AwakeningsRusalkaAwakenings: Rusalka The monthly Karm Gala had been an Amber institution since King Oberon's rule—a not-so-subtle affront against the King's ill-treatment of House Karm. Naturally, Amber's gentry embraced this scandalous tradition, transforming it into an opportunity to prove their obvious superiority over the masses—and, of course, each other. Noble families still fawned over Lady Celyria Karm—current regent of the Great House—for the opportunity to spend the first Saturday of each month surrounded by the cream of Amber's socialites. House Cardovan had been a member of the Sixty—noble families with permanent invitations—before the Interregnum, so the Gala was nothing new to Rusalka Cardovan. Indeed, she'd sipped her first glass of joie—a heady liqueur distilled from the juice of a rare winter flower—whilst watching the Midwinter Masque from her perch upon the knee of the infamous Lord Rein, all at the precocious age of nine. He'd kissed her on the cheek that night and promised to marry her someday. Subsequent Gala's had been no less interesting. So, it had only made sense to invite her new roommate to the latest Karm Gala. Well, 'invite' was a term best used loosely with Wintra. /Drag/ would have been more appropriate. Wintra, sweet as she was, could be a real pain when it came to enjoying the more exciting aspects of life. She positively withered when Rusalka even hinted at engaging at the adventurous. Which was why telling Wintra that they were hopelessly lost would be a bad thing. House Karm's estate rested atop Mont Nuit, a wooded suburb in the eastern Old City. A moonlight stroll from their dorm room had—at first—appeared to be an easy, yet enjoyable venture. But somewhere along the way, Rusalka had obviously taken a wrong turn. After all, she usually approached Mont Nuit from the north, not the west. By the time she realized the narrow streets were arching downward, it was too late. Soon enough they'd found themselves in a warren of streets and dimly lit parks. The homes and shops weren't familiar, the architecture itself foreign— smooth exteriors and windows and doors with all natural curves. With luck, they'd stumbled into Night's Doorstep; a secluded quarter where the nobility could find the darker pleasures normally denied their station. If so, all Rusalka had to do was head northward up the hillside to Mont Nuit. They'd be dancing and drinking in no time. But somewhere nearby in the darkness, a lupine howl sang its honor to the full moon. Another howl answered it in kind a moment later, closer still; causing Wintra to jump in horror. And then Rusalka knew exactly where she was. This wasn't Night's Doorstep at all. This was Wolfseye. This was Weir country. Rusalka shivered, a delicious thrill of danger and mystery coursing through her veins. She took a deep breath, loooking around. How in the name of the Unicorn had she managed to get them this far out of the way, and what would be the quickest route out? For herself, the prospect of exploring Wolfseye was almost intoxicating, but with Wintra there it would be not only dangerous but the kind of tension Rusalka didn't like. She cast about for direction as she put an arm around her friend and roommate. "It's all right, Win," she said lightly. "They're still a ways away, and we just need to turn a little bit and... it should be this way." High heels cracked twigs and leaves rustled in a drier, more crackling hiss than the gentle whisper of silk brocade and crinoline. Rusalka moved faster, half-guiding and half-pushing Wintra ahead of her. The moon was so bright, so beautiful - of a color Rusalka had rarely seen it. It was almost the color of her favorite beer. She shook her head - no time for that. Move. After an unnervingly short time, the originals howls were answered by others. Several others. But for the moment, they sounded distant and muted. That could have been an effect of the strange architecture and narrow streets, however. With a cruel suddenness, a growl or angry yip would echo in the shadows very close to their frantic heels. As the young women wound their way up a side street, they passed closed shops and noisy pubs. All of the rounded windows offered intriguing sights or sounds, calling to Rusalka's sense of adventure. Exotic men and women were gathered in sporadic groups, sitting on stoops or at open-air cafes, talking and laughing with one another. But as the pair drew closer, the people grew quiet and attentive. In the moonlight, their eyes flickered like Samhain candles and their lupine smiles had too many teeth. Wintra stumbled on the flagstones, her new flat-soled slippers not suited for the worn street. "What's going on, Rusalka? What aren't you telling me this time?" There was nothing for it. Even if Wintra panicked, Rusalka felt she owed it to her friend to be honest. She slowed, keeping an eye on the exotic, beautiful people as she lowered her voice to what would have only been audible to Wintra - if their audience had been human. "Well... you know we're lost right? You just don't know how lost. Remember how we felt the first time we walked into Rose Hall, first year? Like we were what was on the menu? Well... here... is a lot like that." Rusalka smiled, brightly, cheerfully. For all that it showed on her face, she might have said that she needed a perfect score to win a gymnastic meet. "So stick close to me and try to control your fear. It's deadly." For Rusalka, perhaps because she lacked the knowledge of real danger, and perhaps for some other reason, fear was not yet an issue. All she felt was excitement - the adrenaline rush of the unknown, exotic and adventurous - mixed with worry and guilt about what she might have gotten poor Wintra into. Wintra blinked at Rusalka, a betrayed frown darkening her features. She whirled around, once, twice, taking in their situation with a new perspective. "Unicorn watch over us," she whispered, stifling a fearful cry. "Those things after us are Weir, aren't they?" Her nailed fingers dug into her friend's