Reign Over Ice

[Forsaken]

Anonyma folded up the blood towel and stashed it back in it's safely lined pocket, appearing to take little note of his rant when he first started. She was listening, but she had a hard time sitting still. As a compromise between not ignoring the ghoul and actually getting something done, she was as subtle as she could be in sneaking everything back into it's place and carefully arranging her heavy traveling cloak so that she could quickly slip back into it. 

"How could I ever have forgotten that I was talking to the former title holder? I know not my place." She tried, but it was difficult to show proper deference when she was entertained. "I am indeed lucky that I have you here with your first hand experience of the title I once desired, teaching me the error of my ways."

Somehow, she just never sounded sincere. She valued his input, and could appreciate how frustrating his position must have been for him. It even made her feel angry with the Guardians for trying to subjugate him like that; he was meant to roam free like the apex-predator king of the beasts that he was. Just...she couldn't even hint at any of that without filtering it through sarcasm. Even her thoughts were tinged with it. 

Clambering back into the cloak, she shifted back into a raccoon and shook herself to settle everything comfortably. 

"When you're done here, my liege." She rumbled, sinking into a courtly (for a raccoon) bow so that he could more easily climb onto her back. Not that he needed the assistance, or to have his illusions of grandeur entertained. She was just in a good mood. 

[Seven]

Remsing understood that she was challenging him with her mocking tone; it's just that he didn't care. He just smirked at her, fully prepared to humor her humoring him. This back and forth felt a great deal like play after all. And it was true. He had just eaten, she was showing deference (teasing or otherwise), they were halfway to their destination on a mission of adventure,  and he was in a good mood as well. 

With the airs of an Edwardian gentlemen, he brushed off his shoulders and pantomimed flicking a cane. "Good, very good, then..." Remsing, all straightened out, casually moseyed up her back and situated himself on the saddle. "Mmm, yes, mhmm, fine steed," he muttered an appraising aside. He tugged at a moustache that didn't exist--Remsing wasn't even entirely sure where he had learned of these antiquated tropes, only that the knowledge must have been there before he was changed, and gave the slightest press of his heels like one might on a horse. "Let's be off then." He pointed dramatically out to the whiteout before them. "Tooo Manticore!!!!" After this dramatic drivel, in about the second after, Remsing returned to full, spherical floof. 

[Forsaken]

The raccoon was not unaware of how funny it would be to just stand still after Remsing heralded the charge, but she just didn't have the heart to steal his thunder. They fought like animals all the time, especially during the long weeks they were holed up in their ice cavern, practically suffocating in their own boredom. She'd just let him have this one. The only sign she gave of her rebellious thoughts was an unseemly, incredulous snort that really only fit too well into this fantasy of giant raccoon as noble horse-steed. 

She took off in a showy, floating leap over the ice before settling back into a more manageable, fast-paced lope.  Within an hour, they were in the dilapidated outskirts of the city, home to the poor and the bravest of the locust scavengers. In many cities of the past, these would have been suburbs, with poorer regions in the inner city. In Manticore, the Guardians and the rich made up the core, and the have-nots made up the outer ring. Since the weather was colder and more ferocious on the edge of the circling forever-storm and the scavengers bold enough to often target human prey, it was the least desirable location to live in. 

Anonyma crept close to the fronts of the houses, obscured by the shadows cast by the flickering street lamps above. While possible they could be seen through the dark windows, it was unlikely anyone would notice and far more unlikely still that those who noticed would make any kind of report. The more probable danger was the threat of being spotted by other Forsaken, and those would notice them more quickly out in the middle of the street. 

Eventually the run-down and scattered houses merged into blocks of warehouses and town homes, the walls of which generally touched to help share heat. While this was also true of the dilapidated outer circle, the roofs there were much more likely to groan loudly under her weight at best and collapse at worst. These brick and stone front buildings were better maintained and far more sturdy, so she took the opportunity to climb to the rooftops. The advantage here was fewer people, and generally fewer Forsaken as well. Only tree-dwelling types came up this far. Even outlaw humans usually stuck to the ground, where they had a better chance of finding a quick escape through a freshly broken window or sewer grate. 

