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The Very Act of Being [Open]
Topic Started: Jun 24 2013, 10:21 PM (227 Views)
Zeke
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Newborn
Zeke had been in Blackwater, Tennessee for going on a week but the town grew no more familiar, only stranger. It wasn't an inviting place, from the fierce thickets of pines to the darkened gravel roads that dipped over hills and disappeared into the mountains high reaches, it felt like a land made to conceal secrets. Swallowing them up, offering only the answers one could find on their own.

He felt claustrophobic and ached for the wide open spaces of home. The simple luxury of watching the sun rise and fall, knowing when the day was begun and ended.The mountains were too close; they trapped him, everything was too small, too much in one space. Freed from one jail cell, Zeke found himself within another, only this time it was of his own choosing.

Dreams were invaded by images of fire, a child's high pitched cries, a grief so profound it curdled the marrow in his bones and strangled his magic.

Every single light bulb in the cabin had been burst and he knew the sisters grew tired of his sobbing in the night. Three was a crowd and a depressed wizard was an unwelcome guest.

So, he tries to stay out of the house as much as possible. In a land of pine needles and with a skyline that looked like teeth in the mouth of a wolf, he tends to what he knows. A modest garden situated at the edge of the backyard, well mulched, well loved and in serious need of weeding. In the evening, he had witnessed Sabra spreading mulch around the plants, patting it down with small tan hands. Her young son played out here, toys strewn around in the grass and he had even seen Vianne, the youngest of them, plucking green tomatoes off the vine to fry. In a way, the garden seemed to symbolize both the sisters' need to nurture, and their inability to dedicate enough time. You could plant the seeds in Spring, but you had to be there in the Summer to water them, to give them the nutrients they needed and chase away the pests.

Between comically oversized fingers, Zeke squishes potato bugs, some darker portion of himself enjoying the way a smaller creature fell to his might. Then the sadness comes, as it often does at the slightest beckoning. A memory of Arnve mourning the insects' death in his own garden, asking him why they couldn't share in a few potato plant's leaves. Was the world not large and bountiful? She had spoken of greed and the uncompromising nature of humans, their inability to share.

He smiles and brushes dirty hands over his eyes, wiping away tears.
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Sulla
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Decisions like this are made only with alcohol in the system.

The teenager is braced against the large leather seats of the red Ford as if somehow that will keep him from being impaled against a tree. As he tries to cling to the seat for dear life he also tries to keep some of his fleeting dignity. His back is straight, his eyes are forward and alert which slowly draw to the blurry figure with a beer bottle to his lips and a shaky hand to the wheel. Giles should not be driving but getting the wheel from him is easier said than done.

Tires and brakes squeal as Giles hits the brake harder than he hits Sulla, which in all honesty is saying something. He tears up road, gravel, and whatever else is under his wheels as he pulls up to the small cabin. The house is a small and cozy. Nothing about it draws attention like it should. If there something close to a supernatural-dar this should have been sending red flags but it does not. It does not draws one eyes and you could only find it if you know where you were going. It is in this little home that hell was about to be raised and brought to the light.

Sulla has spent most of the trip trying to calmly speak him down. He tries to get him to realize winning Billy over is going to take over a hundred steps back if he does this and Sulla is already pretty sure Giles is in the negative steps (not that he would tell him that anyway). It is all useless, Giles in a drunken fury makes a woman’s scorn look like a slight glare. He is smarter than Giles and is well aware trying to talk him down is about as useful as the drunk in any mood at math, which is to say useless. There is something quite different about the youth and his new fatherly figure though; Sulla can feel guilt and shame where Giles does not. He could not rest this night knowing he did not try to at least save the poor wizard that decided to shack up in this little southern hellhole.

Shiny chrome finally pulls to a halt under moonlight after destroying whatever is beneath it. What rage has been bubbling behind the wheel is ready to let go. Sulla knows it is better to not try and lock the doors. He tried that once and had watched as the angry Scandinavian hulk quite literally ripped off the truck door. ”Giles, just take a minute to-“ he ducks missing the beer bottle that goes straight through the window and shatters glass. The blond man is the most predictable sociopath Sulla believes has ever walked the earth. His window is still breaking into a million pieces as Giles throws his door open and slams it without using his hands. Giles is storming off as he is trying to get the door open. His hand is filled with glass but he has no clue. He gets the door open, feet giving off cracks as Sulla storms right after the magician.

Doors swing open suddenly and dramatically. A gust of air flows cross the floor and electricity as black as the coldest night in the middle of the sea jumps from the door’s hinges. ”WHERE IS HE,” Giles screams and Sulla can hear Malphas bubbling below. There is power in his force and something is slowly drifting into his eyes as the prettiest blues you would ever see become engulfed in a darker blue much more matching to a crow. Sulla can barely keep up as energy blasts off him like a black-powder cannon in waves.

Nothing can tame Giles now. Giles is angry and pissed. There is an underlying hurt beneath layers and layers of complex insanity. He fears nothing more than being replaced like a broken down toy when it comes to Billy. He cannot stand the idea of anyone, much less a lady getting the better of him. He refuses to be disposed of, not when he has this much tied into things. He will never let Billy get the upper hand. The demonic vessel must always be on top. He was the first to dream, the first to give a voice and he won’t let that be striped of him.

She puts him in a vulnerable position he has been in before. He can still remember clearly drunken days with cigarettes and a woman’s runny massacre. He can remember the days his heart beat faster. He can also remember the day when he woke up with a baby in his arms and no woman by his side. It was the only and last time he refused to be used. He will always force himself to be on top, come hell or high water. Underneath his tantrum is a sickening paranoia that eats like a hungry wolf. Giles fears of being replaced and used. Women tend to know how to pull at his heartstrings and he hates it.

