(no subject)

[27_53]

[Following this post.]

They had been so kind (the shopkeepers) to send all of the purchases ahead to the hotel that they had recommended by the staff (and the citizens who had been drafted into the search-for-all-things-Russian army) that there was very little Skellig and Katya actually had to do, other than arrive at the hotel and ask for a room.

Skellig offers over a credit card (the plastic things can be useful it seems, especially when people neglect to shred their trash before putting it in the bin - this one is from three countries and two times over, so nobody will bother to check the details for a long time, if ever) and a winning smile to the clerk, who happily offers his congratulations and a pair of keycards.

(There's also a glance, he's sure of it - because it has been days since he's bathed and it's so not normal for this hotel, but they had the money so it does not matter what the clerk thinks.)

The elevator ride to the top floor is slightly dizzying; once Skellig slides the card into the lock (practice from Milliways - it only takes two tries before the light turns green) and opens the door into the room.

Their grocery bags are neatly stacked on the counter. He wonders how they knew which room, but perhaps it is better not to question fate.

"...wow," is all he manages.

Comments

[katyafeline]

She aims for following him - the it is odd, she doesn't know what exactly she's chasing there (and that's a feeling she doesn't like at all). Him she can follow like a beacon on a dark night, the gravel and rough asphalt ripping into her paws.

"Featherduster!" She flings it through the Gloom at him, furiously, "I will chain your downy hide to the railing, see if I don't!"

[27_53]

He laughs.

(he is not laughing at her, not entirely - it is the half-crazed laugh of a predator getting closer to the prey that was stupid enough to provoke him in such a manner to lead him to leap off of a twenty-first story balcony in the first place)

And it is bright and shining through the grit and the gray-black-gray haze.

It is definitely not a snake. And it is not like Them, though it also is like Them, in the way that it is different.

(Almost there. Almost.)

[katyafeline]

She can feel him close with his prey and snarls impatiently. She was too slow to start, and now she's having to make up time. The city block she's running through is suddenly a depressive place - happy couples suddenly find a reason to fight, peaceful children suddenly become fractious, laughter turns to tears.

And the tiger goes faster, her rumble a low constant litany of promises of what she's going to do to lunatics who go hunting without making sure she's following.

[27_53]

To his credit, he does not attack until he knows she is close enough to help him, in case things go badly.

And even then, he doesn't outright attack, in this alley behind an abandoned brick building with an iron fire escape that has rusted through the rungs of the ladder. It is a stereotypical scene for such a thing, but it is how these things work.

And when he does attack, the beacon that she was following flares bright for a half-second, before he has to throw up his defenses to ward off an overwhelming sense of coldicedespair that threatens to bring him to his knees.

(It looks like a man, but it is not.)

[katyafeline]

Katya yelps, catching the tail end of the blow and re-appearing from the Gloom in a splintering shower of the ice cold air.

Right now, she wishes like hell she'd had time to charge at least one of her usual amulets - if this was an Other of her world, she'd know how to fight. If this were utterly unlike, she'd know she'd be able to catch this creature unawares and drag it into the shadows behind the world, there to leave it to freeze.

This... is just enough like. Just enough, like a good horror movie. Drat.

"All well?" One thing she knows well enough is to not throw names around.

[27_53]

"Enough."

It's both an answer to her question and an order to this thing that is sending out the ripples of negative energy.

(He's getting sour and cranky, and when he's in a bad mood he is a lot less inclined to play nice or fight fair.)

Skellig narrows his eyes, studying the not-man-creature in front of them, and it's plain, emotionless expression.

"What do you want," it snaps.

"You to go away," Skellig replies.

"I was here first."

"You are impolite."

"Don't care."

"I do."

"Don't care about you."

Skellig grins. "You should."

[katyafeline]

Her hands out in front of her in a defensive gesture she steps closer, closer, twining like an inquisitive cat into Skellig's stance.

And, as consequence, letting him share in the strength she has pulled.

She doesn't know how to fight this thing.

But he does.

And she wants it gone.

[27_53]

He is not entirely sure how to fight this thing, not yet.

(He is figuring it out, though. One fragmented hint at a time.)

"And you," it continues. "Should be worried about me."

"Why is that?"

"Because."

"That is not an answer."

"Enough of an answer for a freak, bird."

not a freak, not like them but not a freak

Skellig's fingers come to rest against the curve of her waist, using her in front of him as a block for his urge to lash out and snap the creature's neck here and now.

[katyafeline]

Oh it's like that, is it? He is the only ally she has in this world - the only person familiar, the only person friendly, the only person who is like home.

And this popsicle just insulted all of that.

"Nyet." She purrs, her grin all sharp angles. "He is of this world - I am not. In this, I am the freak, and that will be the last mistake, mmm?" With a shout of Russian that refuses to become coherent she flashes her hands outward, shattering the shadows between her and it, turning the very darkness into knives.

Dodge that, Frosty.

[27_53]

'Frosty' doesn't dodge the attack - it's nothing like he has ever been faced with before - but the response is nearly deafening (internally - no sound actually leaves the creature's mouth, but the echo across the icy chop is fragmented and it ripples awkwardly) before it turns and runs for the doorway.