wrist, her fear radiating down her forearm as if it were a tuning fork. Across the way, some of the 'people' snickered and touched shoulders in amusement; confirming Rusalka's suspicions. One female café-goer with mottled hair even went so far as to pick up a salt shaker and leer at them, smacking her lips. Wintra blanched and tightened her grip. "We need to go now!" Up ahead, something large and dark scampered across the street. A heartbeat later, a howl arose behind them. Other than a shadow-filled alleyway, they appeared to be boxed in. "All right, but try to keep calm. I expect our fear is tasty which may be why we're just being teased right now. " Rusalka ignored the pain from where Wintra's nails were biting into her soft flesh, and headed them toward the alleyway. They were being herded, without a doubt, but there wasn't any other choice. Neither of the girls were trained fighters, and Rusalka knew that if they were cornered she could test out the theories on how big a wound a stiletto heel would make, but it wouldn't do serious damage. Everyone knew it took silver to really injure (she didn't want to think about killing) the Weir. Ducking down the alley she couldn't decide if it was better to be in front of her friend or behind - to protect from the known or unknown dangers. So she stayed plastered to Wintra's side. It didn't take them long to compound her suspicions, another howl echoing off the walls of the alleyway behind them. Dark shapes waited for them on the other side, brief flashes of fur and golden eyes, but more than enough to dissuade them from following certain paths. They were being herded like a pair of deer, the pack making sure they moved ever forward… and deeper into the trap. Wintra, to her credit, discovered some steel in her blood and remained composed as they struggled to find their way through the chaotic streets and back alleys. The pack grew bolder, no longer hiding their presence, moving in pairs. They were right out a nightmare, at least five feet in height at the shoulder, countless teeth and burning eyes. Their thick nails clicked on the cobblestones with patient hunger, inching closer, closer, until the blatantly nipped and growled to steer the girls. "Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep," a woman's voice came from the shadows. "And thinks they may be roaming…" A sensual ray of moonlight emerged from the darkness, silvery hair flowing over her pale shoulders. Her clincher top—a cotton construction of buckles, straps, and black ribbon—accented her lean torso, while her ebony skirt rustled around her long legs like autumn leaves. "…But they haven't fled. They're both quite dead. Swallowed by the gloaming." She lit a cigarette, canine eyes catching the match's light. Coils of smoke escaped her nostrils, the cigarette casually held between her gloved fingers. "Something tells me you two are in the wrong section of town." As Wintra's composure increased, Rusalka felt the opposite occurring within her. A dreadful certainty was gnawing at the pit of her stomach, causing a cold and nauseous tension to radiate up and down every muscle in her body. They were going to have to fight. They wouldn't be let out, and being nice and polite wasn't going to get her out of this one, either. She kept a firm grip on both her excitement and the slowly creeping fear. This was her fault and she was going to have to get them out of it. Maybe... if the right moment came, she could do something with a bit of flame, buy them some escape time. She did still have Teddy's lighter, right? She couldn't remember if it was in her purse or not. Rusalka appreciated the wolf-woman's style but not the disturbing poetry. Her arm tightened around Wintra's waist. "We took a wrong turn, yes," she admitted. "We're very sorry to trouble you, but I think we're late already, so if you'd excuse us, we'll be on our way." The silver-haired woman stepped into their path. Wintra tugged at Rusalka's sleeve, drawing her attention to the pack of fang and fur closed the circle behind them. There must have been at least a dozen wolves, all told. Their colorations varied tremendously, ranging from black to mottled brown, but their intentions were singular and unified. "Tsk-tsk. I don't think you grasp the gravity of the situation in which you find yourself, Rusalka," the woman said, blowing ring of smoke into the air. She began to pace, back and forth, sizing the girls up. "You see, you've placed us in a bit of a predicament. The Mother is pregnant tonight. And we must give her strength, lest she not survive Fenrisulfr's advances as he pulls her into darkness. Strength requires flesh and blood." She gave an exaggerated sigh, "I've seen spring fawns with more meat on their bones, but you'll do in a pinch." Rusalka growled a word Wintra had possibly never heard before, and certainly never from her friend's delicate lips. Her hand suddenly dug into the purse, searching for the lighter that might or not be there. ^Be there,^ she willed. While she made this move, in an attempt at distraction, she decided to brazen through, "Since you know my name, you must know who I am. Don't think that if you do this, there will be any place in the world you can run or hide." Wintra gasped at Rusalka's brazenness, so shocked as to momentarily forget they were currently entrees on a festive menu. Perhaps this was for the best considering the circumstances. The Weir's silvery brow rose, intrigued enough by Rusalka's spirited nature to cease pacing. Her golden eyes flashed as she held Rusalka's gaze. "Do you believe that titles and pedigree mean anything to us, Little Lamb? All that matters to us is the chase and the kill. And now that we've had our chase…" Her teeth began to sharpen, her bones creaking and limbs growing as the Moon-shape emerges from beneath her human skin. She takes a step toward Rusalka with dark intent. Rusalka's fingers closed on the cool metal of the lighter and she said an inner pray to the Unicorn. In her head, she heard Teddy's voice, 'Now, this