Her tattered black ears flicked back in Remsing's direction. She would need him to help keep an eye out for those Forsaken who did venture here, because while raccoons had good night vision they were also somewhat near-sighted, and she needed to keep a closer eye on the terrain beneath them as they moved closer to the Guardian stronghold. 

[Seven]

Ah, Manticore--the old ball and chain! It was true, some part of him was always going to be tied to--if not fond of--this old drivel of a place. He imagined his feelings must have been akin to unhappily married humans, with their ugly, aging, dilapidated spouses with whom they fought terribly day in and day out. Too bitter and angry to just leave, they assure themselves that, no, they really do love them. For what on earth was lovable about Manticore? With its broken road work jutting cobblestone and concrete up from years of lack of care, its low, bowing rooftop, and the sweet, sweet scent of rotting everything. These ghettos were the worse, though Remsing didn’t particularly find the so-called “well off” neighborhoods much better. At best they were dull: bland and grey and frozen. Yet his thoughts consistently brought him back here as if by a siren’s call. Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad. After all, there was a great deal of havoc and running amok one could enjoy upon visiting.



Remsing caught Anonyma’s look and nodded in return. He could drone on for hours in his inner monologue or aloud (he loved to hear himself talk) on the city, but it wasn’t like he was here to lead an architecture tour. The ghoul held his silence, growing both serious and enthused as the danger of their venture continued to pronounce itself. The juxtaposition of contrary feelings came from one who knew how to work, had been a master of his trade in his day, but found too much thrill and pleasure in it. His lips curled up in the cruel shape of his smile, further back than human lips could have stretched.



Though he understood he was still invited to remain on Anonyma’s back, he silently slid off the saddle. They would both be at a greater advantage if he could move on his own. In a pinch, he was the faster short distance runner, and she wouldn’t need the extra strain of carrying his weight. Also, it was just good to be on his own legs, particularly after a long ride, particularly with this much manic energy dying for action. He scuttled on hands and feet the steeple of a taller roof, keeping low to the shingles like the gargoyle he looked like. It was still high enough to keep a proper watch, his eyes crossing the ever-night sky for signs of movement, breathing in deep and searching past the regular stench of trash and humanity for something that was not entirely human anymore.

[Forsaken]

It was common knowledge that the storm outside the city had cleared for the night, so there would be a lot of furtive action taking place in the streets below. The rebels were gathering, herding their wolf kin charges toward a rendezvous point at the edge of the city so that they could be safely spirited away by Wyvern's Sentries when they arrived. In turn, the Forsaken had gathered in much larger numbers than usual to seek them out. They were the two sides in a drawn out game of high stakes chess, and the city was deceptively silent in the thrall of all this tension. 

Anonyma continued on as the giant raccoon, wishing as she often did that she could just leave all the things she brought with her on the edge of the city and turn into something smaller than what she currently was. Of course, she always tried to keep everything with her. She told herself it was because she hated to see Remsing running around, furless and surely cold, for any longer than necessary. More powerful than that protective urge, however, was her own dislike of leaving her things behind where someone else could rifle through them, or where they could be lost to the storm if it rolled back in. So she remained the large, easier to spot target whose only advantage lay in the neutral color of her fur.

As Anonyma moved closer to the Cavyrn, a small white shape seemed to materialize on the scene, stepping out from beneath a slight ledge created by a modest skylight. It flicked it's ears and trotted briskly toward the raccoon, moving in from her right flank in a way that would make it very difficult for Anonyma to spot what was undoubtedly one of the Forsaken. 

[Seven]

The scent of various, half animal monster creatures was abundant on the wind--with a city so littered with them acting as a brainless secret police, it was impossible not to. The trick was to steer Anonyma and himself out of their paths in this game of stealth. No matter how much more fun finding a brawl would have been. Reckless, but fun. But Anonyma was a killjoy and had less love for it. Remsing snapped to attention when he took note of the inconspicuous creature sporting his color. The old adage of being careful for what you wish for came to mind and was just as quickly cleared away in favor of schemes. Maybe the creature hadn't seen them and he didn't exactly want to yell out to Anonyma to get her attention--shit, it had definitely seen them--and touching the already on edge raccoon would have just startled her into faulty action. 

