Logs:Aliiens, dude! Aliens!

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Aliiens, dude! Aliens!
Dramatis Personae

28 July, 2015


Part of The Abyssal Temple

Location

Hanging Hills Marine


It has been one of those annoying days starting off real cold only to get hot around midday and lingering there, leaving people with too thick jackets tied around their waists. The sky is cloudy giving mild threats of rains, yet to be acted upon. Our heroes find themselves at the very edges of Hanging Hills down near the commercial distruct just north of the marina, Dog Joe is known to favour various smaller bars here, switching between them depending on who throws him out and otherwise loitering down by the marina.

At this hour there is some traffic and populance out, although this is still a quieter part of Fallcoast meaning getting around is no particular problem, a few of the bars who open up early selling food already having signs out, white chalk spelling out the day's meal and entertaiment, mostly local bands.

If she were the sort of person who stood out, Rachel would probably stand out in thisannoyingly hot and humid weather: rather than shedding her light leather jacket, she's just kept it on and resigned herself to sweating in it. Olive cargo pants, ash-grey tank top, Cardinals baseball cap: yeah, she's a little prone to overheating, but it's not like it's easy to find something to do with this sort of jacket. When she's made the time to cruise the Fallcoast bars is a good question, but apparently she has, since she has a pretty good idea of what's where.

"When did you figure out where all these places are?" Asks, ironically enough, Brando, who has been tagging along with the woman perhaps all-too-willingly at the sign of something to actually do. And probably standing currently out a little less than she does, if only by virtue of him lacking a jacket, though otherwise dressed very similiarly as her. Save for the cap. He doesn't wear a hat. "...And do you think we might end up having to fight when we go there? Just in case I should pile up something more on myself than what I already have."

Even a native to this New England hellhole isn't too pleased with the manic weather that comes around in the Summer, but Sage gets by. Mostly on pure luck since he's one of the few people dressed well enough to handle the heat, or a t-shirt, cargo pants, and white tennis shoes are simply just the Monk's uniform. Sage, for his part, remains mostly silent as he follows the Arrow's lead to find Dog Joe.

Some cruising around the bars lead to the conclusion that Dog Joe is indeed a familiar local 'patron', the man, the legend, the dog. The familiarity many shared with the man doesn't always neccecarily seem to be a positive one, and a few of them just tell them to take a hike, while some others just reveal they havn't seen the man in awhile. But eventually one, literally not much more than a hole in the wall, does seem to have seen Joe. A woman in her 40s reveal he was there the other day, getting drunk and at this hour can probably be found passed out in the marina.

"It's for the practical parts of class," Rachel explains blandly. "Gotta know where to go to show the students, be on the lookout for /this/, watch out for /that/, and so on. Enh, we might, but I wouldn't worry about it yet." She's patient and persistent in dealing with the bar patrons -- if profoundly unimpressive and apt to get distracted, the latter of which is fortunately offset by having companions. Both of which, probably. "Marina it is. How's your friend, by the way?" she asks Sage. "He almost busted a blood vessel at that trivia thing."

"If you say so..." Brando murmurs, and then apparently decides to just hang back into merely keeping attention on the surroundings of the party of mages, while the move on. Sometimes healthy paranoia really is healthy.

Sage initially offers a shrug in response to Rachel, and then gives an off-hand, "Iunno. Ripu's an okay-ish guy." Beat. "Don't know if I'd call him a friend, though. This Dog Joe's enough of a character that I might see what else he's railing on about when we're done."

The air already smelled of rotting seaweed, of course. But as they head south it gets worse, luckily its not really sailing weather so the only people around here are the people that need to be, generally. Fisherman, dockworkers and the odd person walking the dog. The wind is noticeable, nothing to give them shelter from the vastness of the sea.

Of note to them, down in the southern parts are a few gentlemen and ladies gathered around worn wooden table and benches, kept together by rusty pipe who are smoking cigarettes and drinking, one lady and two gentlemen to be precise, from a distance not much more can be said.

