Log: That's No Wolf!

April 22, 2016:

Miss Moreau goes to buy a wolf. She gets something different instead. Witchdoctor comes along and saves Moreau!

Gotham

Characters

NPCs: Some Goons

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Another cold, dark night in the gothic hell that is Crime Alley, Gotham. On one of its many alleyways, a pair of prostitutes make catcalls and swears as they're chased off by a trio of thugs. From a side door in the alleyway, a large cage is wheeled out, covered with a tarp. Five minutes later, Miss Moreau and one of her thugs arrives. The thug watches the alleyway.

Moreau smiles at the other criminals. "Gentlemen! I am so very thankful for the notice, it is very hard to get fine specimens here. I realize it /is/ a bit of a niche market, but do not worry, I pay very well for things such as this. Provided, of course, he is healthy. Well? The suspense is killing me!"

The other thugs look at each other. They always get the weird ones. "Yeah, yeah, take a look lady." Off goes the tarp. Moreau approaches, about to reach out, when the thing inside shifts. Slowly, she frowns.

"Gentlemen. That is not a wol…"

There's a loud crash, the cage shatters, and a howl rips through the night. One thug is thrown bodily out of the alleyway, ripped in half. Screaming, gunfire, and then the sound of claws hitting metal and flesh. In the alleyway, Miss Moreau is fighting a pitched swordfight with something big, furry, and eight feet tall. She's only barely keeping from getting her throat slashed out. Her own goon can't fire for risking Moreau. The non-Rose goon however, nearly takes off Moreau's head with his shotgun.

"Watch your aim!" She yells.

A wolf's howl in the city? That wasn't exactly something commonplace. A thug or some drunk pretending is one thing, but the sound of gunfire ringing out after the noise is enough to bring the Witch's attention. The thing with her little credit-card trick she'd been using to fund having a roof over her head was that much like Fae gold it didn't tend to last for ever. Eventually some computer system somewhere would pick up an error and she'd be forced to move on before too many questions were brought down on her head. Perhaps that's why she'd traded down tonight, why the average-price motel on the edge of Gotham's nastier areas was where she was lurking now on the small balcony. Those noises on the night air? They're enough to make her look up from her thoughts.

How curious…

Closing her eyes, the Witch disappears from her suite's open balcony in a flutter of butterfly lights, each winking out until they reform above the source of the trouble to leave her deposited on the nearby rooftop.

Moreau's ears briefly catch the sound of a new person, mostly the good Witchdoctor's heartbeat. She doesn't pay it much mind, however, given there's a big furry mass of muscle, teeth, and claws currently trying to rip her apart. And doing a good job of it. Her kevlar coat is ripped wide, her tank top is marred by a long gash that's barely decent, her left arm is hanging at her side.

The only reason she /isn't/ dead is a bit of vanity: that cane-sword is coated in silver, and every deft strike bloodies the werewolf. It howls angrily each time. This one is a very, very mean varient. Still, this is a losing battle. Moreau's doing her best to make a fighting retreat.

Rose Goon gets an idea. He tosses something small and cylindrical, a pin yanked out. Tink tink tink. It rolls to the werewolf's feet, and then there's a blinding light in the alleyway. No bang to go with it, his boss would kill him.

Thankfully, Moreau is spry, and the nearby dumpster gives her just enough height to make a leaping climb up to the opposite rooftop from Witchdoctor.

"Bob! Run!" Comes her voice, commanding. The goon down below gives a frown, then a lazy salute, and bolts.

Moreau throws her cane's sheath at the dazed werewolf. Mostly out of spite. Her attention finally turns to a certain Witch.

The battered, bloody woman smiles. "Lovely evening, hmm?"

And then, with a roar, the werewolf leaps up to join the two ladies. He's looking to land right next to the Witch!

Moreau is not the only one to combine magic with a few pieces of techology in a display of common sense. Witchdoctor's hand dips into her jacket as she withdraws her handgun…then she's confronted with a werewolf and there's a curse. While her bullets aren't normal, the standard load she carries is pure iron. Great for quite a few things, but not this creature. Grenades, mooks, the streets of Gotham are once again full of chaos to a degree one can only hope that the Bat is busy elsewhere.

For the moment however Alyse has a more immediate concern when the wolf lands before her. Namely…that thing looks like it wants to rip them apart.

The comment from the woman she'd technically foiled last time earns a raised eyebrow from the witch, but she simply rubs her hands together and then stretches out her arms either side of her, a burst of flames expanding in her hands that envelops her slender digits but seems to burn neither her flesh nor the edge of her clothing while she brandishes it threateningly at the wolf. "Back!" Here's hoping the wolves aren't fond of fire either.

The Witch's voice tugs at her brain, but Moreau doesn't immediately place it. She's usually good at it, but a busted arm, likely a concussion, and blood loss will do that to you.

Instead, down goes the cane, and up comes her book. Magic flares, and Moreau is hunting through her book, dazed brain trying to remember where she had that one particular pet.

The Witch buys quite a bit of time. The werewolf does /not/ like fire, and the mere presence of so much magic from the woman has it backing away. Animal instincts kick in. It's tail even tucks a bit. There's a few swipes of its claws that end up with singed fur! It's not quite backing off just yet, but that wolfy animal brain is stuck between fight and flight.

Moreau finds her page. Reality shimmers, and a swarm of buzzing insects descends upon the werewolf. Wasps. A good hive's full, each as big as a fist, stinging and stinging again. From the way the werewolf reacts? Those stingers are probably silver. It swipes and swipes, and most importantly, it's very, very open right now, no longer trying to slice up Alyse. The pair of mages have the thing on the ropes!