will be good luck to you if you don't ever open it. I don't want to hear about my little sister smoking. And Rusa... you don't want it to leak on your pretty little clothes.' Leak... Yes. Backing away, she moved the lighter into the voluminous pocket of the dress and opened it, feeling the drips of liquid soaking into her skirts. This was going to hurt, but at least she might not be dead in a few minutes. Just one minute more.... "Not my titles, my family. I hope you're ready for warriors with silver weapons creeping into where you sleep," and then she struck the wheel hard and felt the burst of heat, followed by a sharp pang on her thigh. The dress went up - not as spectacularly as she'd hoped, but it allowed her to rip, tearing the burning fabric away. She spun it, almost like one of her long ribbons, trying to keep the Weir back, and then, as the flames licked against her right hand she screamed, "Win! Run!" and she threw the flaming fabric at one of the exit routes, away from the wolfwoman she had spoken to, hoping against hope that it would spook the Weir and make them run, because if not... She was running before she had time to think further than that, toward the exit she was trying to make. The Weir were afraid of very few things in the natural world, but the blessings of Prometheus certainly fell amongst them. With the Moon-shape upon her, the silver-haired woman couldn't leash the Beast's instinctive fear. She leapt back with a startled yelp. The others, already fully in their Moon-shapes, were no different; scampering away frantically before their human-minds could steel their nerves. Everything happened in mere seconds, but it was all the time Wintra needed. She sprinted toward an alleyway and was gone before the Weir recovered their senses. Rusalka, however, would not be so lucky. By the time she turned to run, Silver-hair was upon her, slashing her across the shoulder with a howl of pure hate. Fortunately only fabric tore beneath the claws, not flesh. The blow was enough to make the poor girl stumble and she went sprawling forward, the cobblestones reaching up to greet her. But they never met. Instead, a steely arm wrapped around her waist and swept her up as if she were made of silk. Rusalka found herself being gently lifted into the air, her cheek coming to rest against a man's chest, encompassing her in his scent of musk and winter pine. He smiled down at her, golden eyes bright as the moon. "Are you alright, Little Fox?" Rusalka had, for the moment, only fleeting impressions - strong, handsome, smooth - that magnificent scent - and he had saved her. Her mind was racing, unable to make complete sentences. She tore her gaze from her savior's face and searched for Silver-hair. The battle might not be over, and she could not afford to think yet of arms strong as steel or easy moonlight smiles - or, her mother's nagging voice reminding her how little clothing she was now actually wearing. "I'm... fine," she gasped finally. "Thank you. How did you happen... by?" With a perfunctory nod, the man set her down, allowing her to stand. His golden eyes held her, encompassed her, and then abandoned Rusalka to seek out the silver-haired woman. She crouched nearby, her body shivering with murderous intent. As she and the man locked eyes, a battle of wills began. The man's lips curled back in a snarl. Immediately, the woman's head fell, breaking the connection. "Damn it, Tallis!" the man growled, "What were you thinking?" Tallis couldn't look up. "We were just having some fun, Bigby. it was just a joke." The other wolves whimpered in agreement. None dared risk the man's anger by drawing closer. Bigby's fists curled in white-knuckled balls, "Fun?! You're lucky that I don't throat you here and now. Get out my sight and I'll deal with you and the others later. Pass the word around. And the other human is not to be harmed." Tallis glanced up, pure hatred spearing into Rusalka. A snarl from Bigby sent her and the others scurrying away. They melted into the shadows like bad memories and were gone, leaving Rusalka and her 'savior' alone. "I could smell you," he said, apparently in answer to her previous question. Rusalka forced herself to meet Tallis' eyes, even though the lance of hatred rocked her for a moment. She had experienced some nasty jealousy before, but nothing this tangible, and after those moments of absolute terror, while her heart was still pounding and the adrenaline made every sense heightened, every nerve seem somehow aware, it was worse yet. And then, looking at Bigby, was better. She forced her breathing to slow and smiled, even if it was a little forced. Even without the stress of the evening, that would have left her with little idea how to respond. A bit lamely she said, "I'm glad I wore this perfume, then. I mean... Thank you again... But, um, if you don't mind the question, are you... their leader?" Bigby snorted with amusement. "Their Alpha? Yes. By Blood and Claw. And you've already thanked me, Little Fox. There is no need to do so again." Suddenly, his hand was holding her chin, gentle, curious. His golden eyes held her for a moment, the animal staring out from behind that handsome face. He leaned in close, sniff the air around her. And then he abruptly paced off, his overcoat trailing behind him like crow wings. He kept a brisk pace as he ducked into the alley Wintra had run down. "You held your ground," he said, glancing over at her. "Brave. Stupid, but brave." Rusalka had to walk in a jerky, almost run to keep up with his stride, but she was willing to attempt it. A wide, embarrassed smile tugged her face downwards and she looked at the ground as she said, "Stupid I'll grant, but it wasn't brave. I got Wintra into this mess and the only way I could think to maybe get her out... by then there was no where to run. I tried, before that, believe me. Is she alive, still? Can you smell her?" "Aye, her scent is known to me," Bigby said, pausing to sniff the air. "She lives and is nearby. You will be with her soon." He changed