"Huh," Rachel says -- her common all-purpose expression. She's led the way down to the marina a trifle reluctantly, as if she's not entirely convinced people are or should be following. "Seemed like he was decent enough, yeah. Lessee, this looks promising. And the wind's a help." She glances at the other two, and then jerks her chin at the smoking and drinking trio. "Either one of you feel like fishing for information with these three?"

"I thought you were here to do the talking part," Brando tells Rachel in utterly deadpan response, accompanied by a fittingly blank look sent to her.

Sage looks between Rachel and Brando, and then out towards the folks gathered round enjoying the odious stench of brine and dying fish. Sage shrugs, and starts walking over to them as carefree as can be. "They're just people. The worst they could do is ramble on about how they used to hunt whales and that the kraken really is down there." A shake of his head follows the jest, and off he goes to talk with the elderly and sailorly. "Excuse me, you all haven't seen a fella by the name of Dog Joe have you? About ye high," he notes with his hand going up and down at uncertain measurements, "Smells like someone lit a tavern on fire. We'd really appreciate anything you could tell us."


They all three turn to face Sage at his approach, and they do listen, well mostly. One of the fellows simply takes another swing from his bottle, but the lady does seem to set her attention on the young man "Joe? We've seen Joe, afraid you won't find him. Was taken away." there's a certain tinge of sadness to her voice, a brief look from Sage to his companions, scrutinising them really. A man, looking to be in his 50s looks at them taking a drag from his cigarette "You here to take us?"

"Nah," Rachel says, with a quick, almost irritated, shake of her head. "Guy owes him," she jerks her thumb at Brando, "some money, is all. Lost a bar bet. You know who took him? What'd they look like?" It doesn't appear to occur to her to offer them anything for their trouble; social graces are not her strong point. Fortunately, they probably aren't /theirs/, either.

"..." Brando slowly, slooooooowly turns his head just so that he can give Rachel a look. Staring at her for a good long while like that, with his eyes narrowing slowly. "...Right."

Sage nods when each of them speaks. He rubs at the back of his neck when they're down, and shakes his head in denial. "No, we're not here to take you. Can you tell us anything about the people taking you all? Any little detail or things you've noticed?"

"Some, he kept talking about it." the woman points out "The aliens were after him, he had seen through their disguise and was hiding." by all appearances she does seem to atleast not openly mock or disbelieve these words. "Has been keeping low for about a week, a man came yesterday and Joe went with him. Not seen him since." she shakes her head "Probably dead. - The guy was pale as fuck, like sickly and smelled." and these people smell too, so supposedly he smelled worse?

Thankfully, Rachel seems prepared to just let her excuse go at that, rather than feeling the need to elaborate. Just as well, she's not particularly good at this part, and she fades a step backward and to one side so Sage can have the undivided attention of the people they're questioning. He probably would have anyway, since she's definitely not the sort to hold attention long. "Aliens, huh," she says, under her breath, a frown twisting her face.

And Brando thankfully does not even attempt to say anything particular. He just takes a slow step back in time with Rachel to indicate who's taking lead here, this time around. His face twists up at the description given by the three, however.

"I thought it was just a joke," Sage grumbles under his breath. "Okay. Okay. What can you say about the man that came here?" He starts rubbing at his forehead as he awaits an answer, but before they can he adds in another question. "Can you describe the aliens Joe talked about, or where he always saw them?"

"The man? I don't know, clean, thin, sickly, something off about him. Make my skin crawl, probably a creep." the woman nods, the men soom agree "Probably touches children, I know the type. - Took him over to the old Thirty Four." licking her lips, there's a hard look at the joke comment. "Dark, looking like oil or something he said. Long legs, like spiders but biiig." she shakes her head "Not seen them myself though, but with all the shit happening. Who knows. Heard stranger things."