HE WILL NOT BE USED

HE WILL ONLY USE.


They both can feel it, the throbbing of power of another of their kind. Sulla cannot disguise it though he wishes with all his might he could. Giles turns his directions to head towards the back door of the cabin, destroying anything in his path along the way. The young man tries his best to calm the drunken wizard down but his head is made of steel, steel that does not allow in sound. He is a bull whose ears have been plugged with the cotton. There is nothing he can do as doors blast open and things blast out of the way.

Sulla does not even notice that electricity bounces around their feet and electrocutes his. It is ebony in color and looks a lot like static electricity accept for the fact it mimics electric eels becoming flying fish with the floor their ocean.

The cabin back door blasts open, the wind gushing. Electricity and energy bounces all over and Giles is practically glowing. Sulla’s hairs are beginning to stand on end and some of the strands of his hair had fallen out of the shortest ponytail a person has ever seen.

”Giles stop it!” he yells as he grabs his arm. He is thrown back into the cabin, propelled by magic hard in the gut until he hits the wall and goes right through it. He sees stars for a few moments though he feels no pain. The cabin door throws itself shut and locks as he tries to regain his wits.

But Giles is not done, especially not with this poor giant in the garden.

The angriest wizard of all sends electricity at him but it is powerful and elaborate. It rips up the ground like a hungry tornado does a town, shooting at him as energy dives in and out of the ground before going right for its target.
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Vianne
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Newborn
Lord knows where the scraggly beast of a wolf had scrounged up a milk carton, but Vianne sure has it now. Hidden up under the house, she's cozy in her little makeshift den, and chewing to her heart's content.

After a reaching tongue fails to lap up the shallow pool of stale milk through the spout, teeth pop holes in the battered plastic. They crunch and gnaw while clumsy paws rattle the jug against dirt, rock, and shattered pieces of ceramic. It's no concern of hers as to who might hear the clattering death of a carton.

Gnawing it's pinched sides, Vianne's a mess of shedding, happy wolf. Her beast has the oddest tastes, and right now she wants the curdled remains that sit stuck to the bottom of the jug. It's a grand game, though the tantalizing smell of spoiled milk teases her senses.

Chewing only succeeds to further mutilate the plastic container, but she can't reach the sour prize she seeks. Not yet. The wolf could easily rip into the thing, shred it to bits (and she will), but half the fun is in playing with it.

It's a glorious, wonderful toy she has. Perhaps she ought to show it off. Surely, they'll be jealous!

So the ginger wolf picks up her slobbery mess of mangled plastic, and worms her way out through the cleverly concealed hole beneath the front porch. Lanky legs lurch forwards, and the beast searches for sisters. Wouldn't the wolves think this is a grand plaything! Lookit what sissy has~

Instead, she finds Zeke. Oh, that's disappointing; a human can't appreciate the simple splendor of a twisted piece of plastic. He's not pack, but he's protected, and that much can get through the animal's head.

He's yet to meet the wolf, and the woman behind those eyes doesn't know much more than it. Other than the fact that he is a sad, unassuming sort of fellow. Zeke has stuck to the corners, likely overwhelmed by the chaotic order of their house that is nothing but routine to them. Vianne has noticed his discomfort. Little escapes the youngest's eyes, even now, as he crouches in their little garden... It's a good corner to hide in, a favorite among the sisters.

The wolf, however, thinks in simpler terms. He's somebody new, which warrants pestering. The ginger beast treads through the bushes by the house, only to pause and watch a second wizard with vague curiosity until...

A boy's blown back inside the cabin, and hackles raise as magic flies. Teeth snap shut on a crinkling milk carton, sound crudely offset in the tension and rippling current of energy. Violet eyes stare warning at Giles, and a tail raises slow.

Just who's land they be on anyway?
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Billy
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Alpha dog.
They make do, as they always have.

Making hard decisions sometimes without entirely considering the consequences. Zeke's arrival is a small conquer. Without the convincing of a much younger werewolf - who wasn't maybe as morally jaded as Billy - the wizard would have been out on his own. Unprotected and wild. As far as the blonde was concerned his fate was left to Ludmilla and Lyra. Not her. But Vianne had a way with words (or was it favors?) that'd in the end had her huffing and stomping but reconsidering when she'd been done alpha-posturing. The ginger had won, calling out the alpha's tell.

The victory is already more trouble than it should be.

Zeke is quiet and polite, and a lot scared. She should probably have a quiet one on one with him soon. Tell him how it is and how things work here. But she's too busy, too bitter, and too heavy. Ignoring his presence entirely seems like a better idea. Let him fly on by and through. It was only for a short time. Just enough to get things sorted out with whoever he'd pissed off.

Although, the sphinx owing her a favor was a good card to keep up her sleeve;admittedly. One that'd been the winning piece in Vianne's deck, after all.

Today is a relatively calm day. It's one of her days off and she's relaxing in her room. Reorganizing things scantily. This goes here - that goes there. It's a small reassurance, a small level of control in her elsewise hectic life and she's happy with it and the privacy. Sabra is on schedule to handle any wolf business today and it's a much needed moment of breath.

But really, Giles storming in, destroying their front door, trying to slaughter their charge, yeah, that's a normal day for the Blackwater ragtag crew though, isnt it?

"Are you fucking kiddin --!" Billy says, all spitting and coiling snake as she rushes into the scene. Accessing it. Giles has already thrown a ball of raw magic, and Vianne is hovering in her wolf form nearby, sensing the magic and baring her teeth. Billy feels it too -- wolves and magic were like static electricity. You knew before you touched it you were going to be shocked but still got startled when you were.

