Hunter/Hunted

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/18/1999 3:02 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira

She offers a slow, lazy cat-blink up at him. She's tempted - oh, so very tempted - to simply leave him there. She has not forgotten being left, pinned to wall by a well-placed bullet.
"Would you like to come down?" Is there a quiet tease in her tones? They seem more full somehow, more solid.
"Yanno, it's gotta be a terrible strain keeping your concentration. Especially with what's happening over there-" he gestures with a flicker of silvers. There is no tag-along of her eyes following the path set by his; she's too high right now to play the curious kitten. Besides, it is not the keeping of concentration that brings the void… practice of narrowing concentration until it is diminished and released, discarded, no longer necessary.
"So, kitty." The gauntleted fingers pluck at the chair arm, blackened and crackling. "What's the plan now?"
"There is no plan." And perhaps that is more dangerous, by far, than any crafted plan.
Across the room, Maetel ceases petting her new bassett hound puppy and looks up - an ear twitches, she peers at Tareth and blinks.
"Why for is person-man make fly with chair?"
Baghiira is easing closer yet. The binds of Air tighten protectively as she does so, fingers reaching toward his belt… only to hover in midair when she realizes the barren nature of that belt. Golden-green return to silver.
Oh, his grin would be maddening to any more prone to fits of anger… so full of malicious intent and thinly veiled cunning. "You win. Now what?" Golden-green narrow in response; there is the harbinger of eventual anger there, the crackle of electric lightning that just might set dry brush to burning. And yes, again those binds weaken. He drops an inch, perhaps two, before they tighten again with ferocity, constricting and threatening the
circulation of blood.
Maetel twitches her whiskers in a puzzled look and pads over to where Baghiira and Tareth are.
"How for people-persons make fly if no for have wing like bird?" She looks up, blinks twice, her tail lashing slow.
"Hey, Maetel." Tareth coughs a bit. "Kitty, meet Kitty."
"Maetel tell person-man for much time Maetel no for is kitty." Tareth knew the line was coming, and mouths, "is no for kitty, is Maetel."
Baghiira's exhalation is a purr. Golden-green are locked on silver, but the new scent is thick in her nostrils. Inhalation - a growl?
"Catfight! Catfight!"
"How for make fly-" Maetel stops, whirls, blinks severally and peers at Baghiira.
"Like this," she answers; the weavs of Air jerk once again mercilessly tight around Tareth, lifting him and moving him back a foot, maybe more. That growl resides beneath her breathing now; just a heavier, throatier version of the ever-present purr.
Ear-twich, sniff, sniff from Maetel.
Tareth coughs again, sputtering as his chest constricts with movement, and breathes once more as he halts.
From Maetel, another puzzled look and a whisker twitch. "Maetel no see what make do." She blinks again, peering up at Tareth. "Person-man is be sick?"
"Yep. And I'd be so much better if you'd just… scratch the lady there," Tareth replies to Maetel.
"Why for Maetel make-do hurt?" She blinks. "Is be bad lady-person?"
Tension is beginning to dance its claws up Baghiira's spine again, and the weaves relax slightly, then tighten again - a bit slower this time. He drops a bit. He yelps, and the end of the chair arm breaks off under the attention of his flailing arm.




^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/18/1999 3:05 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira

"Yes, is be much bad lady person!"
There's some corner of her Void which processes all of this, feeds Power through her mere physicality. She is ravaging herself, but strands of Air are being woven - protecting herself as surely as she threatens to destroy herself.
Maetel whirls, snarls, and a foot/paw flies out - kicking hard, hard enough to bend steel.
And countless are the weaves of Air which wrap to that kicking foot. First it is molasses - nothing, to a kick with that power behind it - but then it is that steel, which bends but does not break. The weaves are obeying, no matter the glaze that is settling over golden-green eyes.
Foot stuck, Maetel snarls, springs, knee bending body curling over her leg, hand/claws reaching to press attack. At the same time, Tareth manages another twist, snapping the twigs holding the chair arm to its body. Somehow, he manages to find humor in the fact that it remains stuck to his arm as he flails in the inches he has gained.
But what, exactly, is Maetel's body curling over? Let us not forget that her leg is surrounded by Air - that we are all, in fact, surrounded by air. And Maetel is surrounded by particularly obedient Air. The weaves split and reach, holding Maetel; at the same time, those holding Tareth begin to relax - no, not completely. But he has gained inches.
"Uh oh… hey Deuce! Come help!!" Tareth yells for the assistant supervisor, but there is no response from upstairs. "Go for the feet!" he adds to Maetel, waving the stick-stuck arm and curling further into the chair… reaching for that infamous pocket.
Baghiira's head drops and a hand splays toward Maetal, the other stretching toward Tareth. Though the Void does not call for these gestures, the concentrated stance seems to help. Not only are the weaves of Air tangible - and tightened - but, for that moment, so too is the raw Power itself. It sings.
"Your hair's out of place!" Tareth yess, attempting to distract her, take away the advantage of her concentration. But in the Void, she doesn't know hair - and she is struggling not to maintain the weaves, but the to maintain the Void. The weaves will maintain themselves so long as the Void holds her firmly. Maetel's eyes are darkening to almost purely black, her combat persona coming to the fore, body attempting to twist away, resisting in a
different direction.
"There's a weevil on your leg!!"





^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/18/1999 3:07 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira

Downfall. When golden-green lift to silver, they are molten with fury. The brush has ignited and the plains burn within her eyes. A jagged line of red tears itself through one green orb - a blood vessel releasing its contents, flooding her eye. As half of her vision darkens, the growl tears itself from her lips. She fights to the end, but her end is coming: Maetel is the first to break out; her direction is true
when Baghiira's eyes roll back.
There is a loud hunting growl and Maetel flips away, landing on her feet with a whirl. Tareth smashes the chair underneath him with a loud crash and clutter. Thrashing and flailing amongst the twigs left over, he jerks up amid a fury of silvers. Oddly, his first concern is safety.
"Maetel! Hush!"
Baghiira remains standing for a moment, swaying, her head tilted back and eyes rolled into her head, revealing blood-streaked whites. Then she drops, nothing more than a bag of bones.
Maetel crouches, springs and leaps over to Baghiira, claws out; Tareth heaves an enormous sigh and flings a chair leg with deadly accuracy… his body not too far afterward. Both hit Maetel's side mid-flight… and as they collapse to the floor, he darts forward and licks her nose. Maetel whirls, snarls… pauses, and blinks several times. Her eyes return to blue-green.
One might wonder Baghiira's reaction, were she awake, to Tareth's heroics. After all, she'd only ever seen his sneaking, skulking, thieving, destructive side and oh, how she burned with hatred for that.
"Hey. 'member me?" Tareth grins and rolls off Maetel, mumbling to himself: "Is humor the only effective weapon 'round here? And here I am…" he trails off, finally standing over his fallen foe, "about to do something I'm gonna kick myself over forever."
"Maetel 'member." Nod, nod. "Why for grab Maetel?"
"'Cause I didn't want to hurt her." Come again??
"Is be bad lady-person, is so?"
"Yah... sometimes." He turns a sad grin in Maetel's direction. "Like you, wne you get angry."
"Talk-funny-Deuce-man for tell Maetel make bad-people-persons be broke." She is only eight, after all.
"Yeah, but it's not always easy to tell who's bad and who's not." There's one Tareth inside his head, screaming at what he's doing. Good God, you're not only helping it out, but you're using your own ribbon on it??? You really are stupid…and so he is. Still, he binds up her eyes under thin black, and picks her up. Damn… she's light. Still, he carries her up to the caller's couch and leaves her there… unmolested. Even then, he plans on leaving
word with a popular cleric that she's here.
"Maetel friend say is bad-lady-person so Maetel is to make be broke." Nod, nod.
"Well, think this over. I'm not broke… so is she bad?" He quirks a brow. Maetel shrugs.
"Maetel no know, person-man say is bad-lady-person."
"Well, at the time she was being. But even bad people can turn good… see?" Grinning heartily, he puts a hand on Maetel's shoulder. "I do thank you for your help, though… I promise I won't call you kitty anymore, kay?"
"Have-baby-lady was bad-lady person, now is no is bad."
"Yer learning, kid." Tareth's grin widens. Maetel pads over to the couch, picks up her bassett hound puppy - yeah, it's still asleep - and puts it into its box.
"Maetel is be learn re… re-spon…"
"Spe-ron-sicle. Yeah."
"Maetel no'member word." She frowns.