direction down a different street, ignoring her embarrassment. "You were willing to sacrifice yourself for a pack-mate," he states matter-of-factly. That is our truest definition of bravery, Little Fox. Your foolishness stemmed from using fire against a Weir. It is a killing weapon, and thus a formal challenge. Had I not intervened, Tallis would surely have slain you. You and I must discussion this matter further in the near future." [Bigby's] golden eyes settled on her, noting her attempts to keep stride with him. A frown quirked his lips, "Forgive me. I am unaccustomed to tracking with someone at my side. Would you be more comfortable with a mount, Lady Rusalka?" Rusalka blushed. A mount would probably aid in their pursuit, but she couldn't let herself admit that. "No, I'll manage." "As you wish," he said, nodding in respect. She kicked her heels off, which increased her stride a bit. "But the fire thing... I mean, wasn't the threat they were offering me death? Wasn't... Tallis... suggesting killing us?" Bigby's lips curled back unconsciously, revealing long canine and carnassial teeth. "Tallis follows the Path of Gwydion," he growled. When he realized this meant little to Rusalka, he continued, "She is a New Moon. A Trickster. And although most New Moons can be. . . exuberant. . . in their knavery, Tallis possesses a dark and cruel heart. She would have allowed you to leave, but only after tasting the last morsel of your fear." He flexed his paw in restrained agitation; a paw because it could no longer be considered a human hand, furred and clawed as it had become. "We drive intruders from our territory during the Mother's Moon, but she tested the limits of the Covenant tonight. I fear this incident is but a first sign of future rebellions." Rusalka shook her head and bit back on her sigh. The adrenaline was fading, so pain was blossoming in her burns, and she began to realize that it was very late. And this particular social faux pas couldn't be solved with a giggle and a tap with a fan. "I'm sorry for my part in that, sir. I misread the situation and assumed that she meant what she was saying to us. In doing so, I forced your hand. But I'll get out of your territory as soon as I find Wintra, and hopefully things will blow over..." Bigby stopped in his tracks, sniffing the air, and then turning down another street. His hand shifted back to its human-shape, moving in a dismissive gesture. "Do not let your thoughts tarry longer on this. Your ignorance is understandable and forgiven. Do not ingratiate yourself further. It is unbecoming, Little Fox." Rusalka's eyebrows raised slightly but she nodded. He smiled softly, his golden eyes reflecting the street light. "Besides, you have inadvertently uncovered a rebellious element in need of finer attention. That benefits me tremendously." Impulsively, Rusalka said, "Yes... Why do you call me that? 'Little Fox'?" Bigby chuckled, a deep throaty laugh. "Because observing you tonight reminded me of my fox sisters, Lady Rusalka. Your tenacity, your cleverness, and your unerring ability to get into trouble. And as you are my blood-ward now, you require an appropriate name." She smiled. She had so many questions, but for the moment finding Wintra was of higher priority. Bigby turned the corner and stepped aside, pointing to the shadowy recess beneath a stoop. "I believe you shall find your friend there." "All right." Rusalka wanted to thank him again, but decided it might be ingratiating. Instead, she gave the handsome weir a deep nod and a smile and moved toward the shadows he had indicated. "Win? It's Rusalka... It's okay, we can go now. Home, all right?" As she moved toward the shadows, she heard a timid voice, "Rusalka?" At the same moment, the Temple Street Clock rang. Midnight. "Damn it," Bigby cursed, a hint of fear in his voice. "I didn't think it was that late." Wintra stepped toward her friend, but as the moonlight touched her face a terrible transformation took place. Her skin blackened to the consistency of volcanic rock. Her body constricted and hard, arms and legs pulling inward until she'd become encased in a shell. No not a shell. A coffin. Rusalka took a step back, her breath catching in her throat. One hand rose involuntarily, reaching out toward the coffin that stood where Wintra had been, but she let it fall without touching. Horror choked her throat and no sound escaped. The buildings and street suffered as well, the natural and lively appearances bleeding away to a wretched dullness. Blood trickled down the stoop and pooled in the cracked cobblestone. The now olive moonlight cast the world in sickness, reflecting off the pools with a hideous luminescence. A mixture of terror and disgust swirled in Rusalka's gut as she stared at the blood, which had come from nothing, and was easier somehow to look at than the shell... the pitiful thing that stood where Wintra... Her brain was not connecting the dots - this felt real but could not be real - nothing could transform so quickly, it must be illusion or a dream or the stress affecting her. It couldn't be real. And yet she could smell the metallic tang of the blood, and it suddenly was not easier. "No," she managed to whisper, breathing through her mouth and forcing herself to remain calm. She moved to attempt to open the box - perhaps Wintra was still alive inside... Behind her, she heard Bigby inhale sharply. He stepped back, golden eyes burned. "What are you still doing here?" he said, his teeth sharpening. Rusalka turned, confused, half-expecting Bigby to be speaking to someone else who had just appeared. "Where should I have gone?" "You should have become like her, Little Fox," Bigby said flatly. Cautiously, he walked over and sniffed the air around her. His golden eyes flashed with confusion and concern. "You do not smell like one of the Lost. Interesting." He touched her shoulder, as if unsure that she was real. His lupine fingers trailed over her skin unabashedly, moving downward, claws teasing her wrist. A curious smile turned up