Jailhouse Talk

[Eriks]

<Jirai> David and Aeri were going to yell at her. She was in no condition to be moving around. But there she was. She had bullied one of the younger clerics into assisting her, providing a human crutch for the wounded dark elf, allowing her to make her way to her favorite place - the gaol. It was the cleric who spoke for her too, getting the guards to guide the drowess to Biske's cell. She was cloaked and hooded, that hood pulled down low enough that her face, her scarred, clawed face, was not immediately visible.

<Biske> The familiar scent causes the werewolf to lift his head, lips culring over his canines; he moves swiftly to the wooden door, a single, red-rimmed eye peering out.

<Jirai> A wordless snarl sent the cleric scurrying away, then, as the dark elf wrapped one arm around the bars of said cell, using it for support in place of the poor healer. The other was wrapped protectively around her abdomen as she looked in at the werewolf. Silent, for the moment.

<Biske> Of course. The werewolf narrows his eyes abit, moving to the bars; the cell itself was looking rather more run-down than it was when he came in, deep, claw-marked gouges dug into the stone itself. Black-taloned fingers wrap around the bars, a hand on the very one Jirai uses for support. He too remains silent, silver-burned slice clearly visible on his arm. He gazes down at the drowess with fever-brightened eyes, lips thinned.

<Jirai> His approach caused her to tip her head back to watch the taller man. Of course, silly her, this resulted in that hood slipping back, down around her shoulders. She made a belated attempt to stop its fall, but clawed face was visible. "..Wha' happened?" she asked after a moment, her voice slurred from exhaustion and pain.

* Biske cants his head, nostrils flaring slightly. Ah, her blood... "Maybe I shoul' ask -you-," he responds in that husked voice filled with hunger, a clawed finger moving under the drow's chin, to maybe tilt her head up even further.

<Jirai> And upward did it tilt, if only to avoid that potentially painful touch. Her whole head -hurt.- "Y'shouldn' have los' it," The answer came after a moment, as the wounded dark elf studied the man on the other side of the bars. "Y'ad th' amulet." Which, obviously, was of less than no help. As for blood, the dark elf reeked of it, no doubt. Besides those claw marks raked all over her face, (It was a miracle that she had not lost an eye) she also had a nice -hole- in her stomach.

* Biske lowers his head, pressing his own bruised forehead against the bars, roughly. Lips are pulled back in a feral grin at that, a laugh rumbling in his chest. "I didn' want to. It 'appened. Still happenin'. My my, drow, I mus' say... yer smellin' lovely t'day." Tounge dips out to run across moisture-starved lips; then the werewolf grasps her chin, trying to pull her closer, tounge to run hungrily over her those gashes over her face. Unless she pulls away, that is.

<Jirai> The movement caught her by surprise. Or maybe it was just the fact that she wasn't thinking straight, couldn't move very quickly at all. Either way, the sudden grasping of her chin elicited a muffled exclaimation, another pain added on top of the others, shooting savagely through her. It froze her for a moment, before she could muster the sense, the energy to attempt to free herself from his grasp.

* Biske releases her willingly enough, planting his hand again on the iron bars once more, head swiveling to stare intently at the window set high in his cell. The man throws his head back and howls, his grey voice echoing off the walls. His head whips around as the echo still preminates through the prison, hands shifting as he moves, restlessly. "I don' s'pose ye came t'get me out, 'ey?"

<Jirai> "Forgive me if I 'ad other things on my min'," She mustered a bit of sarcasm, still leaning against those bars for support. No, she shouldn't be out of bed, not at all. "No' like I'd 'ave any 'elp either...y'took care of -that.-"

<Biske> One had to wonder how the guards were taking this most noisy inmate. "*****," he snarls at Jirai, slamming his palms against the bars as he releases them; spinning around, he leaps inhumanely upwards, launching himself at that window; higher than most could reach, even on as tall as the man himself. Fingers wrap their iron grip around the bars, boots planted against the gouged stone wall, a feral yell emerging from his throat this time.

