Sacred (Open)

[rachael]

"Spiders" Raymond was the city.

He used to be a drug addict, used to be a crack fiend, attacking people to get a fistful of dollars for his next high. That was before the city came to him, before he started hearing its lure. He saw clearly into his own past now, as one might look upon himself in death. The filthy man, Spiders, moved to the beat of a new drum, commanded by a new master. He no longer even craved his old vice anymore - that was part of the arrangement.

He wasn't insane. The rabble was insane. How could they not hear that voice? So loud... so insistent... he muttered to himself, something about, well, spiders, as he huddled his newest theft close to his chest. The old subways, the ones that didn't work anymore, they were his safe harbor in the new world where men devoured men, where things were as crazy as the direction he was going. Why was he going back there with food? The city again whispered to him, and he muttered something about spiders, bugger it, shows the lot of em it does, lousy burrito mongering pissant, oh bugger it all, Better off eating pigs, do they?

The city was pleased. Spiders was warmed - it was a regular christmas miracle, but, then, what the City told him to do... how high, right? Was the beast calm? Pausing at the precipice of the old trainyard tunnel, where within lied the object of his abstract terror, he took a register, sniffing at the frozen night. Piss. No, really. His own. Spiders smiled - good. He started walking into the tunnel, wrapped feet crunching in the snow. The man would be glad for the warmth of his own home, with a girl no less.

When he got to the car, to the very door he shut and ran like hell from not eight hours ago, he paused, peeking inside. IT was in shambles! He frowned a little, and resisted the sore urge to mumble to himself for fear for his life. But, to his joy, there was no monster in the subway car. The windows were still even intact! He smiled! Good fortune! Opening the door, he was given pause in the face of a very... very big wolf resting upon a pile of refuse, her (he somehow knew) brown face and fore juxtaposed hard against the silver hind of her own form, then shut the door behind him. He could swear, the beast's tail was wagging. Wasn't this supposed to be a girl? Didn't matter.

The city cleared his throat, and shot the Unihar a smile, pulling out an offering - it wasn't as good as the fare she was likely used to, but considering, it was probably good anyhow. HE didn't know - to eat it would make the human he rode... well, get really smelly for a while and hurt something fierce. The wolf eyed the offered slab of steak like one might stare at a sex icon, and began to devour the offering greedily. Spiders ate what was left in the bag - he feasted on some bread and brandy, glad to be home and for once, to have... a bit of company, however scary the Unihar was to him.

After their meal, The wolf moved close to Spiders, her warmth welcome against the City's human body. He stroked her coat, she licked his face clean of the brandy, and she waited, with inhuman patience, for the (now stinking drunk) city spirit to finish his human's meal and drink, sharing the beverage (but certainly not the bread! His Bread!) with the wolf that was as big as him, perhaps even bigger. Once the drink was gone, and warmth filled them both, from each others company and from the brandy of course, New York stood to his feet. It was time.

"Come, Unihar." the words sounded inhuman form his throat and chest, his voice taking on the multitone of a spirit, the sounds of spiders muttering under his breath faintly audible to the wolf. She knew what he was really saying. What his blasted mouth moved to say didn't mean a damn thing.

Wolf or no, she was a lady - Spiders still opened the door for her, after all it was the Gentleman's Excuse. Cough. New York berated his human vessel on the general principle of the thing.

[slade]

Slade looked down at the city from the perch that was becoming familiar. He gazed down at the city lights shining, the ants running around below, at the masses seething and writhing like the maggots they were... so many of them living such meaningless lives. he wondered how many of them would go home tonight and smack their wives around, how many of them would steal their neighbors mail, how many of them would fall for the present deceptions. 'Just one more time, it can't happen to me, I am not contagious, everyone is doing it, she wants this I mean look at how she dresses.' he could almost hear them, the slime so present in the cities... New York was still better then That Damned City... it still had a chance... and he had to admit it was a wonderful and beautiful example of humanity at it's most human. A text book example really.

As the thought of stuffing and mounting the city amused him Slade stepped off the ledge and back onto the rooftop humming quietly as he did so, the pigeons so pridominent on the other roofs gave him plenty of space, taking to the air quite a distance from him as his quiet steps took him back to the stairway door and what laid within. His steps taking him past a slowly drooling guard at his post... though to the guards credit Slade had not given him a choice of the matter. He propelled himself past the concussed guard and paused as he had when he had walked past him the first time.

He looked at the frowning man and out of a feeling born of his usually suppressed mischievous side he grabbed a pen from the desk before the guard and extended it towards the man's face, towards his closed eyes. Closer and closer the point came to the man's face till Slade held it right to the man's lid and moved it in a quick flick of the wrist, once and twice, and he repeated it with the other. Looking at the work he placed the pen back where it was as going back to humming he walked back to the elevator that had carried him to this level walking over the occasional man, utterly ignoring the signs of carnage around him, the occasional splatter of blood from friendly fire, the spawled men who found themselves second best in a contest of skill, and spent casings littering the flow. As he reached the elevator Slade looked back and smiled at the guard and the Xs decorating his eyelids. He couldn't help it he lightly chuckled as he pushed the second floor button on the elevator. No point in going to the first floor when there was a perfectly good building next door he could enter from the second story.

[rachael]

When the door of the elevator slid open, unexpectedly there was a man in rags, stinking to high heaven of brandy and cigarettes, his face sunken and emaciated, with the most recent shave right at about four weeks running - probably about the last time he'd had a bath, too, from the stench of him. He was leaning on the opening to the elevator heavily, tired, but hollow eyes staring in at Slade as the filthy beggar puffed at his smoke.

He didn't move to say anything at first, but he was breathing and didn't immediately drop his jaw and shamble at Slade, so he wasn't a zombie... but his eyes were empty. Not dead... empty. They didn't react, glazed over and perhaps a bit crusty from likely a long time from being like that. He sidled into the elevator beside the noted villain like it was just another office commute, and mumbled something like

"Nasty business, them ducks... rrnnnnhh.. runnhuhun... Damn spiders took all the bread and now what goods it got them, ey?" then as an afterthought, added, his expression changing to a manic, but bright smile, eyes going a bit wide "Welcome to the city... of dreams!" as the elevator door closed behind him.

[talbain]

Was a late night in New York. Talbain stood in the second floor of the office building his contact he interrogated told him about, his eyes on a pauper. Talbain was a drifter himself, going from country to country or town to town looking only to fight the very best and come out on top. He rarely ever lost a fight and rarely ever came out with any serious injuries. However, him having exceptional healing is probably a factor in that. With being a werewolf it had quite a few perks, advanced healing and super strength being one of them. Jon knew that to be the best he had to fight a man who'd taken many lives for sport. Slade Wilson or Deathstroke as some know him. Fancy nicknames don't mean jack shit to Talbain though, it's just a cheesy moniker that some paper comes up with to sell some more issues.

Seems Slade was going to hit up this here building, no sense in fighting him on the floor with all the security. Best to let him do his business then come out because the last thing needed is to have a whole squad of people after him which would likely happen as when you see a werewolf you tend to focus all fire on him instead of the psycho wearing an orange helmet. "Showtime. Jon muttered as he saw the elevator move down and seeing the poor man go inside. Jon swiftly walked in, really unable to hide the fact he's a anthromorphic wolf man.