He looked over to the large raccoon beast to see if she had noticed--of course she hadn't--when a realization struck his mind.  Rather than say anything, he bound forward from his position, intersecting the path the mysterious forsaken was walking on her way to Anonyma. When he landed again a rootftop ahead, the White Ghoul was furry, and his quadrupedal strut along the ledge seemed natural. He had shifted and he might have looked something like a monkey. At least, that people generally filled in what they thought was appropriate, and there had never been an exact "look" to Forsaken (he had certainly proved that one). It hardly needed to be perfect, no one was going to question it.  And there was no reason for a Forsaken to attack another Forsaken, was there? Since obviously there had never been any record of insurgency, no was there? He was sure that Anonyma had caught sight of his movement, hopefully she'd be quick on the uptake.  Conflict was going to be inevitable at some point, and in all honesty, Remsing anticipated that greatly. But it would be a poor turn of events if it happened now, at the beginning of their mission, rather than at the end when they'd be taunting victory.

Remsing cocked his head sharply--some ghoulish manners dying hard--as he approached the cat creature. Just because he seemed calm didn't mean he wasn't prepared to murder her into silence. "What?" he hissed at the stranger. "This was our lookout." 

[Forsaken]

The white cat shifted into a slim, malnourished teen with wide eyes and choppy hair. She had chosen to be human while facing this confrontational (and larger than a cat) monkey-based Forsaken in order to even out the gulf in size between them. Not that she was all that intimidating as a human. In fact, she was among the smaller Forsaken that were routinely antagonized by the larger and/or arrogant ones who had an axe to grind and believed in establishing hierarchy. She was very accustomed to finding trouble just about everywhere she went. 

There was something more to her though, for those clever enough to see more than just size. In her large, all-seeing cat eyes there was something hard-edged and distant as the moon, but so very bright. Whatever it was, it was neither patient nor forgiving. She turned her head in the direction of the Forsaken who had addressed her, slanting her tufted ears back in exasperation. 

"There is room for more than two. Why? Do you feel threatened?" Her tone was cool and disinterested. It wasn't as though she especially wanted to be here, but she didn't see why she should give up her spot to two interlopers who had only just gotten here. It would set a bad precedent. She had problems enough as it was. 

In the meantime, Anonyma had caught on when Remsing moved in and quickly donned a strange mesh mask that fit over her entire head and hid the bandit-mask fur pattern that was one of her most recognizable features from whatever Guardian might be peering through this cat Forsaken's eyes. It really wasn't all that fun to wear. Not only was it a modified snow camel mask originally designed to calm them and keep the ice out of their eyes in the worst storms, implying that she herself was a beast of burden, but it did limit her eyesight somewhat. Oh well, they couldn't afford to be recognized and this was the best she could do. She couldn't just invent a new form like her ghoul partner. 

At least she'd taken the time to alter it with fabric spines that referenced the statues of winged reptiles in the city of Wyvern. She'd made it unique. 

"Hey boss, is this kitten causing you any trouble?" The giant raccoon had ambled leisurely up to both of them while the 'kitten' spoke. Sitting back on her haunches, she curled her raccoon hand into a fist and punched the palm of the other just to make a point. A very brawly, over-the-top point. 

Asila frowned and crossed her arms but did nothing more than make a show of being stubborn while waiting to be properly addressed. Kitten? Please. At least think of a new one. 

