Perfect Mistakes

June 12, 2017:

Ripclaw and Tattoo meet again at the place of the last skirmish against demons.

Brooklyn - New York City

One of the most famous of boroughs, Brooklyn is a cluster of small towns
in a big town. When night falls in the good weather, in the more 'city'
area, apartment stoops are pulled up and mothers chat with other mothers
while the kids play in the streets under the block's watchful eye. Gossip
abounds, and there is a spirit that seems to transcend all- when one grows
up in Brooklyn, one is never truly far from home.

Traffic on the street is heavy at times, pedestrian traffic even more so.
There is a lot to see when one gets away from the residential areas. Stores
of all ethnic variety serve their populations be it Russian or Ukrainian,
African American, Hispanic, Italian, Polish, or Orthodox or Ultra Orthodox
Jew; whatever one wants, it's easily obtainable.

Northern Brooklyn is closest to the vital economic engine that is Manhattan
and has benefited a lot from the ongoing prosperity there. Bedford,
Brunswick, Cadman Plaza and the like are the site of a number of lovely
public works and important institutions such as the Navy Yard, or the
Botanic Gardens. Business thrives here and the lives of the people, while
busy, tend to be full of plenty.

South Brooklyn is composed primarily of resort style housing and the
attractions for which 'Brooklyn' and 'Coney Island are famous mixed in with
commerce catering to tourists and locals.

Eastern Brooklyn is a lower income, largely African American section of
Brooklyn given over to low income public housing and other cultural
monuments. Crime is a bit higher here and public works slightly less nice,
but all in all it's still a livable place outside of some truly destitute
hotspots.

Central Brooklyn is the melting pot for the many ethnicities and cultures
that call the borough home. For the most part tensions are low and people
get along, though the general process of gentrification taking place all
over the island is causing some resentment among the poorer families feeling
the pinch.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Darkedge, Doctor Strange, Elinor

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

I walk through the valley of the shadow of…

After the loss of one of her five, Tattoo spent days in her own form of reverence, the Slums Garage left empty so she could deal on her own… And heal. Far more then mental, or spiritual… To her the loss is physical and adds another scar to her form.

The temporary tourniquet is removed from her thigh and the gouge in her thigh resembles a bite mark to the line of the 'pack' that is painted upon tanned tapestry.

A hand descends from the bench seat stripped from the back of a van, formed into a bed, and a nose presses into the cupped palm.
Day 3:
It is time to get up… Move on.

Moving on is not exactly what most would call it. There is a hunt now, one that has her moving out again from the Garage beck to where the attack occurred. It was hard to forget the massive pale shadow that held Darkedge (His fault!), while his body melded before very eyes.

New York:

Boots are silent as she moves along the alleys in her hunt, but instead of her 'pack' with her, the ink is lain visible along thigh, bandaged, and around the edges of ink are angry red lines as everything reforms and refits.

Cut off shorts are lopsided in their alignment along thighs, bound low to her waist enough to show the ink of a paw print front and center upon her abdomen. A black tank top covers her just from plexus to over chest, the pack is absent, but resting in a tuck along the wrappings upon thighs is a small engraved pommel.

Traveling light… On the hunt as alleys are paused before and then passed until she comes upon the spot where the pale shadow seemed to lay before spirits and then stood.

There is where Tattoo crouched, a bottle of water flooding the cracks of the concrete to surface debris laden in the past fall of blood.

… Left hand descends to the puddle and the Eye inked upon her forearm animates, rippling and descending down towards her hand while her eyes draw to a close.

"Hunting me?" Ripclaw inquires. A simple question, his dark presence visible as he peels free of shadows, red eyes leveled upon Tattoo. "Or seeking revenge for your fallen companion?" Both perhaps even. After parting paths with Strange and Elinor the Ghost Warrior decided to seek answers of his own about these, Bal-Pteor Thralls as they were referred. A simple t-shirt with a Punisher skull on it, tattered jeans and taped up cowboy boots. Nothing special.

The placement of hand splays fingertips over the puddle Tattoo made, fingers staining pink the longer they delve within the mire of blood and mud.