^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/18/1999 3:20 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira

When Baghiira awoke, she was blindfolded, with her hands bound before her. It wouldn't do; she'd sooner chew through her own limbs in a mindless assault of rage and fear than remain bound. For several thrashing moments, she fought blindly against her bonds - as any wild animal would - until she fell.
It wasn't a particularly long drop, but a drop of any distance when blindfolded can be disconcerting, particularly for a feline with no chance to get its feet beneath it. The shriek that split the air of the Outback was a wildcat's yowl, high and piercing, full of rage and frustration -- and it seemed to be echoed within minutes from someone - something? - outside.

In the far corner, the robed man shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure it had been such a good idea to remain, particularly with the advent of what sounded like some beast outside. However, it had always been his practice to watch until a patient regained consciousness -- particularly a patient in the shape this one had been in when he arrived. Tareth had been... vague at best regarding what had put the wild woman/cat in such a state, but he knew
as soon as he touched her that it had to do with magic. It would take further study to determine if it was her own use of magic or someone else's use of magic upon her that had wrought such deep damage -- but for now, he could practically smell the discharged Power.
Maybe it wasn't the decision to remain that was such a bad one... maybe the bad decision was made when he followed Tareth's directions to the Outback in the first place.
She'd been on the couch when he arrived -- blindfolded but not restrained, and even in her unconsciousness she had begun to fight his healing touch until it became necessary to bind her. Now, as she fought back against the cords and fell to the floor, he winced and drew further back into shadow, regretting that he hadn't followed Tareth's advice.

After hitting the floor, Baghiira grew still. Her nostrils flared and deep breaths began to calm her enough to study her surroundings as well as he was able. She knew the scents with which she was surrounded, the stenches of fighting, drinking and of... Him. His scent seemed to linger right around her, teasing. She had failed again. (Failed? Only somewhat.)

He'd been ... right there. And she'd had Him, had Him bound. The hunt was nearing its close..

She inhaled, drawing a growl from her throat deep into her chest and releasing it with the exhalation. In the corner, the thrice-robed cleric shifted again, more a nervous twitch than any actual, intended movement... and when he glanced up, his heart flipped in sudden, brief panic when the woman's head jerked off the floor and her upper body followed suit, homing in on his sound as if she could see him clearly. She pulled her legs to her chest
and pressed herself into an upright position -- that motion was slightly unsteady, but he could recognize the raw grace behind it. He'd seen it once -- behind bars in the royal zoo.





^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/18/1999 3:33 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
"I can hear you," she said, and the rasp of her purr grated across the air. "And I can smell where you sit." It wasn't Him, but she could easily enough transfer the quickly mounting rage to this new presence.
"I-" he paused; he could feel the heat emanating from her, could feel the anger building. He gripped the arms of his chair. "I healed you. I only stayed to make sure you ... woke up all right."
"And to watch the show?" Her head canted to the side and her bound hands lifted in mute accusation. Somewhere between her first statements and this question, her purr had lost its sharpness; those words were a velvet croon.
"You fought. I couldn't heal you if you hurt me." He remembered clearly winding the rope around those wrists, flipping her onto her belly and sitting on her back. It was one of the strangest healings he'd ever completed.
"Untie me." Bound hands continued rising before her, until her arms curled up over her head, tugging at the back of the blindfold. She didn't bother to untie it; her claws slid through the thin fabric and it fell away.
"I'm afraid you'll try to hurt me if I do that." He swallowed a bit when those pantherine eyes unleashed a burning gaze upon him -- but the gaze pulled at him, straightened in his chair. Why did he heal her? Why did he stay? She lowered into a crouch with a quiet growl toying on her lips. In a moment, her gathered crouch exploded into a leap over the couch; another and another. Bound as they were, she could still use those hands as balance
points to facilitate quick movement, and soon she was in front of him... much nearer than he'd hoped she would ever be again.
"Do not think I cannot hurt you because there is rope on my wrists." Even as she spoke, she was twisting her wrists beneath the rope - chaffing and reddening them in attempt to find purchase for her claws in the slick cords. He sighed, because he did not want to lose his cords.
"Here." He reached out and, with a deft movement, undid both the physical and spell-bound knots which held the cords. He had taken no chances. She bolted upright and seemed to tremble with indecision - flight or fight? He remained still - it was too late to be scared anymore.
Finally, she turned away from him, dismissing him with a low growl and heading for the door, and whatever awaited her out there.