In a instinctive sound and whistle she summons the ginger werewolf closer to her, the action may be moot with any other wolf in human form. They'd jump at her throat just as quickly as she'd go for theirs in the same position. But Vianne was a lot more stable and friendlier than the others, had this have been a Briggs book she would have been the rare and cherished omega. A sunflower in a field of dandelions.

"Giles," Billy risk saying, probably a little bit flabbergasted and jittery. The wolf in her is bucking in it's reigns, and the magic calls to the change with kind. Magic for magic. But Billy is too afraid to change. If Vianne is the wag-tail slobber hound, Billy is the old crazy wildcard dog. Listening to you one minute and letting you pet it behind the ears then turning on you with sharp teeth. Changing would put anyone here in danger -- and Blackwater could not afford two wildcards under one roof. "Giles!" she tries again. Desperate fury that nears him the same way she'd near a wounded animal.

And be it he lets her get near enough, she set's her hand on his arms -- softly, smoothly -- a attempt at reassurance, a quiet voice that's every bit as manipulative as he may think. "Talk to me." She whines. Pauses. "Please? In private?"

She has learned when it comes to the witch, it's better to catch more flies with honey than vinegar. As angry as he was, always up for usurper her, putting her down, balling his magic up like fist and raising them in promise of descent -- he had a soft spot and she knew it. A weird disturbing fondness that made the details of their skinny relationship even more dangerous than it already was. Particularly more on her half. She was grateful for him, he'd help locate her during her kidnapping those years ago. One of the first faces she'd seen angry and possessive. And if there was one thing sure about Giles there was that he could hurt her, he could threaten her, he could put her in danger -- but if anyone else did? They had hell reigning down on them. Literally.

It's a selfish love on his part, and where it's sometimes flattering and entirely useful. As much as there are perks there are it's downsides.

His misguided jealousy, one of them.
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Zeke
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Magic has a distinctive feel. It is emotion and will spun into pure energy. A force of both potential creation and destruction. Zeke remembers the first spell he cast, the way it made him want to take a century long nap, sapped him of all strength, and how it exhilarated him, made a skinny, gangly child of nine gasp with the sheer joy of it.

There wasn't much magic left in him these days.

Arnve had taught him most of what he knew. She had been his teacher before she was his lover, although somehow over the years those roles had blended seamlessly together. It seemed like sacrilege to use that power now, after he had burned their home down, murdered with it, sullied something that had been so pure once. Being a wizard had started all of this, and maybe if he ignored it for long enough his magic would wither and die. If it went away, maybe he could have Arnve back.

Maybe the Council would leave him alone and maybe the Fates and Lyra and Malakai would let him go back to Montana where he belonged.

Another potato bug is crushed to death, coinciding with the crunch of gravel beneath furious tires. Zeke straightens to his full height, dropping the carcass of the beetle. He can hear the scrambling of claws over dirt and rock, the rhythmic pant of a dog--or not a dog, it was hard to tell in this place. Glass shatters, someone yells, and two men advance from a car parked haphazardly out front. He cringes mightily, reaching for the charred staff leaned against the cabin's side. His stomach does flips that an acrobat would be proud of, and against all odds, something like self preservation flickers to life inside his chest.

Fear.

He thought there would be no fear left after what the Fae and the wizards did to him, but it is a hardy emotion, resisting all endeavors to smother it. Someone screams again and chills race down his spine. There were only two males who lived in the cabin, a four year old toddler and him. Zeke doubted anyone would be after Sabra's son. That left only one possibility. The Council was after him. They had discovered he was alive, someone was coming to kill him. Panic wells, heart forcing its way up his esophagus and he grips the oak staff, wanting to scream too, add his voice to the cacophony that grips the once quiet home.

One desire streaks through his mind, flashing in bright neon letters.

/I DO NOT WANT TO DIE/

It's a surprise, more than anything. He had accepted his death sentence before, planned to go before the axe with something akin to dignity, but now that death comes knocking, screeching, howling in madness, he wants to run.

A tall man, slick haired man bursts through the back door, Billy's voice echoing around him. The hair on the back of Zeke's neck picks up with the crackle of electricity in the air. He was from plains country, he knew the wild power of lightning, it's ability to cleave a hundred years old oak into splinters or kill half a herd of Angus cattle.

"IGNIS!" He roars, baritone booming, the tip of his staff thrust forward, an inferno rushing forward to meet lightning. The two elements meet in a blaze of crackling electricity and flames. The sheer force of impact moves him back, nearly trips him over the raised beds of the garden, but he manages to keep his balance, watching as electricity and fire battle for a brief moment in time and then gutter out, leaving a trail of blackened earth from the row of tomatoes, now baked to a crispy brown, to the last step of the back door. His eyes hurt from the bright light of the spectacle and the air around them reeks with burnt hair.

Smoke billows from the earth and Zeke coughs hard, panic surfacing in the place of power, exhaustion threatening to add more grey hair to his temples. No, no, no, no, no, this is what happened last time. They were taking Arnve away again. His daughter, their little girl. They would shackle him again, they were going to murder his little girl and make him watch and the world was going to burn and Arnve was gone. Arnve was gone. Arnve was gone and she was never coming back and he was alone.

Alone.

He crumples to his knees, the staff clattering against the baked yard, a cry issuing from his throat, such a small, strangled thing coming from such a large man. Zeke buries his face in his hands and gasps in the thick air, shoulders quivering, tears making the ashes stick to his cheeks.