((I found an Asila song. www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwtzFmGktdI And here is the song that reminded me of Remsing's and Anonyma's adventures on the wasteland when I couldn't hear all the lyrics. The parts about conquering the land together fit though. www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2_ETb-63oo ))

[Seven]

The white not-primate didn't react to the sounds of Anonyma's approach as he continued to stare down the cat forsaken. He didn't have time to tease Anonyma for willingly playing his subject (as much as he wanted to, but surely there'd be time for that later), not a moment for reprieve as he glowered coolly.  Actions as these both felt very familiar to the point of nostalgia and very, utterly foreign. He remembered doing these things, holding others beneath his foot with a tyrannically iron grasp, but now, after all this time, this was just going through the motions. He had chosen to give this up. It just hadn't been him anymore, if it had ever been him. It was much more fun this way, having a level of camaraderie with his subjects, having challenges. He was still unquestionably the best, but it was entertaining to humor everyone else--he didn't know if that brought him closer or farther away from others than when he was a tyrant; maybe the answer was both. But he could still freeze up his expression into an irritated snarl, appraise someone lightly with a feeling of repulsion, imply their inferiority with a casual disgusted stare--it was all fun right now, full of the novelty and thrill of wanting to see the cat back down,  but it was considerably less fun when you did it day in, day out, every moment of your time. 

Only after a moment did he give a slight jerk of his head, a gesture that permitted his "lackey" to back down. "We don't want to associate ourselves with slackers for when they come to met out discipline. And someone who chooses to lounge about on a roof, pretending to play foreman, with nothing to do but to make leisurely investigations towards others she knows she will not have to fight and apprehend, can be nothing but that, malingerer." So much of  being intimidating was cold-reading. If you knew your enemy, you could easily get under their skin, into their heads...

Remsing's step forward was not exactly a prowl; there was too much force behind it. As a monkey-kin, who used their arms as much as human arms as legs, the motion could be interpreted as slamming a fist down on rooftop, firing a proverbial warning shot, rather than taking a step. Back off.  Only then did the collectedly cool and clandestine expression broke into something a bit more feral. It was still a beastie role he had to play. 

Perhaps, none of it was necessary. The truth of the matter was that he and Anonyma wouldn't be sticking around this roof much longer either, as they had their own path to mark toward the center of the city. But if they could scare some of the locals away now, that could only be to their benefit. If turned tail and ran, great! If she was willful, he'd let her have it after spitting a few ugly words for a "don't follow us, you're unwanted," departure. They didn't have that much time to waste messing with the already broken head of an enslaved forsaken.

[Forsaken]

Anonyma did indeed stand down when Remsing gave her the signal, settling back onto all fours and grumbling to herself. She was neither all that disappointed or angry, but it seemed to her that thugs usually were when they didn't get to smash in a few skulls and she was playing a role herself. Strangely, it felt almost easy to fall into this sort of role of support for the white ghoul. There was just something fun and exciting about it, about seeing him as a creature more like herself. The thoughts felt almost shameful, knowing as she did how the arrogant overlord would react if he knew, but she wasn't going to let his airs of superiority taint her fun when she didn't equate playing the role of inferior with actually being the part. 

The cat Forsaken certainly appeared to be buying into the act, seeing as she nearly tripped over herself when Remsing stepped toward her. The cat tried to save her dignity by straightening and backing away in a more 'casual' fashion, but it wasn't fooling anybody. The poor girl must have known damn well that she wouldn't be able to put up a good fight if she stayed, and they weren't just going to let her try. 

"Fine. If it's so important to you, it's yours." Asila pulled the last shreds of her dignity around her and fell back into the form of the white tabby cat. Carrying herself low to the ground with her fur standing on end in an obvious tell, she dropped over the edge of the building and ran off down the street. 

Anonyma immediately pulled the mask off and gave her head a hard shake to fluff the fur out again. "Well that was fun." She put the mask back in it's pocket and trundled off toward the Cavyrn once again, looking for a good access point. There was a reason she walked off without pause; Remsing would be too tempted to engage his sense of humor if she didn't, and she knew where that would lead. 

[Seven]

Only when the cat literally turned tail and scrambled did Remsing permit himself the low chuckle. He had felt the warmth in his cheeks and restrained the pinched sensation of wanting to grin and laugh. Even now all he could enjoy was a bit of quiet mirth appropriate for a scheming, superior forsaken--which the poor cat creature was making very difficult for him given the obvious way her fur had all floofed up. He wonder if he could get Anonyma to do that, the desire to pick her up and rub her fur the wrong way and hold her off his chest when she began to snarl and bite was overwhelming!