the corners of his mouth, his canines sharpening as Rusalka watched. "Very interesting, indeed." Rusalka felt herself melting forward at the teasing touch, sinking into the gold of his eyes. Suddenly she shook her head and turned back to the Wintra-box. "What's happened to her? I don't understand. And where did... when did..? *You* didn't change. Does that mean I am like you?" Questions made it easier. Looking at him made it easier. "Perhaps," Bibgy said, continuing to touch her cheek and shoulder and hair with one hand, while lacing her fingers with the other. "You passed into the Dark Hour naturally. Very few do. And those unlucky enough to remain aware are usually consumed in short order. But, in you. . ." He leaned in close to her neck, sniffing; his warm breath and musk encompassing her. ". . . I sense something. . . different." Bigby leaned back for a moment, trapping her in his eyes. "Your friend is safe in her Chrysalis. But you must not disturb her rest or she will be meat for the Shadows." A low, sensual growl rumbled in Bigby's chest, raising her wrist to his lips. "What are you, Rusalka? She was neither used to nor fond of irony, but she found she couldn't help it in this case. Sighing, she flipped an unruly strand of hair away from her face as she murmured, "You'd know better than I, I'm afraid. I *thought* I was just plain old Amberite. But I've never... I don't know what's going on or half of what you're saying, and as adventures go, this is more creepy than exciting. Minus you, of course. God, that blood... And you say she's safe? You're sure?" The steady stream of conversation was doing it's job - she wasn't thinking about the fear, or the confusion, or how it felt to be so close to Bigby - both dangerous and pleasurable at the same time. Bigby nodded lightly, gazing into her eyes. "She is safe, Rusalka. . ." he began, only to pause; his head snapping to the left. He sniffed the air and curled back his lips in a feral growl. "However, we may not be. No time to explain. Simply climb on and do not let go." Without a word, he fell on all fours in an explosion of flesh and muscle and fur, creating a shockwave of displaced air. However, he did not lose an inch of height. If anything, he appeared to grow taller still, his body stretching outward and upward. The shoulder Rusalka now found herself eye-level with now was no longer human. . . but the powerful flank of a grey wolf, roughly the size of a warhorse. The broad canine head turned around to regard her, lowering itself to ease her ascent onto its back. She'd seen the weir earlier that night, and knew, from his partial transformations and from his words, what he was, but the transformation still surprised her. Rusalka stared up at the largest wolf she'd ever seen in her life, her eyes widening. This part was like a fairy tale, and it was both exciting and a little frightening - her breath was speeding up again, her fingers clenching. Still, he had saved her once before. She climbed onto Bigby's back with all the grace she could manage, trying to avoid aggravating her burns, or letting her skirts climb all the way up to her hips. He lifted her up easily, letting her sink into his warm fur. Once again, she found herself surrounded in his scent, feel the incredible power moving beneath her like an engine of pure will. As her fingers held tight, a young woman's voice flooded her head. fur can be used in a salve for any type of injury. You may want to ask him if We can borrow some to treat those burns> Before she could respond, Bigby took off like a grey storm, running down the street at full speed. A surprising rush of strength allowed Rusalka to hang on as he leapt onto a shed and from there, onto the rounded roof of a nearby two-story house. His claws bit into the plaster and wood, allowing him to traverse the dizzying height with little effort. In the distance, a tower loomed over the city; an architectural pillar of madness that stretched toward the green moon. With an unfamiliar sense of direction, Rusalka realized that Bigby was actually doubling back toward Wintra's 'body.' Indeed, she had a strange sense of omnipresence, as if Amber and its surroundings were all known to her. She had but to concentrate on a singular location and… The Voice snapped, Almost immediately, she felt a rush of guilt flood her thoughts. okay?> Rusalka tensed, startled, when she heard the voice and looked around incongruously for a source at first, before determining that at their present location, it was impossible that it should have come from anywhere but her head. This, surprisingly, was more frightening than the ride itself, and led to her being distracted and extremely uncomfortable as they doubled back around. The sense of omnipresence lulled her, fueling her curiosity, and she had almost gotten back into her normal mindset when the voice came again and pushed her back into paranoic anxiety. Regretting it the instant she did it, she thought back forcefully (having no experience with communicating inside her own head) As she began this mental dance, Bigby leapt from one rooftop to another until he came to a halt behind a raised ledge. Below them, Rusalka recognized the street they'd just left; Wintra's coffin standing solemnly in the darkness. That, in of itself, seemed strange, actually. Only moments before, the shadows had been so thick that Rusalka had been unable to see more than a few feet. Now the night had been pushed back by a new, heightened perception, as if she now possessed a wolf's eyes. <Kid! Please. I'm warning you> The Voice said. <Just think about Mr. Furry between your legs and let go of the godliness switch, 'kay? And you can just talk to me. No need to push back. For now at least. But if you keep the mind-trip up, I guarantee, we're all going bye-bye.