"Arnve."
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Giles
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Anger is something Giles has become known for. He is a machine because emotions go in and come pouring out like hot lava in the shape of anger. He is swallowed by it, this jealously gone wrong into pure wrath. Thoughts stop. His vision is spotty on the edges, black all around as it thrums. His head sizzles with Malphas’ push he seems to literally boil under the anger. When he shoots that lightening, there is fair bit of force behind it but also nothing but anger. Anger becomes sweet violence and they dance like lovers under the moonlight. Logic is lost and all he desires is blood, destructive blood that lacks reasons. The devil in his head is cozied up on his couch though, fueling it like a man adding gasoline to a miles long wildfire.

The archaic thing dreams of wrath gone wrong, for an annoying bug to be crushed as Billy and Vianne appear, the latter first. Giles does not notice them, refuses to even acknowledge them. He feels their presences, and understands they are there but refuses to take notice. He refuses, too swallowed in by the anger to care. There is not one fuck given about the girls, or the woman and her dog as that furious energy rips through the garden. He is like a king on a power high mixed in with bloodlust. Whatever chains had held back Cerberus are broken, and the hellhound was out to play.

Billy is screaming at him, yelling her little lungs off at him but he is not catching anything she is saying. She can hear the noise coming out of her mouth but there are no words there. Giles is furious, painfully furious to the point he does not understand English. He is hearing the words but he is not getting the sound. Somewhere in that blaze of words he finally hears the new wizard scream something. It is the first word he has ever heard out of the tallest man he has seen to date.


”IGNIS!”

Fire meets lightening and it is a blast of power. It fizzles out, both counteracting each other but Giles is sent into a more furious anger. His lip draws back even, in almost a snarl. He desires nothing more than to destroy. Giles is the point where he wishes for nothing more than to flatten the land like a nuclear bomb before walking away to get a few more beers. Zeke saves himself but Giles takes it as a direct challenge. He has always preferred the dog that rolls over and bears it belly to the sun.

”Whatcha think you’re fucking doing boy!” He yells, throwing his arm in a gesture to break the ground beneath his feet. There is nothing more than fueled anger. His power is bubbling to the surface to show its true colors. ”What’du fucking doing here boy!” He screams with the chest deep voice, throwing his arms to the side to send impaling energy with only a slightly resemble to electricity. The power throbs in his fingers and on his hand, manifesting so readily it oozes out of him. Black sparks jump from his fingers. It is survival of the fittest and the tank has every attention to rise.

Nothing but anger and power is flowing out of him. His magic is full to the brim, fueled by his anger and the sudden release. Like a cup that keeps having too much water poured into it Giles overflows. It sparks out of his fingers, electricity dances at their feet and everyone around him; Vianne, Zeke, Billy even his beloved “son” Sulla would feel their heart beat race by not their own agenda. It sends worry into Sulla’s spine though his face does not show it. Giles does not even know he is doing it, the energy just pouring out and looking for outlets. He is too angry to differentiate between one person and the next. He would only take notice he was doing it if Zeke blocked it only try to send that influence at the poor son of a bitch harder. All he wants is the lanky tree’s blood all over the potato leaves.

He is about to send a much truer blow but Billy approaches.

Silky smooth hands place themselves on his arm and he swings around. His eyes are intense with that odd mixture of that deep blue that isn’t his and his own eye color. His arms are out instinctively, making Giles who is nothing but muscles seem even bigger. His hands are balled up into fists by instincts too. He is ready for a fight but is looking down at the petite figure and a familiar face. Her brown eyes look up at him and her lips slowly let out words as smooth as grandma’s honey. ”Talk to me.” Giles freezes. His attacks on Zeke stop though his unintentional outbursts do not, barely letting up. ”Please? In private?” She almost has him. Seconds slowly drip by like a faucet that has started to leak. He is about to give in, the tension in his muscles seeming to slightly loosen up.

Malphas has no intention of letting this die out that easy though.

The devil is quick to remind of Billy and their futile game of manipulation and control. Billy’s voice is awfully soft for her sort of personality and it becomes painfully clear he is being used. Something rolls into his face as it dawns on him, something sick and nasty. His pause is only the eye of the storm, a false hope in the midst of mayhem. Billy is trying to use him- no is using him. He flashes back to a woman’s false love and waking up to an empty bed and a newborn to take care of alone. Billy has him just like Candy, a dog too sick with puppy love to do anything. He is putty in her fingers and Malphas is quick to point out just why Giles has gone decades with his walls up to a species called women. Giles will not have that happen again. He was used once and it will never happen again. Women are disgusting pigs gifted with too much charm. The Scandinavian hybird is bound to always come up on top and he goes back, like a repeating record on using and not being used. He throws up his walls once again well armored.

It is in a split second shit finally hits the fan.

If Billy is watching closely she might notice as those eyes finally flicker to the darker blue. His eye color is swallowed just like him. The demonic witch decides he has had enough. It is time for this to end.

Giles throws energy, blasting Billy away and whoever else got too close. He stomps the ground, lightening shooting up and the garden cracking like it is stone beneath his feet. In his tantrum he finally sees a detail. He feels the overwhelming, depressed emotion that just comes in large waves from the taller figure. He has fallen to his knees like a shaky, crying child and e is moaning out, “Arnve.” It is the most pathetic sight he has seen in a long time. The wizard is the most pathetic excuse of one he has ever seen. ”Where the fuck did you pull this fucked up shit from? A fucking insane asylum!” He screams sending another bolt from hell at the trembling baby. Jumping to conclusion he yells again, blasting another round of energy, ”This a fucking insult to me fuckers! You got something to say to me you say it to my fucking FACE!”

He is well aware he is not a loved man. He knows most people think he is a crazy, insane fucker. So finding the most fucked up, weak chicken shit the market has to offer is taken as a direct insult. He knows he is the sort of asshole he himself would kill in the streets. Giles does not even like himself, much less expects other people to like him. Giles is taken in emotions and Malphas only fuels it. Malphas keeps reminding him, he is nothing but good power for Billy. Billy is nothing but an obstacle in the true demon’s path and he takes the opportunity to try and rid of her.