Speaking of the devil, she left her two cent comment and walked off. That'd never do. He trotted over with the lopsided run of a monkey as he slowly shifted back, and by the time he was by her side, he was quite the ghoul again, though still walking on fours. "'Been a lot more fun if we'd gotten to eat her at the end." He tilted his head up and to the side, grinning and thinking wistfully. "Maybe I ought've let you go bash her skull, minion. Oh! Maybe I should just train you to catch all my meals. That would be fun. You'd be my hunting coon!" he rambled, still walking at her side, comparatively smaller, the four-legged gait unnatural and yet so amusing.   

[Forsaken]

Walking on all fours as the ghoul was, Anonyma was having a hell of a time trying to decide if he was trying to reach out to her on her level or just mocking her outright. The answer might lay somewhere in the middle, but she'd bet one of her small treasures that it was slanted heavily toward the teasing side of the scale. Yet it was nice to walk together like this across the rooftops, each with a matching gait, so she'd go easy on him and assume the best in spite of the probable reality.

His 'hunting coon' talk earned him a few arced raccoon brows. Had he mixed up raccoons and coon hounds? That wasn't at all how it usually worked. She brushed off the silly statement and instead replied to the overarching theme of his ramble. 

"Would it make you happy if I were to hunt for you?" The raccoon asked, suspiciously candid and open about the proposition. It was unlike her to offer such assistance so freely; not when she wasn't already interested in the task to start with. She didn't just do kind favors for other people purely out of the goodness of her plated heart.

It had to be something more than just genuine curiosity...right?

Looming ahead she finally saw the heating facility that industriously kept the chill out of the Cavyrn, complete with large grated vents on the roof. It was going to be their way in. She'd already formulated the plan. 

[Seven]

Of course, Remsing had other ideas, “Why wouldn’t it? Sure, thrill of the hunt and all that good stuff, but do you complain when someone else brings you your food?” He skittered in front of her, then stood up--bipedal once again--blocking her view of the Cavyrn. “In fact, we should give it a shot right now. No need to go rushing to the end! I could even teach you.” He winked at her while making the soft click that people sometimes accompanied the gesture with that only made it more cheesy. Even though he was certainly only done it to tease by playing at being a normal man, it weirdly worked for him, perhaps because clucks and clicks were his native tongue. Either way, taunting and games and casual demeanor considered, one wouldn’t think he was talking about slaughtering an innocent resident of the city.

However, he didn’t wait for her agreement. Remsing had no intention of running off to kill a sabre right away if it meant they’d be rushing to leave Manticore immediately after. The sabre was the prize--but there was still so much to do in Manticore! Who cared if it was reckless? He turned ninety degrees away from the Cavyrn and took running leaps off the rooftops, tracing a circular perimeter away from the core of the city, with clear intentions of not getting any closer for a bit. The arrogant jerk just expected Anonyma to follow him.

[Forsaken]

Anonyma had to pull up short to avoid bumping into Remsing when he popped up in front of her. It was a near miss; she had been watching the heating facility and not particularly paying attention to what he was doing. Her muzzle wrinkled in annoyance, baring the tips of her fangs, but it was hard to get angry with someone who was being playful. The way he managed to make a wink charming instead of some cheeseball variant of creepy (likely because he didn't appear to be very invested in the expression) certainly helped her cut him some slack with the rope she had when she could have been tying him a noose. 

Or maybe a trip line would be more appropriate, she thought, losing her patience all over again when he took off running. She snarled and took off after him, already regretting asking that question. She had thought she'd get an interesting reaction out of him, she just hadn't thought it would be this one.


If he thought she was going to take it back...well, then she would get to surprise him in turn. 