<Jirai> "'s yer -own- faul'," She snarled right back at the man, dark eyes glittering as feverishly as his were. "Ge' yer control back an' I'll -'elp.- I can' do a thing if yer goin' to keep at Aeri an' Suede, though!"

<Biske> Still suspended high up in his cell, the werewolf shows no sign of tiring; he looks over his shoulder, tail lashing as teeth are bared. "Ah, th'elf ***** and 'er bastard of a 'usband. Kill 'em for me, would ye?"

<Pipkin> Well..the building is approached..much to the odd glances of the few humans that are there. Some..brandish the sign of evil to the sleek, white-furred beast. Others screech and stumble away. Some..seem not to take notice. It's rump is settled to the ground..chin raised to the air as again, it howls.

<Jirai> -No-! I will -not-!" Her teeth were bared to, in an unconscious response to the werewolf's gesture as hands clenched around those bars. "I -need- th' damned tailor."

<Biske> "An' I need 'em -dead-! God DAMMIT!" he howls, tugging furiously at the bars, swinging to pound his boots again and again into the wall, as if in some vain attempt to knock it down. "Make it stop!" The howling was sending him into more and more of a rage, froth starting to fleck the corners of his lips.

<Pipkin> As the wolf howls, something was swung for it. The man holding his wife's broom, sends the creature scuddling sideways and into the dirt as the broom side-swipes it's face. A snarl is sounded..and like a flash, the sleek beast is pushing from the ground, paws pounding dirt as it heads for the doors of the Gaol..where the guards sit.

<Jirai> "Why do y' -need- them dead, Biske?!" The howling drove the wolf man crazy, which was, in turn, having a continual effect on the dark elf. Shredded face was painfully twisted into a feral snarl as she hung against the bars in the door, fever bright eyes watching the werewolf unblinkingly.

<Pipkin> Well..if that itself did not cause a bit of commotion. The man holding the broom..chases after the lupus..the guards themselves..rise to their feet. There was, after all, a wolf racing towards them.

* Biske drops to the floor, then, hands placed over his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the screamings in his mind, bloodshot eyes swinging to Jirai as he huddles. "Hungry. God, M'so -hungry-. I wan' them," he snarls, words barely formulating past foam-flecked lips.

<Jirai> "-Why-?" Her head had dropped forward, relatively unscarred forhead resting against the metal bar. Thinking. Eyes closed for a moment, then opened, refocusing on the huddled werewolf. "C'm 'ere. 'ungry for wha?"

* Biske would creep forward, claws clicking against the stone, lips writhed back in a silent, full snarl. "Oh, I wan' anyone. Anythin'. Blood t'drink, flesh t'eat... I ain' picky." A thick laugh, then, as the werewolf curls his fingers about the bars, pulling himself upwards slowly. "I'd even kill -you-, 'Rai, jus' so I could eat. But I can't."

<Jirai> She was unphased by that declaration. "I c'n try t' get somethin'." One hand uncurled, from where it had been clenched around her bandaged stomach. Touching his hand lightly. "I'll see wh' I c'n do."

<Pipkin> The wolf..suddenly detours..causing one guard to stumble back in surprise when the man with the broom slaps it into the ground before him. The white lupus then darts off towards the trees..dust scattering in it's wake. The man with the broom..of course tries to chase the white wolf..but wolves are indeed faster than man..and once the beast is in the shelter of the trees..finding it would be almost impossible.

<Biske> Breaths deepen; Biske flinches slightly at the drowess' touch, mad eyes framed by auburn strands focused on hers religeously. "Jus' kill 'em for me," he whispers hoarsly through clenched teeth. "Kill 'em, an' I c'n go back, you c'n get me out of 'ere... we'll go spend tha' gold, start over as somethin' new." Seductive, that, and inviting.

<Pipkin> And off in the distance...comes one last howl.