Giles has lost it, going quickly for Zeke’s heart and trying to play patty cake with it and some magic.

Stars finally stop swirling around his head. Sulla finally gets his head together only to make a vague sense of what Giles is doing. He knows this sort of rage. He has felt it in the blond man before. He cannot see it, only feel it and feeling it is scarier than seeing it. Angry tantrums are a common thing in the devil worshipper; it is just this kind of rage that tends to be far and few in between. He remembers back when Giles had fallen into the same sort of rage around him. Nothing was able to break him out of it. He knows this applies to this situation. The only way any of them had hope is if it Giles hit the ground cold.
Time is of the essence. Sulla knows Giles will quickly pick up on his thoughts if he does not act fast. The best way to handle this it to knock him out if only for a short while before being there right when he wakes up to talk him out of it. It is the only way he will ever listen. Sulla looks over, pulling whatever big object he can with his magic. It is a wooden chair. Giles is so caught up in destroying, storming towards Zeke as he plays with the poor man’s heart that he only registers Sulla’s magic and the fact his beloved, trusted son is attacking-

Hard wood smashes into his head and breaks. Giles suddenly goes cold and all his magic ceases to exist. He hits the ground with a loud thud as all that muscle comes to a cold, frozen halt.

The chaos ends when the towering devil falls.

Seconds drift by of pure silence. Sulla finally pulls himself out of the rubble. He is a mess, blood pouring down from where he hit and body beginning to swell and bruise. Splinters stick out of him and there is more than one as big as his finger. Magic quickly makes him stable as he calmly, with the utmost etiquette, walks out as a torn figure.

Emotions cease to exist on his face. His face is completely blank, a serious line for a mouth and his eyebrows do not even furrow. He does not scowl like Giles. He only ceases to show any emotion. Giles shows anger because it is all he knows, Sulla shows nothing because he knows better. He walks over to the door and looks at Giles who has bleeding temple. His breathing is there and his pulse is still moving. He does not wake up him, only stabilizes him.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Sulla is clueless to any of the pain. He has no idea how bad he is until he feels the tickle of blood running down his skin. He may feel fine but his body is not. Struggling with the strain his knees begin to shake and one of his legs buckle. Surprise drifts unseen under the surface as he slowly leans himself against the cabin’s entrance. He supposes it is not all that surprising considering he can feel the trickle of blood.

He would heal himself but there are more important matters to tend to.

”Is anyone hurt?” If someone answered he would make his way over and care for their wounds with the same sort of magic that had hurt them in the first place.
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Vianne
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Magic crackles, tendrils billowing as they implode upon themselves. Bared teeth meet the backlashing waves as they fizzle and pop, sputtering as they die. Chaos breeds chaos, and the actions of a wolf can only obey the natural order. Legs tense, like a bow on the draw, ready to inflict the damage a loosed arrow will bring. That is, until a beacon of order appears. A woman, but the wolf has a mind that can look beyond the flesh of a human disguise.

The animal has already discarded her silly little trinket of a milk jug before Billy can even whistle a summons. The moment she first notices her, the beast is listening for that shrill tune, then sidling up to a leg and hovering by a poised hip. Fur brushes against skin, and it's by choice alone she comes without hesitation.

Playful antics all abandoned, this is business, and of the dangerous sort at that. She follows Billy as she moves, gliding beside as easily as creek water flows.

Words mean little to a monster. Given all the cooing and whispers in the word, the wolf won't bat an eye. It understands the most basic of actions, and can only compare others to its primal self. She watches Giles with those beady blues. Daring. Go on son, act a fool, like a pup who has yet to learn his place beneath.

The looming wizard threatens their home, Billy, and the odd little whiney thing by the garden. A fluffy ear flicks to catch a sobbing breath. Acutely aware, she listens. The sound is not completely foreign to the creature. He sounds like the boy, almost- That little wild-haird Mowgli the ginger wolf so loves. Caden is a pup, a precious little thing, but the giant by the tomatoes is not their little wolves' child. The anguished cry sounds deceivingly close, and to the aunt's ears, it elicits that maternal response wild animals feel. It drives the instinct to nurture, to protect, and though the beast cannot remember all that has transpired to keep the sobbing wizard here, something has made him important.

Hackles raise at the rising tension in the air. More than promised hostility and brimming anger, it threatens to spill and overcome them all. A beast just as capable intends to meet it head on. Compared to the others, Vianne's an unnatural wolf where Billy and Sabra are concerned. Whether that be from the bond forged in blood or by fang stands uncertain.

A rush of pure energy can only be perceived as an attack on the alpha. In that instant, Giles ceases to be any sort of friend to Vianne's wolf.

A trigger pulled, the animal moves to block the woman's lower limbs from the sudden blast with it's body. Fangs bared, the hide of a wolf can handle more than the skin of a human. Still, it's a powerful blow, and having taken it in the side, the ginger wolf grunts through teeth. She's not immune to pain, and it's akin to being thumped solid with a bat in the gut. Paws scramble for balance and purchase in the dirt.

Stunned, a head shakes momentarily before whipping around to pinpoint a target. Giles.

The beast senses the shift that rides in on those words as bolts fly. The wolf snarls a response and strains against an unspoken command. Taunt limbs threaten to run, rip, and eliminate a threat.

She almost does, but a chair saves life and limb, as the wizard crumbles to the ground. Glaring, hackles high, and growling low in her throat, the wolf orders the unconscious man to stay put as an animal will when it thinks it's won. Then she snorts to prove a point before merely glancing at Sulla.

