doesn't fall forward to crush Cloud underneath his bulk. He whirls around, or attempts to- before the woman's kick forces his knees to buckle, forces him backward.
Her heel is planted squarely on him, preventing him from getting up. And normally, Cloud would take it as a cue to leave. Let the both of them do whatever roughhousing they wanted, it was none of his concern anyway.
...But he doesn't. Mainly because now, he smells hound.]
Pass. [At the upcoming drink offer.] I don't want anything from someone like him.
[And. With her foot still on his gut:]
We talked on the network.
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[ Tim gathered up himself, and his shattered dignity, and grumbled off to leave them be. He knew better than to try his luck with that woman...
Scathach, for her part, settled herself down at the table Cloud had been sitting at, signaling for her drink to be brought over. From that close, her features were more obvous. He drooping ears matched her hair so well as to nearly be unseen, but patches of fur still peaked up over the loose collared blouse she wore. ]
I could tell from just the way you stood there against him you're no slouch. He would never have seen the first blow from you coming...
[ Her instincts were sharp, as well... ]
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[CLOSED] Tifa;
He's there tired, sure. He's there borderline exhausted, actually. But he's there, having got the location of Tifa and Aerith's place from Zack as he travelled. And he's letting himself in, not giving a damn for conventional manners associated with knocking at someone's door. Nope.]
Tifa?
[They hadn't taken her to the Coven, had they?]
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Hi, Cloud. Welcome back.
[ The tiredness doesn't prevent her from trying to stand tall, one hand propped up against the doorway in an effort to support herself. She doesn't know exactly what Aerith told Cloud, only that the magic has been getting the best of her. And despite all that, she'd rather not appear as weak as she feels. ]
You came a long way, right? Do you want something to drink?
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[His tone is distracted, voice distant, eyes wide. Honestly? He wanted a drink. A lot, actually- as well as something to eat, some way to ease the ache in his legs, the vague pain in his feet. But none of that matters. Not at seeing her. Maybe it's the animal side of him that sees it- maybe it's the human side. He doesn't know.
But there's her. Tired-looking, but strong, resolute. Her stance only betrayed by the expression in her eyes- something wavering. But then there's something else- a kind of aura. Something that makes the light bend around her just so- something that wasn't right.
He steps forward, not even bothering to take off his boots. (Sorry, Aerith.)]
You shouldn't be up.
Did you take that temporary bond potion? [Had it expired? He didn't know she'd done exactly as he said. But the way she looks...] All of it?
[Perhaps he's being a bit forceful. But he can't help it. Not when panic's rapidly rising to his throat.]
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Perhaps it's a way of placating his worries, or maybe it's the guilt acting, but once he's inside, Tifa doesn't hesitate to lead the way back into the kitchen so she can sit down at the small table again, once again nodding her answer to his question. ]
I took it. All of it. I'm... a lot better than I was before I did.
[ It's not something of which she's particularly proud. But it is the truth.
Tifa sighs. ]
I'm sorry. I should have said something before it got this bad.
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[CLOSED] Geralt of Rivia;
Maybe he'd remember the presence as something that occassionally ventured into the outskirts of the grounds he'd chosen as his- there briefly, fleetingly. Something hesitant, something that never allowed their paths to cross. It's still hesitant. It could have been noted a few times as it enrouches on neutral territory, and its hesitance would perhaps indicate that it wanted no part of any meeting.
But it's there.
Should Geralt follow its scent, track its movements and find it, it would be in a clearing. The creature is almost certainly a wolf- that's for sure- but it's smaller than others of its kind. Its fur is, like most wolves, its summer coat, a bright blonde, with darker patches only visible at the base of its tail. Yet its eyes are unusual. The wolf's eyes are an unnaturally bright blue- practically glowing in the dim light.
And the wolf spies him.
From where it had been absently smelling the ground, it raises its head, and its lips curl upward in a faint snarl.]
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Besides. He's curious if the Turnkskin he'd spoken to might make an appearance. A few Turnskins have crossed his path. None have been a wolf like him.
Well. Almost like him. Not quite. The wolf he sees in the distance is smaller than he expects. Geralt, by contrast, is larger than most wolves, thick coat a shining white under the moonlight except where scars have left the fur missing. His medallion circles his neck -- an emblem those who've met him before might find familiar.