<Jirai> Perhaps she faltered for a moment, her eyes flickering slightly at his words. Perhaps. Or perhaps the momentary change in expression was just due to a surge of pain. Impossible to tell. "I'll do wha' I can," She answered after a moment. Agreement, or restating her earlier comment? And then she was gone, lurching unsteadily until she reached her 'human crutch.' The poor cleric was terrified by now, and all too happy to assist the dark elf out.

* Biske trails after the drowess with his eyes, slamming hsi shoulder against the bars as he glares up at the window, and that last howl, with a snarl of rage.

[Eriks]

<Spirit> I can show you the moon.. Ghostly voice again.. whisper whisper soft. She was moving over towards the wall that would lead outside, if only there were a door... Hand pressed to cool stone, cold beneath the touch. Eyes closed... Invisible! Hah. A splotch of the wall... not very big, just a peep hole, maybe a big bigger than a peep hole... big enough to get a hand through. She was reaching up to do this, trying to make it where he didn't have to hop down. Anyways.. that splotch of the wall, it began to fade, invisible.. or, well, transparent. But it was still there, so don' try to ram your hand into it! It'd hurt...

<Biske> Immediately the werewolf srambles over, dropping on all fours once more to scuttle crab-like to the space, a clawed hand darting over to shove the woman roughly out of the way. An eye is jammed to the door, the werewolf spinning downwards to cling to the wall.

<Jirai> She was just there. Standing silently in front of the cell. Arms folded across that thin chest as she looked in, ebony face, though still hidden in the shadows, was expressionless.

<Spirit> Meep! Well, she was invisible.. how could he see her, to shove her away? Besides, if she lost touch, the splotch would go visible again... real... So touch would be kept.. Can you see it? He'd be able to... Hopefully.

<Biske> "No... yes!" Excitement fills his voice as he shifts from limb to limb, Jirai not sensed in face of this greater achievment. "So close, so close..." he murmurs.

<Jirai> "See what?" Came the quiet query from the little dark elf as she looked into the cell.

<Spirit> A blink... Hand pulled away by instinct, she was darting back over to the corner, sinking down into the shadows, that ghost... invisible beauty... knees to her chest, arms wrapping loosely about them, chin to the kneecaps.. tilted down, head tilted down, mane of curls acting as a veil...

<Jirai> Shoulders hunched slightly then, dark eyes flicking around at the guards. "Go away...I did it right this time," she snapped.

<Biske> "No!" Clawed hand snatches uselessly at thin air as the window disappears, and with a howl of rage he hurls himself off the wall, landing on all fours on the floor, stalking. But the coppery scent of recently sdhed blood kept him from sniffing her out, -forcing- her to the wall once more. "I had it!" he half-screams at Jirai, jerking to his feet once more, glaring at her.

<Jirai> "Had what?" She asked, perfectly, carefully calm once more. Save for the stiffness of her shoulders, that slightly uncomfortable stance, although -that- could very well be due to those lash marks striping her back.

<Spirit> Rocking.. back and forth, back and forth. Grey-blue eyes narrowing... not glaring, but close, semi-glaring at the drow.. Leave.. She would whisper.. whisper on a breath.

<Biske> The werewolf roughly kicks the sack of food aside, under his cot; the bottle soon follows. He then whirls to slam himself against the door, a thin arm reaching out to try and snatch Jirai and draw her closer with bandaged fingers. "Th'moon, ye bloody fool," he hisses through clenched teeth.

<Jirai> Closer, indeed, but her expression did not change, although one hand raised, darting up to close around that wrist that had grabbed and pulled. "You will have to be more clear, I'm afraid, Biske." Her voice was cool, controlled as she watched the man through the bars.

<Biske> "I could -see- it," he moans longingly, fingers tightening spasmodically. "Th'moon. I need out."

<Jirai> A flicker of a wince, as that hand tightened on her shoulder. "I know. I've told you what you need to do."

<Biske> "D'you think they'd let me go?" he snarls, shaking her roughly. "I can't do it!"

<Jirai> Fingers dug into his wrist at that, the shaking, eyes narrowing slightly. "You -can.- And -I- cannot do a thing until you do."