The wolf does not understand the following void created by the evaporation of magic and takes to Billy's side. Uncomfortable and side still aching somewhat, fur presses against her again.

A nose points in the direction of Zeke and sniffs, like she's subtly checking up.
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Billy
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Alpha dog.
Gile's has been much more of a liability than he has a assurance. Although there were advantageous ups to his horrific downs -- the rotten eggs in the basket smelled far to pungent to entirely ignore. Billy likes to think his saving grace is her undying patience, or maybe it's the fact he is a fairly powerful witch, or shit maybe she just likes the attention. But he was wobbling on shaky tilts, wolves hovering in puddles of blood below like sharks. And his weaknesses were her's. Had anyone saw a kink in their little impromptu relationship, butter and brick, wolves would rise from grave alike to throttle at her neck.

Keeping face was important, and she'd learned through time and experience that it didnt matter if you were surrounded by rival or friend. Reputation was important, particularly among wolves.

It's reputation that has Vianne hustling to her side, a quick second reflex that maybe saves Billy from else wise taking the blunt of a particularly scathing blow. She recoils hard enough, but not fast enough, and somewhere along the way she cuts open a nasty gash in her arm. But her adrenaline is pumping like acid through her blood and it's the temper of a werewolf that's got her arms curling and her back trembling.

Disgusting breaking sounds and muffled screams of result. Ricocheting like a ball on a wall Giles (or maybe Billy?) comes disastrously close to terminating whatever crudely drawn alliance she had with the blonde man. There were times his responses were humorous. Only because watching him try to comprehend emotion she so easily saw, she so easily fed on was watching a human try to fight it's nature. A dog try to resist a bone. But then there were times like this hot-blooded and quick lashing that reminded her that they were just two entirely different people who were not in any way functional together.

Despite her unlikely, ignored, and overlooked budding fondness.

Seven years of being a werewolf build up to pressure point, and whatever vomit is buried in her gullet she presses back inside with a slap of palm over her mouth. She doesnt know what she uses as her anchor anymore, hasnt known for years, she simply swallows down her monster. A trick that perhaps Giles might benefit from learning.

A little shaky, and maybe dizzy too. The blonde alpha is running her fingers through Vianne's fur, checking protectively for wound or break or bump, and it's by the grace of god that she finds nothing but sore skin and muscle. Her attention redirects from fond, concerned, selfless, and into the fury that her reputation speaks. Even with blood trickling down her arm and touching edge of her fingertip -- Giles is lucky he's knocked out cold, sparred the sharp rash of Billy's wrath.

She approaches Sulla, sidesteps Vianne, leans past Giles. Fire eyes lingering cold, disastrous, and unreadable she reaches for Sulla with her clean hand -- elbow stretching -- and quietly clasps him by the neck. Holds and presses.

"Get out." she says stark. Much more of a warning than a threat, Vianne is dangerous, she is dangerous, and Zeke is dangerous and right now their common enemy was out for the count. It would be too easy to snap her fingers, watch Vianne tear holes lip to belly button. She has the feathers to fly. She has the temper to match. "Take em' with you. Expect me later.' And releases her hold, just like that.

It's her wolves arrogance, a debt owed , or maybe his worth -- that saves Sulla from a horrible, gut wrenching, but probable death alongside his fallen comrade.

Billy does not intend on repeating herself.

And if the boy argues, the queen of wolves lifts her head in a threatening loom, displays her teeth in a insanely animalistic way. Vianne likely hovers nearby and it's a tight clutch on her sister's long gangly hair that has the werewolf from descending like a pit bull in the ring.

"Sulla, run."

She snarls, watches and waits, leaning on her hip like a big cat it's haunches.
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Sabra
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Newborn
Sabra is no stranger to chaos. It is as familiar to her as the wheel of the Plymouth in her grip, the weight of Caden on her hip, the cool metal of a rifle pressed against her cheek as she takes aim. It's something you learn to live with. You prepare for it. You keep a well stocked liquor cabinet and every gun in the house loaded. Doctor Black is set to one on speed dial. But time after time Sabra finds that her preparations fall short.

No one can prepare for two wizards brawling in the backyard using the very elements as their weapons.

Caden is crying and she's still half asleep, twisting to fight off the entanglement of old quilts. "Momma," He tugs at her shirt, chubby fingers insistent, pinching her skin. Tears track down red cheeks and she lifts him up onto the bed next to her, patting him down, trying to find where he's hurt. "Momma, look." From outside her bedroom window the enforcer catches the blur of a fist aimed towards Billy, shouts and screams blending together, the wolf rearing her head and she doesn't even take the time to whisper. She howls.

"Stay here." Her son is used to commands. Listening keeps him alive. She takes the shotgun resting against her nightstand and closes the door behind her.

She's woken up in the middle of a war. The house is a wreck. Furniture is strewn everywhere and there's an ugly dent in the drywall. Sabra is struck with the sensation of walking into a field after lightning has struck the ground, electricity still crackling through the air, smoke bombarding her senses. Outside is pandemonium.

In the doorway Billy stands, teeth bared, Vianne bristling at her feet, blood dripping into her wheat colored fur. Seven feet of man is sprawled out on the earth, half of him laying in the yard, half of him laying on the blackened corpses of her Mr. Stripey tomatoes. His back arches in time with Giles' violent gestures, eyes and mouth open wide in agony. She knows the feeling and ghostly pain thrums in her chest, reminds her of the stakes of this little battle. He has to die. Billy's alliance be damned, the fact that she screws him or feels for him be damned.

Their world doesn't have room in it for love.