The eye descends along skin, and from ink it slowly becomes, bubbling alng skin, tearing the lid in part to descend towards her hand, but only so far as to reach her wrist before the voice of Ripclaw interrupts the moment of concentration.

One hand moves to the engraved handle, the other rising from the mire of ichor… Fingertips stained a back on red, cracking in a volcanic splay of portrayal to hold towards the appearance of Ripclaw.

The eye that had come to wrist, turns to look upon Ripclaw, then heavenward…
A roll that goes from light…

To south -
To shadow.

A flicker as the lid closes and ascends back up Tattoo's arm.

Her eyes are a pale hazel/silver when she peers through the deep strands of feather-light noir to him. There is only a breath of pause after his question, but no hesitation. "Both."
Ripclaw watches the display of tattoo magic, "I've heard of this before, Tallhorse was a practitioner but not to this degree. It is refined in you, huh?" A look sidelong through the dark as if watching the shadows stir and move, a flick of his tongue across his teeth has him gazing back to Tattoo, "Robert Berresford. I go by the name Ripclaw to those who it matters to."
As he stands his forearms are bare, it is dark he is not overly concerned about the fact the biomechanical cybernetics are showing. Fingers tuck in to pockets but still hang out just enough to show clawed tips.

Even as the eye returns and closes the palm remains splayed, Tattoo is rising slowly and with her comes the tendrils of essence that are painted a spatter of dried vitae upon the threads that fall back upon the gathered puddle.

Tattoo stares at 'Rippclaw', the words exchanged are noted even as the incantation falls away and everything appears 'normal' upon her skin. Something in his words has her pulling back and the pommel in her hand casting glow that articulates the engravings and slowly starts extending —-

"You can make it not happen. Why save the elf?" The final word more a -hiss- of challenge then a question.

Ripclaw exhales, yet another person to guild him about his actions. Red eyes darken to a deeper shade. "I owed the elf and I did what I could, I underestimated those thralls, I am sorry for the loss of your friend or kin but a call was made."

The big man walks in a half circle around Tattoo, not a stalkers walk, just restless predator. Putting himself between her and the nearby streets, "Darkedge is helping me seek out the ghost of a lost child I banished. Your wolf and you were mere strangers. What would you have done if you had to choose in my place?"

Ripclaw's response has Tattoo moving in a restless manner. Almost like an animal as she keeps her front to him..

We eat pieces of you for breakfast..!

Every motion is watched, wagered, weighed…

Tattoo is in a crouch and slowly that extension of spear is made before the bend of knees, bleeding an incandescent blue against the darkening red of Ripclaw's eyes. "I understand gaayhldaa (war/battle), but not…" Tattoo tilts her head, showing her intent on hearing, but listening may come later.

"You did not end my beta…" A peel back of lips then, one booted foot rocking back in a lunges position, that calf shuddering until bandaged thigh. "The gaalgaaysii, did." (The Darkness)

"I made the wrong call… Maybe." A look to Ripclaw, a hesitation, but a tension, ready to be let loose as her fingers tighten and that glow casts around them, enlightening her facade in a manner that accents the firm set of her jaw, to that of shoulders, and even further to the odd light in narrowed eyes.

No guilding for -him-, revenge and redemption?

"No I did not. Nor did the elf." Ripclaw states. "But not?" A shrug of broad shoulders as he awaits her to finish that first sentence, the broken aspect of it confusing him. A work of jaw muscles and he carries on, "Wrong call in helping us? Not sure why when we were pitted against creatures of darkness and corruption. Unless you are the sort to balk at or shy away from blighted mongrels like those if so then… perhaps you do not do justice to the marks you bare. Those are ancestral, tribal, raw, meant to protect and encourage prosperity of life, right? Perhaps your song is different than Tallhorse own."

Ripclaw doesn't stand down as she conjures forth more eldritch light. "You dabble in my blood as well, that's an offense in some circles. Were that I the sort of magus that wore mascara and carried pennies in my pockets I would be concerned."