> The strange, geometric pattern the city had inspired in Rusalka's thoughts neared completion. Rusalka protested weakly, still in her mind only, but she tried to focus her attention on visceral things - on the feel of Bigby's fur, his muscles moving, on the burns on her leg, on the sensation of the night air, and ignore the intoxicating knowledge. Without focus to power it, the pattern came unraveled and Rusalka heard a sigh of relief in her head. Her perceptions of the city returned back to its normal state—as normal as this nightmarish landscape could be defined. However, as the basic tenants of magic stated: power flows where attention goes. And with her attention moving to the pain her legs, a different rush of power flooded through her body, this one more subtle, but no less noticeable. As she watched, the skin began to reknit and grow paler, the hideous burns slowly fading away as if they had never existed, the pain an after-thought. She'd been a fast healer since childhood—a hereditary gift on her mother's side—but this. . . this was different. This was Sorcery in its purest form. Bigby had not noticed this display, as of yet. He remained focused solely on the street below. A low growl rumbled through his body like an earth tremor. He began to hunch down, as if to lower his profile against observers. Rusalka stared in disbelief at her healing injuries. She was not a sorceress - despite her mother's attempts, the subtle manipulation of forces had never been something she had either interest or aptitude in. But this... this was amazing, as the idea of stretching her brain so far had been as well, and almost addictive in its sweet, subtle pleasure. She could sense the Voice's approving smiling < have such sights to show you>> The presence curled up in the back of her mind without further comment. Since the warning voice in her head didn't seem to want to answer questions, Rusalka gave up on that for the moment, feeling that it was probably more important to figure out what was affecting Bigby. Bending lower over his back to make a smaller target, she peered down in the direction he was looking, trying to determine what was wrong. It took her a moment to focus her eyes, but with her newly heightened senses Rusalka finally noticed the squat shapes scuttling from shadow to shadow in the street below. As large as a medium sized dog, nine or ten creatures now advanced in a pack-like fashion. However, they were a foul mixture of infant and toad, their pale, lumpy bodies broken and twisted into a quadruped existence. Piggish noses sniffed the air as some cruel god had sealed their eye sockets over with pink scar tissue. Rusalka's stomach turned and her mouth twisted in a mixture of disgust and pity. If she had not been too afraid, she might have wept. The lead creature paused when it reached Wintra's coffin. The lumps on its back splitting open wetly to reveal a triad of mouths on fleshy stalks. The mouths smacked obscenely as they explored the polished stone. Finding nothing of interest, the mouths retracted into the creature's back. It was then Rusalka felt a tingle on her neck. . . and heard something sniffing. Close. Very close. "Bigby," Rusalka whispered, almost an exhalation of breath. There was nothing she could do about her scent. But where was it... Did her hearing work better now as well... she focused on the sniffing without turning her head. She felt the beast stiffen beneath her; Bigby now catching the scent of the nearby threat. As Rusalka concentrated, she became acutely aware of her surroundings. Much as a bat could echo-locate its prey, the young woman's 'hearing' gave her a momentary glimpse at her surroundings; a ghostly image of the rooftop filling her mind. In that brief image, she sensed the toad-like beast clinging to a stove-pipe some ten paces away. As of yet, it had not deployed its mouths. <<Alright darling, I need you to climb off your boyfriend's back very slowly>> the voice in her head whispered, as if it might be heard. <<While you're doing that, summon the image of a burning spear in your mind. And then mentally throw it at that thing when you hit the ground. Got me?>> Grateful beyond measure for the play by play instructions, Rusalka nodded and moved to obey. The voice of calm authority helped her to focus on what she was doing rather than on what she was doing it to, and to ignore the utter insane turnaround of cheerleader Rusalka developing supernatural powers overnight. She slipped from the Weir's back at a normal slow pace, but to her it seemed so slowly it was almost painful, as her muscles desired to move with adrenaline quickness. Once her feet were solidly on the ground, at the same time she continued down, crouching, she brought into her mind the image of a burning spear, and waited until it was completely formed, every detail perfect and visible to her, as if she were seeing a real spear in her inner eyelids. Then she imagined the spear hurled by a force much, much stronger than Rusalka Cardovan's arm, straight at the toad-baby thing. A euphoric rush of power burned through her body, teasing every nerve, every synapse. In that instant, her perceptions expanded beyond anything her mind could possibly comprehend. She could see the lines of magic tying everything together: the creature, the roof, the stovepipe, her hand, and the air between them. By simply inserting the image of the spear into this 'reality,' she summoned it into existence. The thin ribbon of fire leapt from her palm and impaled the creature, boiling through flesh and bone. It shrieked in anguish and promptly died as its internal organs charred and roasted, the body toppling to the rooftop. The cry did not go unanswered, however. Its siblings below heard it and cried out in rage. Rusalka sensed Bigby moving to defend her. But she had little time to take notice much of anything else as a blinding pain erupted in her left eye. The scream in her head wasn't solely her own. Nor was it solely in her head that she screamed, though when enough consciousness returned that Rusalka noticed her cries were audible, she forced herself to stifle them. Tears rushed down her cheeks and her left hand rose automatically to the direction of the pain. It was more pain than she had ever experienced, and at first all she could do was hold her face and sob, despite mentally urging herself to get up, to fight. There were more of those things out there, and they couldn't just run. She wanted to run, wanted so badly to get back on Bigby and beg him to take them away, but sometime, from what she'd been told, Wintra would come out of the coffin, and she couldn't be alone in Weir territority with no way to get back to campus. No real woman, no matter what her pain, would leave a friend like that. If she could intensify her senses, perhaps she could also dampen them. 