She raises the shotgun to her shoulder, watching as the wizard thrashes, bits of stone and clods of dirt ripping their way out of the ground, whizzing towards Giles and Sulla. Billy's voice resounds, power ghosting over her bare skin, the wolf aching to challenge it. Her son's tears are fresh in her mind and motherhood has only sharpened her instincts, made her quicker to pull the trigger.

Every step is precise, the stairs taken one at a time, seemingly oblivious to the chaos that surrounds her. She passes the golden-haired sisters, her eyes a reflection of the alpha's. Inhuman. Wild. A prologue to what's to come if serenity isn't reached soon. Blood calls for blood and Sabra answers with the roar of the shotgun pointed towards the unoccupied woods.

"Leave. Now."

The barrel dips slightly and she focuses on Sulla standing over the limp body of his father. "You woke me up. Leave before I start aimin' for other things." Her tomato patch is in ruins and that nags at her worse than anything. Zeke is curled up, arms wrapped around his knees, sucking in air like a winded horse. The chunks of earth have fallen around him, punching holes through the leaves of her peppers and smothering her peas. Someone is going to pay for the destruction visited upon her garden and home.

Worst of all, the ruckus upset Caden and that is a sin that outshines all others.

Her finger is on the trigger and Sabra waits for obedience.
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Sulla
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A warm welcoming no, but threats on top of threats was not what he was expecting. Like a soldier coming home only to be shoved out of his house for helping the “devil-infused” government he is at a total loss. Sulla just put to rest the man that threatened not only his life but everyone around him. The warning in Billy’s voice though was something he had heard, reminding him more of when Giles was ready to explode one time warned him to run. Sulla is not a man to brag or take the spotlight but it is a quick reversal to come in like a knight only to become the dragon. Anger tends to not see clearly when choosing targets; he is sure because of this he is becoming a target.

Fight does not exist in him. It is one of those situations where he knows it is best to lay down and take a few blows. Zeke’s angry rocks smack into him without him even trying to protect himself; he does not feel them touch his skin even. With a storm racing behind her Billy had stormed up. Reflexes tell him to swing his hands up to protect himself but Sulla allows what is coming. He cannot feel the tight grip on the back of his neck like a wolf grabbing the carotid arteries of its prey (exactly what this is). Silence echoes from him as it does a corpse as he says nothing, not even when Sabra comes blustering up with her gun ready to shoot him and Giles. Not even a flinch comes from him. He lets them yell right into his ear as it becomes very clear he is faced with an ultimatum:

Leave or Die.


Harsh problems are left behind when this ultimatum and reality attempt to meet. Giles is a complete 220 pounds of pure muscle. Sulla is but a mere 5’9 making dragging the brute out to the car impossible. Even if he had enough magic in him to transport him to the car, driving is impossible. Sulla cannot drive. He could wake Giles up in the truck but he cannot even get to the truck. This leaves him with his only option: wake the witch up in the garden and talk him down. There is no other option making the laconic boy have to figure out just how to word it.

The teenager should be more concerned if he dies yet there is a lack of it. It is what gives him an edge, an ability to stay creepily calm when faced with the fact he may end up kibble for werewolves. The reaper has stalked Giles and he for far too long, waiting for the day the powerhouse’s cult came to a complete halt. Sulla was aware from the very beginning men like himself, like Giles, like anyone else who had the possibility of joining the cult, do not live to see wrinkles and gray hairs. A belief as dark and as macabre as it is, has remained in his head from day one: he should have died a long time ago in that fire with his true family.

Similar to a robber caught his hands go into the air slowly to show he means no harm. No use in hiding it; Sulla is at their mercy. His heartbeat rests in their fingers with each beat a chance for them to squeeze their fingers together or send their teeth and lead into his and Giles’ bodies. Rushing things was the same as rushing a bear out of hibernation, completely idiotic. Taking his time though was just as bad for it would drain on their short patience. Somewhere, delicately in the middle, was the perfect mix of pause and forward, exactly what he was looking for. Lungs reach readily for air as his chest heaves in a deep inhale to keep nerves calm.

What exactly can he say without rubbing any of the accusing faces the wrong way? He obviously cannot tell him he cannot drag Giles away and be done with this. He will have to slowly work it in that he is unable to do what they want him to do unless they clear the area.

Everything is a mess. Everything is broken because of an angry, childlike 34-year-old leaving Sulla feeling responsible. The first thing any man of manners would do would be to profusely try to make amends. “I apologize for what has happened,” he begins with the utmost sincerity. Unlike his adoptive father from hell he can feel bad. Sulla feels ashamed. He feels responsible as if he should have somehow stopped Giles before he had reached the house. Knocking out the thing he was silently calling father though had been something he had felt unable to do. It was the inability to do that which lead to this. This is why he felt sorry and ashamed. “Everything will be fixed. Nothing will be left broken. I also assure you Giles will be paying a hefty sum of benefits.” Sulla emphasizes benefits because he will personally make sure Giles pockets are spilling out money for this. It is one of the few ways he can try to knock some sense into the man, to teach him for every action there is a consequence good or bad.

They are on shaky grounds to say the least. He does not know what else to offer other than his abilities. His magic drifts towards Billy and Vianne but it is not like Giles’. It is controlled as obsessively as he controls himself. It is not forceful like the other wizard, but waiting instead for the two to accept it. The magic will not work; will not even fully approach them unless they agree. It is soft and moving like a stream unlike Giles’ which is more similar to an earthquake with its hard, cruel rocks. His magic does not seek destruction but the opposite, to instead fix and heal. But there is one fact that remains the same, a constant between the two, they are driven both by black magic instead of a much more accepted white. ”I’ll heal you if you wish,” he offers as willingly and sincerely. One can feel that like his magic he waits on their orders that dictate all at this point. ”But only if you wish.” If Vianne allows him the pain will leave her side. If Billy allows him the scratch will disappear before her eyes. He doubts they will though, fearing what they have seen and what they now associate with magic.