Ripclaw is new to her own personal war with Darkedge. It has nothing to do with the Gaalgaaysii, but the sacrifice….

… The Loss…

The step back borne in appendage braces a boot within a niche if concrete, blood, and past-tense..

"You do not know what -I- have lost…" But it is apparent the brace in broken-booted toe is more for a significance then the eye could behold. A dip of her knee to touch the ground and the remaining four wolves peel from her skin, the scarring surrounding a stroke of skin lapped by a single tongue in passing as her body warps and loses a bit of its light while they expand and pad silently into the alley and streets beyond with a cast of howls that seem searching.

No, you're not perfect - but you're not your mistakes…

But not…? "Forgiveness for betrayal and death…" A step back, her other leg drawing back and Tattoo stands to full height, the spear held laterally - no threat intended at this -point-.

"I sought the threat that killed mine, and the one who survived." A pause and Kida lets the spear tip drop towards the broken pavement where the scry was attempted. "Galaada…" A dart of eyes. "Peace, all I seek."

Stated even in present tense, and the way she holds herself, and holds back, is enough… Should be…
Enough.

"No I do not. You seem ready to put very little stock in what its death could have been worth though. With your aid you might have saved a lost boys life, I promise you saving my life was no waste of your wolf. Darkedge I can not speak for but he is an honorable enough creature, where his needs and wants are concerned." At least of what Ripclaw knows so far. he doesn't know the slights or history here.

"Police ever approach you about that spear? Then we're at an accord. I only wish for peace and I also seek these demons. You are not alone in this, a man came to me, Doctor Strange, he too is after the blighted. Perhaps you can be of assistance?"

A look is cast to the side, those eyes flashing and then sealed off by the close of lids, the spear rising in a rotation - sealing down back into the hilt that is twined in old and worn ancestral history, a hide and rite not of this world. "Honor is not in one-self. If that was the truth, I would not be," A cast of hit towards the ground, tucked back within bands that tether around upper thighs.

"I hoped for more." Stock? "It's why I was here again." That and to kill something.

Sorely let down!

The name Ripclaw speaks though has her eyes opening again, and the look to him is purely hazel, no change in that backdrop, a calmer masquerade while the howls in the backdrop fade off as if traveled on (for now, the *hunt* is on).

"Police tend not to come where I live, but Supreme Strange called me from there and has helped me."

A pause and she seems to 'shift gears' physically, even attempting a weak-willed smile. "Tattoo, is what that elf and another called me." And so, it stuck!

"You mentioned a lost boy?" The blighted can wait for now.

One of many..

"Supreme Strange?" Ripclaw questions, "Sorcerer Supreme." He attempts at being helpful there, unsure why a woman that looks about as Native as him speaks broken English and a dialect that he's heard very little of, "Where are you from, Tattoo?" He has to ask. A flex of one hand has the knuckles in his claw crackling, an odd noise, like muffled breaking metal.
"Sorry, no need to answer that. You can tell me another time. Yes, a lost spirit. A child named Bobby. Darkedge and I are looking for him after a necromancer dabbled with his… essence and tethered him to a corpse."

"You have any ability to track spirits?"

Ripclaw was the Pale Shadow for a reason. Tattoo knew he was a-kin, but not the same. His correction of her has Kida lifting one corner of her lips, as if the joke was on him…
..Until he asked the million dollar question and it dropped, wilted like a rose in winter.

The gesture, the -sound- can be seen making one corner of her eyes jump, narrow, and somewhere in that deep huen crevice framed in black there is that trickle that descends down to crest at her cheek and follow contours.

That sound broke something in her and slowly her eyes fell to his hands wile her own /tugged/ and nearly tore her top down to cover the scar along her hip that spanned in an arch up and over nearly to touch the tip of paw print at low abdomen.

"Ge'e, naajaaw." The final word nearly whispered as Tattoo steps back and breaks for it!

No, hunter… Somehow she manages to scale buildings, leap rooves, and on the final top facing the bay towards Metropolis her scent will go dead.
Either she leapt to the waves, or she flew…

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