Gritted between clenched teeth, Skellig speaks:

"You wounded him. There is a trail."

It will help.

And then, he steps around her, wings folded tightly against his back, and he too disappears into the pitch-black darkness of the empty building, stalking after whatever this thing is.

There will be little space to hide from them, here, even with the darkness.

[katyafeline]

She stumbles a half-step to the side, icy feathers trailing along exposed skin and making her scrunch her nose in annoyance.

Cold is not awesome. And here she doesn't have a nice warm coat. Irked, she stalks after him, muttering things about the idiotic Dark that cannot even appreciate a place that's warm, that they have to be a snitty little icicle.

Wounded him. Bah. That was just a preview. She left tasty bread for this.

[27_53]

"I told you to go away," the cold voice mutters, from somewhere in the shadows. "I warned you."

"You interrupted dinner," Skellig snaps back, extending his senses in the dark. She is a fire burning behind him, close enough to warm but not blister. And that thing, is overwhelming ice and it would be so easy to melt him if--

"You shouldn't be here!"

"Not trespassing."

"No, not here. Not your territory. Not your nest, bird."

"Migratory."

"Foolish."

"No, you--"

Skellig's voice cuts short with a strangled, harsh sound that echos in the empty space around them, as another wave of coldgoawayfreak comes flying at Katya from what seems like two or three directions.

[katyafeline]

Her snarl shifts into a sharp whine, feeling like she just stepped into Siberia in only her pajamas.

That's just...

She's just...

Guttural, harsh Russian is snarled into the darkness, pulling along with it a countering flash of heat like the waves rising off the blacktop of a desert highway.

[27_53]

The heat wave stuns the creature into stillness, and Skellig takes the opportunity to close the gap, moving swiftly to strike.

"You are difficult."

With every second that his hands are wrapped around the creature's shoulders, pinning him in place on the floor with his body weight (what little Skellig has, anyway), he feels the warmth being pulled from him, leeched like blood draining from his body from an open wound in the gut.

And then.

"...oh."

It's low, and angry, because Skellig has figured it out.

"That is not fair."

[katyafeline]

She's still standing, shivering, because she's still too underpowered to simply shrug off her body's responses to things like bone-deep cold. She takes a moment to unlock muscles that had tightened protectively, then follows the fight.

As always.

Cautiously she doesn't get between Skellig and it, but she can do as she has been doing for the last few days - get in close enough to touch, then bleed off the energy that he needs and she can spare into his stores, for their defense.

[27_53]

"Nobody likes a leech."

"Nobody likes a freak, either, you dirty bir--"




There is a sickening crackcrunch that echos when Skellig reaches up and snaps the creature's neck, the sound echoing out in a wave that rivals only that of the flared anger that surges in his mind.

Skellig is shivering, too. A combination of rage and the bone-deep cold that is still surrounding the both of them.

[katyafeline]

This is ridiculous.





A warm, fuzzy head pushes up underneath his wings to press along his side, the warmth and rough and soft and honey-sweet smell of very large cat invading and pushing aside the space icy bitter cold had resided in.

The things one does for crazy partners.

[27_53]

"I think," he finally says, when he is able to speak without his teeth chattering. "I would like a bath, now."

He might even try the caviar to celebrate.

[katyafeline]

"Yes, you reek." The cat agrees as she starts headbutting him back towards the door they came through, somehow managing to speak with an entirely inhuman set of vocal cords.

Call it a gift.

Or cheating.

Most likely cheating. She found expressive glances did not work when communicating with other Watchmen a very long time ago.

Of course, then she used her new talent for snark.

[27_53]

He looks at her.

"If you change back, we can fly."

It would be faster than walking...and less likely to have someone call the zoo.

[katyafeline]

There is a very long-suffering sigh from Katya. She might almost prefer the zookeepers.

Might.

But she doubts they'll share any vodka.

Suddenly the bulk of her shifts to a strip of a girl, much colder without her protective fur. She feels oddly washed-out from her expansive use of power, even as she grins.

She can grin and lean against him. That's allowed.

[27_53]

And he can wrap his arms around her, protectively (and a little something else, be it the cold or the battle-drunk state of his emotions), and lean his lips close to her ear.

"Won't drop you."

It's all the warning she gets before he jumps.

[katyafeline]

There is a startled and utterly undignified squawk of terror, and she clings to him like grim death. Perhaps it would be in her best interests to pretend that she doesn't have a thing, with heights...

But.

Well.

He keeps doing that and now the ground is down there!

[27_53]

Despite the amount of ground she covered to get to the dark alley they have now left behind them (all the way down there!) there is much less actual distance that they need to travel, when you are doing it the 'as the crow flies' way.

Their balcony is an easy target; the curtains flutter as he lands well inside the room, setting her feet onto the carpeting without a sound.

"I think the vodka is still cold."

[katyafeline]

She grumbles at him under her breath (crazy bird) as she makes sure her knees aren't going to drop her onto the floor.

Then she goes to get the vodka. This time, she grabs both bottles, and one glass.

The pops the cap on both.

And knocks back a slug on one of the bottles, taking it with her.