'I need to feel this less, just for now. Just until the fight is over. And I need to see what hit me.' <This is wrong> the Voice said in pained confusion. <What happened to me? What happened to my eye?> The Voice grew quiet, steeling itself against whatever level of pain it might be suffering. And soon, the pain in Rusalka's eye dulled to a blistering irritation. Bigby snapped and snarled behind her. She turned just in time to witness him crushing one of the creatures like a walnut in his mammoth jaws before disdainfully spitting out the ruined sack of meat. He backed up slowly, acting like a shield for his companion. The main body of their attackers confronted him, slashing at him with their tendril-mouths. Blood began to stain his fur, but the wounds were healing almost as quickly as they were inflicted. Two of the infantile things circled around behind them, setting their sights on Rusalka. Although the pain had become manageable, she still felt the power boiling within her. Wary now, since she had clearly misused the power before, she carefully tried again, this time imagining the fiery bolts of power outside of her own head before she visualized throwing them with violent and impossible swiftness at their dual targets. Rusalka felt the pain flare in her eye again, albeit significantly lessened than her previous experience. The pain flowed out of her and took on a physical form. Rather than the fiery bolts she'd witnessed will-workers create, the very air surrounding the two creatures ignited like a blast furnace. She felt the waves of heat on her face, the night blazing with flame's intensity. When the flash retreated, the creatures had been reduced to ash, their shadows imprinted into the stone wall behind them. Bigby howled triumphantly behind her and she felt his cold nose brush her arm. "They've taken flight," the giant wolf rumbled. Its glowing eyes settled on the smoldering remains, confused. "How?" Feeling tears leaking from her eyes again, Rusalka tried hard to concentrate, to feel good about routing the creatures and to ignore the horrible pain, and the even more horrible confusion. "I... I don't know. I don't understand anything about this evening at all. I can... visualize things... my mind... I can..." She thought of mentioning the voice and decided against it. People who heard voices and then blew things up with their minds were worse than people who just blew things up with their minds. At least the latter could be counted on to be in control. "Can you see my eye? Is it... ruined?" With a loud exhalation of air, the wolf shrank back down into a man. Bigby cupped Rusalka's face tenderly, brushing her hair back with his huge, rough hand. Although his body resonated with contained violence, he guided her head to the side as if handling fine porcelain. So gentle, one could almost ignore the slippery streak of crimson his thumb left upon her pale skin. His eyes glimmered as he leaned in close, encompassing her with his presence. "How strange. There is a discoloration here," he whispered. "But it is like a mirage. As if one image is resting atop another." His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer, gold eyes staring with wonderment. "But it looks - but it... Bigby - I don't... is there anything... maybe we should go back to campus?" Rusalka had no idea what to do with herself and knowing that there was nothing immediately wrong with her eyes did not immediately make her feel better and more secure. "Or... I should get the box first." "We shall be fine here," Bigby said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "Traveling through the city during the Dark Hour will only invite further attacks. Come." He took her hands and led her toward the roof's edge. "Sit with me. Our world shall return soon. And then I shall escort you both home, yes?" Rusalka let herself be led without protest, trying to fit the night's strange events into her mind. 'Our world,' he had said, and 'the Dark Hour.' She rolled those phrases around in her head, in case her mysterious psychic guest wanted to comment on them. "Papa will be angry I missed the party," she said absently. "What *is* the Dark Hour?" Bigby slipped his arm around her protectively, "A curse. An aberration. For 39 years, I've asked that very question and have yet to discover an answer. All I know is that when Twelfth Strike comes, Amber enters Eljudnir; Hel's dark hall. When an hour has passed, the world resumes. However, only a moment has passed." He managed a thin smile, "Your father will not know of your absence, because for him, no time has elapsed." "But you've always known when it was the Dark Hour?" Rusalka pressed. "This is the first time I have ever experienced it and - I don't know why now. And I don't know why..." She shook her head, forcing a smile. "Unicorn, I sound like a whiny little spoiled brat, and I told myself I'd never do that. If it weren't for you - I'd be dead a million times, and maybe insane as well. I hope that after the night is over, it's not the last time I see you." She didn't reply to the bit about her father, mostly because she didn't want to think about that fact that, while he wouldn't know about the Dark Hour, he would know that either she missed the party entirely, or that she arrived at it with her dress torn to shreds, her shoes gone and burns on her thigh. That would not be a fun explanation. Bigby snorted, amused. "You may wish to look at that smoking