The Turnskin hadn't said who he was when he'd asked for company. It's the eyes that clue him in: that luminescent blue. There are only two people here who share that color. Not entirely a stranger of a Turnskin, then. Even if he knows more of Cloud through Zack than through Cloud himself.
Geralt takes a single step forward before stopping as the wolf lifts its head. He tilts his own head, watching with ears perked. Hard to say how much of himself Cloud retains on the full moons. He waits instead, sitting down to let the other Turnskin examine him at will. Just in case his size comes off as a threat by itself. ]
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That's confusing, and the smaller one seems confused. It doesn't take its eyes off the larger one. It knows, well, not to do that- lest it invite teeth at its neck or claws. It hesitates though. Its gums retract over its teeth, and it paces from side to side, breath coming out of its nose in a faint mist against the cold air.
It doesn't know what to do.
This large wolf seems benign. It seems content to just stay there, and it shows no signs of aggression. So, what seems like inch by inch, the smaller one paws its way over, raising its snout as it does.
This wolf smells okay.
He can't see teeth, can't hear a growl, and doesn't detect any malice. So as he gets closer, it's not without a faint, small sound.
...Yes, he borked.
If he remembered anything about this? He'd probably dig himself a hole.]
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The sound Cloud makes is friendly enough. Geralt's tail thumps once on the ground before he gets up. Seems he's been accepted. That's all he needs to be going. The moons make him restless.
When he speaks, his voice is even rougher than his usual, jagged around the edges. ]
This way. [ He turns around. He's been through enough full moons by now to know a Monster can't always talk during a shift. Worth a try, though. Maybe Cloud at least understands the words. ] You remember me?
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[CLOSED] Zack;
There's pacing in the hallway, and then a bang as the creature forces its way into Zack's room by pushing its face against the door until it gives way. More pacing, probably in a circle, and then...
Well, the bed sags- combined weight and all. There's a faint sensation of something cold and wet at the back of Zack's neck as the creature huffs in his scent, and that's followed up by a series of scratches to his shoulder, intended to rouse.
....The scratching. It's wet.
Something doesn't smell good, either...
What do.]
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It doesn't make the transformation any easier. While Zack has less additional parts to gain now than he did when he first came here, there's still the pesky problem of his wings, which grow out of his back with no small amount of violence each and every time.
Tonight is no different, though Zack knows how to prepare now. He pulls off his shirt and sits in the bathroom when it happens. The blood is easier to clean that way.
After that, the easiest thing to do is try and sleep it off, assuming he can get himself relaxed enough to actually fall asleep in the first place. He's laid on his side in his bed, wings half hanging off, and just starting to drift off when—
He hears it, hurried footsteps approaching. The bang of the door slamming open causes him to tense, but he doesn't even have the time to sit up before he's got a sizable wolf climbing into the bed with him and sniffing away. One of those paws almost scratches near his shoulderblade, and Zack has to twist awkwardly to try and avoid any crushing of feathers. ]
Hey, buddy.
[ What is that smell. Oh boy. ]
What's going on?
[ This is only Zack's second encounter with Cloud in his full turnskin form, and he does want to encourage him to feel comfortable doing this. But some kind of warning would have been nice... ]
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Hey, why're you twisting yourself up like that. Why can he smell blood. Why does something on your shoulder look like an injury. Hey, he can make it better.
His ears tilt forward curiously, and he parks his back end onto the bedsheets (and hey. Probably Zack's legs.) to sniff at his back. A series of light, small sniffs dances around the area of which one wing protrudes, and then a heavy huff.
....And yes. Mlems. They're probably uncomfortable. Possibly even painful. But he can't help it. He really, truly believes he's helping. And yes. As Zack's eyes get used to the dark, maybe he'd find the source of the smell.
And maybe his bed's covered in mud.]
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Look, I'm fine, really —
[ But as Zack gets a better look, fully waking up, he can now see that the wolf's legs are covered in mud, which is being tracked all over the place. He'd take this over blood every time, but it does mean that he is yet again faced with the ordeal of having to clean it all up come morning.