[Seven]

Never minding the rather ornery raccoon he had left behind, Remsing only--finally--stopped at the ledge or a not-so-distant roof. He glared down with a hungry smile at something just below them, a sleight looking young man he seemed uncomfortable being out in the dark of Manticore’s night, and wanted nothing more than to hurry home. Uncertainty. Fear. Remsing could smell it, and it was far too delicious tease to turn down. “There,” he hissed lowly over to the other, his eyes never leaving the young man till, quite abruptly, they did. “So then dearie, you or me?” he asked, tilting his head at a much more inhumane angle, a subtle motion that could unintentionally remind anyone what--or rather, what not--Remsing actually was. There was bloodlust in that gaze.

[Forsaken]

Bristling a smidge with the lingering malcontent she'd experienced when he'd taken off, Anonyma settled in next to Remsing. They were here now anyway, her plans be damned, and she was going to have to make the best show of it that she could. She had an idea, but it would take some calculating. The ghoul had certain preferences when it came to his meals, and not all were compatible with the silence they had to keep. It was the target that was going to have to bend to her will, because she wanted to show her partner that she could get him what he wants better than he himself could. 

If he was going to take her out of her way like this, she was going to outdo him. That would show him. 

"Let me get him; I know a way to jazz up this old routine." The raccoon thief answered, scanning the area around the young man for useful anchor points. There; one large tavern sign beneath a sturdy overhang. Beside it the metal stalk of a street sign. Forming the point of an inverted triangle between those was a heavy, wrought iron table. With those points in mind, Anonyma dashed over the edge of the roof. Her heavy cloak landed before she did with a pronounced and muffled thwump, displacing the air and sending forth a cloud of snow. She had shifted back into that mostly-human something she so often favored and snagged the wall with her claws on the way down, landing deftly beside the pile of cloak and it's fortunately resilient items.


Uncoiling her whip, she straightened from her crouch and slanted the horrified young man a strangely bright, cheerful smile. It only seemed to confuse him. He took a step back and looked around, but she had broken his fight or flight instinct with her glowing endorsement of friendly intention. Unfortunately for him, it was all a lie.

With her whip in her left hand and what appeared to be a long string of colorful handkerchiefs tied end-to-end together, she rushed toward him with more speed than a human could easily track, let alone ever dream to emulate. To him it must have seemed as though the bright-eyed bandit with the jaunty hat was halfway down the block until he blinked and she was on him. Snapping the whip so that it wrapped around his arm, she yanked him forward and off balance. Then crammed a wad of fabric into his mouth when he gasped and wrapped some of the remaining length around his head so that he couldn't just spit it out.


It should be enough to effectively muffle his screams, when the time came. 


Her rapid web-spinning had only just begun. The line of kerchiefs she was using was so ludicrously long it would have been comical if this was a magician's show. There was still more trailing from a pocket in her cloak as she continued her work, in every shade of blood, rust, and gold available.  She proceeded to catch the stunned human's arms, tie them behind his back, and wrap an impromptu harness around his chest. That done, she looped the kercheif-rope underneath the heavy table, leaped up to wrap it around the top of the street sign, and jumped across to string it though the bracket's of the tavern sign. When she returned to the table to knot the line there as well, the outline of her web was complete. All she had to do was grab the man by the harness where is crossed behind her back and lift him into place where, suspended between the three points, she was able to use the remaining length of her kerchiefs to suspend him in the air, bound, gagged, and helpless. 


All of this had happened in seconds. Proud of her work, she took off the scarf she had donned earlier just so she could tie a nice, fluffy bow across his chest in a playful taunt to the ghoul. There was still one more final touch to be made; she pulled a dagger from a sheath strapped to her right forearm beneath her jacket and looked back at the unlucky target. Her smile glinted as sharply as that blade. Then she abruptly slid it into that spot just beneath his ribcage on his right side. It wouldn't be enough to kill him, not quickly, but it showed how well she had compromised his ability to call for help. His screams couldn't even outdo the rush of wind through the streets. 


Remsing's dinner was ready, the man a banquet turkey to her knife. Obviously admiring her own handiwork, Anonyma turned to look at her ghoul companion. She didn't even say anything; she just flashed him another sharp-toothed smile beneath glittering, cheerful eyes. This may or may not be the hunt Remsing had dreamed of sending her off on, but she was sure proud of what she had done.