crater, Rusalka. You did that. Not I. I believe you possess a great strength. Even if it is foreign to you." He gently stroked her shoulder. "You are upset. That is understandable. Even the bravest Weir trembles during their first battle. If they do not, they are fools." I'll be okay, Rusalka thought, just need to throw up a few times and the shaking will stop. Once I get Wintra home. She found that Bigby's hand in her hair was having a similar effect, however, and the trembling was subsiding a little. He bowed his head, "And yes. You shall see me again. We have shed blood together, Little Fox. By Weir standards, we are now husband and wife." His lips curled into a playful smile. "Fear not. I shall speak to your father on your behalf." Rusalka laughed before she realized it might not be a joke - it was a release of tension, one she greatly needed. Then she suddenly stared, hoping she hadn't offended. Curiosity, desire and sheer terror vied for a position in her chest, and the tightness made her wonder if her heart was still beating. Curiosity won. "Really? And I'm the first female you've shed blood with? You're teasing me, right?" Bigby chuckled, "I've shed blood with many females, aye. But none as exotic as you, Rusalka." He brushed his hand through her oddly colored hair once more, before its comforting weight settled on her shoulder. He cocked his head, studying her intently. Golden eyes glimmered in the azure light, bringing warmth to this desolate world. She felt his thumb brush over the pulse of her throat, his face unreadable. And then, he stood up and offered his hand. The tightness in her chest accentuated, her breath caught and there was a moment when all she was aware of was the slight soft pressure of his thumb and the warm depths of his eyes, and she thought he might kiss her and she thought she might kiss him back. Then the moment was over and she could breathe again, and she even managed not to make it sound like a sigh. "The scent of Wolfseye is on the wind," he explained. "The Dark Hour is ending. We should descend and attend to your friend." "Yes," Rusalka said, climbing to her feet and dusting off the tatters of her dress. "We shouldn't... say anything about this around her, all right? About lightning coming from my eyes and those coffins and things? If she doesn't think I'm crazy, she'll be even more scared than she must already be. I'll never get her out of the dorm room after tonight." She tried to smile, found it wasn't as hard as all that. Bigby helped her onto a fire escape, descending in front of her to prevent a fall. "That would be best, Little Fox. I'd suggest you say that your dress got torn on a railing during your squabble with Tallis. It sounds an appropriate excuse." "On a railing while I was *running away*," Rusalka agreed, stressing the most important part of the story. Her father would believe that, and if she conveniently forgot Tallis' name, and only remembered she had also been saved by a Weir, that should ameliorate most of the anger that Cardovan House would direct to this part of the city. He hopped down to street level before turning around to assist Rusalka. He put his powerful hands around her waist, lowering her into his arms. Once again, she found herself encompassed in his animal presence. As he stared down at her, his canines sharpened, the feral glow igniting in his eyes. One hand traveled along the curve of her back, prolonging the unplanned embrace for an exquisite moment. As the world around them began to fill with the normalcy of life, she could feel him tremble against her body. Again, for that instant, time slowed and his warmth, his scent, his eyes, the firm muscles of his chest and biceps took over her universe. The tension of danger filled her, a fight or flight impulse that was also something else, another option besides either. "Unicorn," she whispered. Bigby managed a sad smile, "Perhaps I should. . . let you find your friend. I will watch over you. Make certain you return home. But if I tarry much longer. . . I. . ." He wet his dry lips, unable to speak. Rusalka nodded. It didn't matter that she wanted to know the end of the sentence, or even that she wasn't sure she didn't want him to do whatever the end of the sentence was. What mattered was that he had stopped, and she couldn't go on, not that night, not after what had happened, and not until she knew him better, although a deep part of her felt that she might know him better than she did any other man because of what they had shared. "I'll see you again," she said, and gently slipped away, to where the coffin had been and she hoped to find Wintra. Find Wintra, and go back to the dorms. She could apologize to her father for missing the party in the morning. Maybe that way she wouldn't even have to explain more than they got very lost and it got very late and Wintra was tired. She found Wintra at the bottom of the stairwell, trembling like a frightened animal. The moment she set eyes on Rusalka, the girl threw her arms around her friend and began crying hysterical. Her words spilled out in a nonsensical torrent, punctuated by sniffles and tears. It took several moments before she could be calmed to semi-comprehensibility. "Please Rusalka," she begged, "I want to go home. Are you okay? What was that? Are they after us? Oh I hate you for bringing me here. But I'm happy you're safe. Oh you tore your dress. I'm so sorry!" The tears returned in buckets and continued for much of the way home. Rusalka held her friend tight and didn't say anything much beyond, "I've got you, we're safe, we're going home," over and over again. But as they walked, Rusalka could feel a shadow behind them, large and wolfish in shape. Upon occasion, she would catch a glimpse of golden eyes shining in the darkness. Inhuman, yet filled with concern. Or perhaps, something much, much deeper. No matter the emotion that lurked behind those lupine eyes, they did not inspire dread, but comfort. As long as they watched over her, Rusalka knew she would always be safe. |