When she eased out into sunlight, the cleric slumped in his chair.




^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/19/1999 10:15 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira


The Diamond Quest
(And other conflicts)





Had she known there would be so many present - had she bothered to uncover the schedule of goings-on at the Outback - she never would have come. As it is, the shadows are already stretching, pregnant with jungle moistness and the smell of rich dirt, and with those shadows do her own muscles stretch. She is here, and to leave admits defeat, and she is neither the type of woman nor the type of cat which admits defeat.
Already, energy crackles like dry lightning across her skin.

Across the room, Tareth quivers beneath the hat he'd pulled low over his face and straightens in his chair. Underneath the shadows cast by the hat's wide brim, silver eyes narrow and sparkle. In the blink of one of those eyes, a small pistol appears in one be-ribboned, outstretched hand and a shot rings out across the Outback, the muzzle pointed toward a moving shadow near the rear door.
There might be disappointment in golden-green -- is it to end so quickly? But she smelled the cold metal before he squeezed the trigger and that gave her all the time she needed to vacate the vicinity of his aim. But perhaps he wasn't trying to hit her; if his intention was merely to stir up the crowd, have them jumping at shadows and bumps, it certainly worked.

Maetel was the one to begin actively searching, and Baghiira was forced to begin weaving early, much earlier than she had intended. She had been made painfully aware of her stamina now, and even though she'd practiced, was not certain that she had extended her abilities much further. The weaves which sang in her grasp now were of Air -- but rather than reaching for someone else, they coiled themselves to her, embracing, stilling and muffling her
own scent, her own warmth.

But perhaps Maetel wasn't as much of a danger as Baghiira had thought; perhaps, unwittingly, the woman/cat would be of aid. After relinquishing the shadows and explaining to Tareth what she had smelled, Maetel relieved him of his gun and bent the barrel.

A brief thrill ran up Baghiira's spine and she dipped into the Void again, riding the singing streams of Power that had filled her husk. It was time to begin.







^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/19/1999 11:09 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira

She was aware that he had not risen from his chair, and that others had - that the others were calling across the room to each other. Concern rang in their tones, but it slid across the Void and washed away.
She was aware that his hand cupped a glow bright enough to be made of two delicate glass marbles. She had seen the destruction they wrought more than once, and waited no longer.
Could she reach? Thoughts of Kain had been heavy in her mind all day, and his instructions had taught her that yes, she could reach; that she could reach easily. So she remains still, simply tracking his hands - the path of aspirin and water to his mouth, trembling, and the white glow still cupped in the opposite palm. It's around then the first weave of Air licks up from the base of his chair -- oh, no, not touching - not making it's
presence known; just reaching.

"Someone's here," he was explaining to... someone. Whoever it was, it was peripheral, unimportant. The Void cast distraction away and the weave stretched far enough to split into several tendrils. It wasted no more time, but clamped tightly around the arm and hand bearing those little, glowing marbles.

Let the games...




^^Baghiira~~"Don't insist on "just a little respect." Demand the devotion and worship of all those with whom you come into contact."

[DoF Archive]

Date: 7/23/1999 1:15 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Slver Hwk

Things had gone fairly well she supposed, no one ran from her at least. Maybe she should have lost the wings, but they were as much a part of who she was as any of her other features; should she simply go around as a puddle of silver stuff?

She had sighed softly as she left the Outback that night and not because she lost the match she fought, she lost things all the time. Hell, on the Planes she was about as low as you could get on the food chain, she shivered at that thought. Yeah, she wasn't exactly what you could call a stable being but she still didn't like claws rending away at her being.

She hadn't missed the way the caller looked at her, you would have had to have been blind and totally clueless to have missed the way the woman gaped. Not that Silver blamed her, she supposed she was a bit odd looking.

Maybe she should have lost the wings, Silver thought again. Maybe next time she would... maybe.

(Tbc)