<Biske> "I -can't-!" He screams. That pressure dug into his injured wrist, bite-marks inflicted on himself; fingers release in suprise, jerked back into his cell. That is, if she releases him.

<Jirai> Release, that she did not. She kept her grip, although she did shift her hand slightly, after a moment, so that fingers were not pressing as much against those wounds. "Then let me." She was right up against the bars now, dark eyes glittering beneath that hood.

<Biske> His chest heaves, fevered eyes focusing almost fearfully on the drow, his hand darting to hover over the bulge in his shirt; just out of reach.

<Jirai> "I'm trying to help you, Biske." Her voice was soothing, now, calming. "Let me help you. I wouldn't hurt you."

<Biske> With a snarl he tries to twist his wrist away from her grasp, contorting his body almost inhumanly away from her, clawed fingers curling over his amulet. "'elp me? Let me out," he whines, deep in his rasping throat.

<Jirai> "I'm -trying- to," She answered as he tore free of her hold. Still calm, though a flickering of her expression indicated the waning control she possessed. "I'm trying to, Biske."

<Biske> Free, the werewolf immediately scrambles up the opposite wall, well away from the drowess, hunching himself over and peering back over his shoulder at her with a single black eyes, shot through with red veins. "'Ow -'ard- are ye tryin'?" he snarls, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

<Jirai> Jaw tightened, her own eyes narrowing in return. "I have told you what you need to do." was her curt response. "Do you think I can just snap my fingers and suddenly you'll be free?" That sarcasm was back, creeping into her low voice as she wrapped her hands around the bars, looking in at the werewolf.

<Biske> Spider-thin cracks spread from where talons and powerful fingers drive into the very rock as he swings himself up to the ceiling, the toes of his boots scraping to gain purchase before whatever supernatural force he possessed anchored him firmly upwards. "You c'n snap 'er neck," he responds.

<Jirai> A flicker of suprise, perhaps, crossed those scarred features upon seeing the werewolf plastered to the celing. "We've been over this before, Shaggy. That is something I cannot do for you right now."

* Biske paces across the ceiling, his head twisting and turning with his movements to keep Jirai in his sights. "Can't do alot of things, can ye?" he smirks cruelly. "What good are ye?"

<Jirai> Chin lifted as she followed his movements with her eyes, hood falling back slightly. "I only do things when they are well worth my while. Snapping a certain healer's neck is, at the moment, not in my best interests. So I do not do it."

<Biske> "Is gettin' -me- out not in yer -best interests-?" he yells, claws scraping across the stone with a horrific screech.

<Jirai> That drew a startled hiss from the dark elf, a flicker of those tapered ears with that grating noise. Her voice, once she finally spoke, had dropped even lower, gone cold as she answered. "Actually, it is not. So why am I still bothering with you, werewolf?"

<Biske> Teeth bared in a feral grin as he tilts his head back to gaze down at the drowess. "'cause ye can't fin' anyone else that'll be willin' t'nail you."

<Jirai> A long moment of silence, then, lips pressed together as she looked up at the werewolf. "That is -not,- exactly, correct." Finally, came the cool response from the scarred drowess, face carefully expressionless.

<Biske> "Oh, s'now ye've been whorein' aroun'? I ain' s'prised."

<Jirai> "An' what business would i' be of yours if I -had- been?" she snarled up at him.

* Biske releases his nails from the ceiling, standing upright; well, if you could call it that. Boots planted firmly against the stone, now he rests face-to-face with the drow, eyes neutral. "It ain' my business. But be 'onest, 'rai. Who's goin' t'want a drow, much less one wi' th'scars ye 'ave? Yer far from home, y'said it yerself. But I... I don' care what ye are, or what ye look like." Hand is extended, to try and run a clawed finger down her cheek, a loving, gentle touch.

[Eriks]

<Jirai> She flinched. At both words, and touch. But that fury was still in her eyes, and in her voice as she snapped out a response. "Sure, y'don't care. Y'don't have a choice. No one'd have -you- either." Hand darted out, to seize on that wrist hovering so close to her face.