Blank eyes drift. He cannot be truly sure where they stand. There are blotches of green. He assumes this had been at once a garden. A fair garden maybe before emotions fired along with smoke and electricity. Especially if none of the girls accept his offer but nevertheless if they do, he takes it on himself to fix what has been destroyed. Plants pull themselves back to life and smashed fruits and vegetables seem to regenerate before their eyes. Plants are not his specialty. Breaking that boundary for Sulla takes much more energy than it should. It takes almost as much energy as it took Giles to go through his full blown rage. You can feel that much sheer energy very faintly if you truly try. It requires enough magic that he must take from the power holding him together like glue and tape. Wounds begin to slowly bleed again but he has enough energy to go out with some honor if it ends in blood.

Knees are beginning to shake again.

Sobs drift into his ears like a bittersweet melody. He lets his head move to the direction of the crying. The wizard is a ball of emotions that he feels tug at himself. His face, his body remains so scarily emotionless along with his eerie calm it should have raised eyebrows. Beneath the surface, just like when a person drills a well in the middle of nowhere and hits water, the true jewel is buried beneath. Emotions wage a war as for a few moments. His head is turned in the general direction towards Zeke but is not completely aimed at him. Pity and empathy flies into his heart, something Giles would have been ashamed of. Something in his sob touches apart of his soul. It is said men who have lost everything begin to speak in a different language than you or I, in a language of grief only they can understand.

Heartstrings play a tune right back like a duo between the two. He pauses, forgetting for a short few moments he is walking on eggshells with a pack of wolves. He has nothing more to offer, sure his magic will only get the fellow riled up he pulls off his hoodie. The sweater is black and torn from damage he had received. Splinters stick from it while holes remain from the larger ones still tucked into his body. Zeke wears a coat but it is the only thing he has to offer. Sulla turns to him slowly and offers the hoodie to the broken. Blank eyes focus in his general direction being unable to discern his true location. It is more than ten sizes too small but it weighs in his hand, waiting to be taken. Giles would have been disappointed, sadden if he had seen this. Maybe it is the fact the angry drunk is not looking that sparks this moment of kindness. The youth waits until he accepts it or for a fair amount time to pass to make it clear Zeke will not accept his offer. Either way he pulls away, hands on his side and depending on the circumstances with or without his torn sweater.

Those eyes try to look the two currently human fates in the eye. It is not the eye contact of a challenge but more along the lines of it being the respectful thing to do. But he fails at that, only able to decipher where they had been.

Another inhale is taken so he may be strong when he really faces the matters at hand. He carries dignity and manners with him, a pale opposite of Giles’ brunt force. ”I can get him to leave,” he starts off. ”Peacefully,” he adds knowing it makes all the difference. ”I just need five minutes alone with him. I will talk him into leaving without even raising his fist,” which is true. He does not say without another word because he is sure the man will be cussing as he goes, cussing though without hitting another person or thing in the house. ”I just need five minutes alone with him.” Only five and this whole mess would be done. Quiet as a mouse he waits on the verdict in the same sense of a man on the jury’s decision. His offer does not seem to have much weight he fears, making the outcome look bleak from his position.

Silence echoes as a man waits for his death by cold lead or by warm teeth.

Be it or not, he will take what comes to him with

honor.
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Vianne
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Newborn
Blood trails down an arm, and Vianne doesn't need to see. The wolf smells. It's Billy's, and only the fingers that tangle in the beast's ragged hair keep her from delivering swift justice. Harm to a sister can only spell swift and imminent disaster. Blood for blood, a swift trial that animals know best, will be adequate example.

A mouth parts wide, tongue retracting towards gullet to loose a snarl. Only the gentle hands checking for lumps and bumps still the creature. The gesture can only ever be comforting, regardless of the pent up rage it longs to direct at the unwelcome wizard.

Billy makes for Sulla, but Vianne can only flick an ear at the injured boy. Then suddenly, a nose, as the scent of blood reaches her. Followed by an eye, and a slight tilt of the head, the concerned animal watches the exchange for a moment. Sulla tries to fix things, as Vianne often does. He's hurt too, and why he hangs around Giles is beyond her. A wheezing by the garden receives a glance and an ear flick as well, like she's surveying damage. The unconscious man and magic are responsible.

Teeth and spittle meet the wavering edge of healing energy in snapping disagreement. An wild animal cannot trust that which has hurt it.

So, how to naturally solve a reoccurring problem? Eliminate the initial threat.

With Billy talking, perhaps it won't be so much of a sin to try and steal a little skin. Retribution, now that, she understands. Craftily quiet, the wolf slowly strains against her sister's grip. Reprimanding pressure is all she needs to feel, yet Vianne still longs to slink towards the crumpled mess of a man. Head low and snaking, a body steadily pulls in it's want to weave the few short strides it would take. The wolf is unaware that it is drooling and wild. Let her go; she'll be slow, but respect for Billy won't allow it. Vianne can dream.

They might notice a whizzing bullet, but not a little humming hornet.

The echoing gunshot is nothing but a rebuke to the wolf. Paws still to glare at the second sister. No, not a bullet. Give him teeth, Sabs, give him teeth! Sabra, of the three, will give him the teeth when the other two cannot. The angered animal has never understood why all the others talk.

The only wolf of the werewolves present, she longs for company. With the blood of family and friends in her nose, it can only be that much more rewarding to rip between three sets of fangs.

Impatient, the wolf whines out a growl.
Fix this.
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