So he can't quite hold back on a frustrated groan. Cloud, buddy, he loves you, but they really need to work out a better system for this... ]
You know, if you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask.
[ At this point he gives up on any thoughts of sleep and shifts around until he can sit up, his wings fanning out on the bed behind him. A small laugh escapes him as he shakes his head at his visitor. ]
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[CLOSED] Sephiroth / Monster tree.
i) beginning.
Should Sephiroth, in particular, decide his wings should bear the burden, should he decide to fly, he wouldn't get anywhere easily. The woodland is that thick, it appears that there isn't even a faint breeze, let alone any sort of upcurrent he could use to get himself aloft.
And it's darker.
Darker, and darker, and darker it gets, until when it appears that night has already fallen, they see it.
It was once a tree. A great oak tree, should either of them have any knowledge of botany, but it hardly matters should they not. It is no longer anything natural. It is dead, long dead, and now it is little more than a vessel for new life.
It seems to move. But it is not moving. The movement is the creatures, the smallest of which, the workers, about the size of large dogs. They burrow in it, out of it, cover every square inch of it with activity, taking what rotten strips of bark they can peel off it within their gigantic mandibles and scurrying inside- replaced with another instant later.
It's disgusting.
The smell of dead tree, Cwyld, and their activity is almost gag-inducing.
But where there are workers, there are soldiers.
The soldiers of which are alerted. The size of horses- the creatures trundle, in uniform, toward the pair.
Instantly, from beneath both men's feet, the ground gives way.
And they fall. Through mud, through sludge, through loose earth and through some foul substance, before they land.
They're underground.
It's pitch-black.
And all around them is squirming with bright white, squirming, larvae. Each is shrieking in a tone perhaps too high-pitched to be observed by (mostly)human ears. But if one could perceive it- it would not be pleasant.]
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And then the chittering. The movement. All of it upon them in the blink of an eye, things with too many legs, twisted by the Cwyld, and looking to punish trespassers. Sephiroth readies Masamune, opens his mouth to utter a command to Cloud with his wings flared—
And the world falls out from beneath their feet.
And instead of black, they’re surrounded by white. White and wiggling, larvae surrounding them from all sides, and landing on his feet is a precarious thing at best, mostly because it’s—
Squishy. And the forms of impaled larvae wiggly weakly on his blade, unluckily impaled on the way down.]
Cloud—!
[Well, things are more complicated now. For when Sephiroth cranes his gaze upwards, eyes barely glow enough to pierce the gloom, he sees those insectoids begin their downwards crawl into the hole they’ve fallen through.]
Above us.
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[Just a moment, he's trying to pull his foot out of another unfortunate, unfortunate larva. He's, regrettably ankle-deep in this thing's white, mushy, cold insides, and after his foot's out-]
-Shit.
[True enough, the creatures are coming, through ...thankfully, the size of them seems to be holding them up. The hole that was left behind by both men is too small for them to fit through without major wriggling and major widening, after all- and both holes, the dim gloom peeking through is more or less engulfed by the first... third of two creatures as they peek into each hole, receptively.
It would be a blessing. Or a small one, anyway, save for the fact that the ground above sure as hell isn't solid. It's only a few moments before more dirt, more sludge, and more disgusting, pulpy matter rains down on their heads.
And what's not a blessing...
It's dark. He can barely see what's happening, but there's an acrid smell, harsh enough to pierce the background stench of rot, waste, and decay. He's vaguely wet, he's sure, and the sensation is like walking through mist.
...If mist felt fizzy.
To most people, what had just happened would probably be devastating. Most people would likely feel discomfort, burning, and they'd sure as hell have the urge to scratch their skin off. But most people don't have the sort of cellular reinforcement, the sort of vitality, this pair have. Should Sephiroth get doused as well, he'd likely feel it popping, vaguely, on his skin. Yet his skin would not be damaged.
Cloud, though. He's doused all right, and he can feel his clothes seem to grow hard, like fabric browns when glanced over with a lighter. He's got no idea what it is. But a shaking- a deep tremor in this room is far more important. It takes a few seconds, sure, since the acid mist filled the air.
But something's coming.]
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