* Biske just smiles, blackened lips pulling back to reveal just the tips of pointed fangs. "On th'contrary. No one'll 'ave me, maybe, but they don' 'ave much of a choice when I get m'claws on 'em." Superior, that smirk, and a tounge emerges to moisten his lips. Ah, but what's this? the amulet has fallen free of his shirt, dangling just past his cheek, reflecting the light innocently.

<Jirai> Her fingers trailed lightly over that captured wrist, a gentle caress. "You do have a point I suppose," she murmered, dark eyes fixed on his face, appraisingly. And then her other hand shot out, through the bars in an attempt to close around that tantalizing chain, to tug the amulet over his head.

* Biske narrows his eyes suspiciously at that; then, he jerks his head back in startlement, mad eyes widening. "What - " But then those fingers close around the amulet, and his mind explodes with pain. A scream finishes that failed sentance, the flesh of his neck smoking as the chain flares, Biske losing his footing as Jirai pulls the amulet off, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

<Jirai> Ouch. That had to hurt. The werewolf's scream ringing in her ears, she skittered back, away from the cell. But she had it, the amulet was in her gloved hand. And swiftly, deposited into a pouch at her belt. Only then did she cautiously approach the bars again. "Shaggy?"

<SuedeFlees> "W'ji' knock dat d' bleedy uf ye damn Wulf!" "Yeah really, can't we rot in peace...Mumble Mumble."

<Biske> No answer, save for a twitching of limbs and a low, bubbling moan. Out cold.

<Jirai> "...Damn." But she had the amulet. Shoulders hunched, then straightened just as swiftly, as the fabric of her shirt pulled against her back.

[Eriks]

It was merciful blankness, for once, almost a week of pained, muddled thoughts clouding his mind, an unreasonable hatred bored into his very being as firmly as any carpenter could have done. The amulet was gone, as well as the chain it had been on, though it left it's mark on his skin. Odd that the damage wasn't absorbed, like when he had tried to pull it off himself.

The blackness whirled, then, interjecting grey clouds, a sickening whilrwind as shapes formed. In his half-asleep state, there was nothing he could do to stop it, simply along for the ride. Though soon he wished that he could.

Everything was black and white. He could smell more keenly than he could ever remember, the vegitation, the stench of humans; he could hear the worms in the soil, the soft, beating heart of a terrified rabbit, the scrape of metal and leathers. Rage again was his; the damned tailor had escaped, and he needed something to take his frustrations out on.

He didn't want to see what followed, the massacre at his claws, limbs torn from still-screaming soliders, the whitened eyes of the terrified scout just before he gouged them out, ever so carefully.

Rewind. The moon was different; despite the horrors he had witnessed, Biske couldn't help but stare in fascination, at least while he was allowed. It had been twenty years since he had seen, and remembered, a full moon. Then something caught his nose; drow, and a human. Low voices filled his delicately pointed ears, the beginings of the transformation already taking shape.

The arguments. The insults. The chase.

He had tried to kill Suede. He had killed those guards, strewing the remains of what he didn't consume in the trees.

A different night, a different time. The moon again hung differently in the sky. Lust drove him, now; ignoring the one he knew he couldn't kill, the last shreds of humanity left to him. It wasn't a -full- moon, and so he didn't transform fully. He watched from the underbrush as the whore dug through he drunken charge's pockets, blackened lips curling back in unsatiable hunger. It was almost too easy to catch her, to tell her in that terrible, purring voice that he wouldn't kill her. Lies. But it got the wench to keep her mouth shut.

He had raped her. Her screams and beggings for mercy filled his ears, anguished, tortured ears, this night as real as any he lived. He begged himself to stop, but it fell on deaf ears; this was the past, one he couldn't change. And as the creature that was he began consuming the girl alive, he tried to plug his ears, to close his eyes, anything to block out the horror.

Twenty years of murder, rape, of hunts. It was yet a long way to go, his dreams filled with nightmares, until his first kill. And already this new knowledge was driving him further and further to the brink.

He had his wish; he could remember.