Alyse's magic seems…raw, but not in a bad way. If one had the studious nature to detect such a thing, they'd recognize the difference between power conjured with a thought rather then some practiced spell…but there's other things to be concerntrating on. The flaring fire is a basic solution, but it certainly seems to be effective in driving the creature backwards. Now however? The stinging silver wasps are doing quite a fair bit of damage. The implimented magic actually makes the blonde smile a little to herself before she brings those flaming hands together and the blaze glows white.

Those fires fade from her hand, but they are not quite taking mercy on the poor shifting creature. Softly the witch actually speaks a few words, almost inaudible right now as she weaves a spell not of instinct but knowledge. "Cold metal of the moon, tonight you carry the touch of your sister!" the enchantment spoken, those silver stingers come ablaze with the same glowing flames her hand had held before. Even the silver of Moraeu's blade errupts in that same dramatic blazing halo.

The werewolf has bitten off far more than it can chew. Alyse's flames turn those buzzing distractions into lethal weapons. While the swarm might be dropping off thanks to the werewolf's struggles, it's gotten slower, and the thing is puffing up in an utterly unhealthy way. Supernatural creatures can, in fact, be allergic to insect stings. It's insult to injury. The werewolf is now very much on fire.

For just a moment Moreau lets out an appreciative sound, taking a testing swipe at the air with her cane. Grinning like a kid who's just gotten a new favorite toy, she laughs, and then hits a dead run. She's no super human, but is in amazing shape, and the leap across the rooftops is hit without a loss in stride. A slice to the wrists, she pivots in a stance, and then simply thrusts the blade underneath the werewolf's chin. Pause. Twist, and then a final, brutal wrenching. The Witch's flames are steadily now eating out vocal chords, teeth, and brain. One more howl, and the thing falls burning.

Moreau cuts off the head. Just in case.

The wasps dissappear from whence they came. Adrenaline is keeping her on her feet. She's looking pale though, as she turns to Alyse. Her laugh, this time, is one of stress and the natural high of a fight.

"Well. Remind me to do a better job of vetting who I buy animals from next time. Who…ah…do I owe a timely rescue to?"

That little memory finally snags. "Miss Moreau. A pleasure. …Have we met somewhere?"

Even as she gets with the nicities, she's ripping off part of her coat to try to bandage her wounds.

The white flames wink out with a snap of Witchdoctor's fingers. The little 'contract' between sun and silver ended with the spell and erasing the fire in a heartbeat. The silver wouldn't even be hot to the touch! Alyse herself doesn't exactly look the same as she did the last meeting. Her long and umbrella noticably absent, between the jeans and her leather jacket she might look like any other random citizen if she hadn't been hurling flames around.

Her eyes shift from the severed head to the other woman with the blade, tilting her head to the side. "Who exactly is it you'd be buying something from that would have been able to imprison a werewolf, let alone send you one 'by mistake'?"

The Witch lowers her hands now, bending down to pick up her firearm she'd discarded nearby and tuck it back into her clothing. "Moraeu?" she repeats, confirmation enough for her of the last meeting…or at least a hint. Certainly she'd felt the 'signiture' of the other woman's magic once more tonight. "Witchdoctor, people call me 'Witchdoctor' when I am working." The tugging at the clothing and ripping bandages doesn't actually seem to suprise Alyse, after all the second half of her 'codename' wasn't just for decoration. "You may wish to wash those as soon as you get a chance. Even if it is the bite most people fear, claws of a creature that have been locked in a cage aren't going to be the cleanest thing you come across."

Had they met before? That question goes tactfully unanswered with a shrug. It was the thugs that had seen her after all.

Moreau gives a tired smile at the advice and the name. She leans heavily on her cane, adrenaline slowly wearing off. She'll need to head home soon and rest, but she's not just going to bolt on the other mage.

"Oh, I know some very interesting people who sell very interesting goods! There's been a lot of people like that lately. Exciting, really! No more having to deal with zoo's! I honestly hope it keeps up. Then again, maybe not." Shrug. She's not fond of maulings, after all.

"Witchdoctor then. Well, I owe you now. Here." Out comes a small card with a handwritten number. She offers it to the fiery mage. Grin! "Call me, hmm? I would like to see more of your magic! Do you give lessons? Self taught. I could use an expert." She states cheerily, before taking a deep breath.

"A wash and a lot of disinfectant then. I should probably work on that." There's the sound of sirens.

"And that is my cue. I hope the rest of your evening is less bloody! Until next time!" Then, with a wave, she's running off!

"Lessons?" Witchdoctor repeats before chuckling a little. Never mind she still has the card the sniper threw her from the last time, she tucks this one into her jacket pocket, shrugging her shoulders. "I've come to find there's more then one mystic or mage in the streets as of late. Everyone has something a little different." It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. For now? She knows little about the woman beyond the fact that she'd gone breaking into museums and had a few less-than-reputable friends.

Still, the mentions of 'interesting goods' does get filed away in her brain. Never know when she might need something obscure. The sound of sirens earns a nod and the woman herself turns back to the crumpled body of the were-creature that's probably going to be hell to explain for some of the cops. "I would offer to tend to your wounds, but it has been a busy day. I have little space and another more injured then you I am tending to. I should be returning."

With that? The Witch nods her head and snaps her fingers, disappearing in that same swarm of butterfly lights.

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