The former description draws just a short nod and a grunt from Rachel; upon hearing the second, though, her eyebrows rise perceptibly. "Big spiders. You said Thirty Four? What is that, like, a berth?" She looks from the three to her companions.

"Or a warehouse?" Brando wagers a guess over there from afar, and gives a sideward look towards Rachel, then, to meet her gaze briefly. He doesn't exactly look very certain about this whole situation, though. Why'd it have to be spiders?

"Boathouse, down to the south. - Been vacant for a few years, was a murder in -02, not really been used since." the woman shrugs, looking between them as if they are stupid for not being familiar. "Nasty place, best to keep away from it."

"Boathouse to the south, number Thirty Four," Rachel echoes. This seems to satisfy her, although she does pause for thought upon hearing about the long-ago murder. "Yeah, you're probably right about that, better off leaving it lie." She rolls one shoulder, and suggests to Brando and Sage, "We out of here?"

"...Right." No, Brando himself doesn't sound entirel convinced by all that, but he does take a step back upon her words directed to both of hte Obrimoi to signify his willingness to get on going, nodding his head with that. "Yeah."

Sage? When Popeye and Olive Oyl start spilling more to the party's content he meandered off to grab a phone call. Something about St. Johns, a missed shift, and a sick grandma. Whatever it was, though, handled as he moves back with the group.

The search for Old Thirty Four isn't a grand one, some twenty minutes later they find it, in the outskirts of the less used parts of the marine, raised on a wooden platform over the water to allow ships to dock. The building is wooden, with the paint having more or less peeled off, the windows covered in grime and in general strikes you as a very picturesque murder scene. The two doors on the front are closed, there is a lingering feeling of unease, even from a distance.

Rachel studies the place once they've located it -- on both the mundane and supernal levels -- and evidently she, too, feels that chilly-fingers-on-the-spine sensation that it evokes, since she grimaces and fidgets slightly, shifting her leather jacket around on her shoulders. "I don't like it," she says, out loud, and who can blame her? It's not a very likeable spot. "Shadowy as all get out inside, I bet."

"Yup," Brando agrees after the moment that he has taken all of few seconds to take in the scene before him, studying the boathouse from afar with folded-together arms. "If there's a chance that this guy is still alive, it might be too late if we go back for reinforcements." He tips his head to the side, to look at Rachel. "What do you want to do?" Deferring to her, apparently, on account of being a senior member of the Order, even if same rank.

Sage? When Popeye and Olive Oyl start spilling more to the party's content he meandered off to grab a phone call. Something about St. Johns, a missed shift, and a sick grandma. Whatever it was, though, handled as he moves back with the group. When they get to the warehouse Sage flatly notes the same as everyone else. "Yeah, sure. That place is spooky, but there's a chance that Joe's alive. And I'll be damned if I don't take that old bastard to allspice at least once." The Monk simply shrugs as if that was answer enough for his choice, makes for the front door, and enters the place looking for Dog Joe with a yell of the man's name.

"Wai--!" Brando yelps out the moment it's clear that Sage is just going to straight up go in, and all announcing that they're there, too. And then there's spiders. Sort of. Abyssal spiders? Why'd it have to be abyssal spiders?! "Shit, shit--!" A quick look to the side towards Rachel and a hurried urge of, "If you have a gun, try to suppress them!" he calls to her before he goes bounding forward, too, but-- rather than going right in, he imposes himself leaning against the wall just next to the door, with a deep breath taken in. The flare of Supernal focused inside of his own body is obvious enough, with the briefest flash of energy visible to the ones carrying Mage Sight here.

In eerie silence the creature leaps from above, the thin black spikes sink into Sage's shoulder as it lands on him, the creature is surprisingly light, too much so for its mass, breaking all manner of natural laws, but adding to the wrongess of its existance. It simply continues to thrust into the monk's flesh, to no avail as the wounds close as quickly as they are made.

"We ought --" Rachel's starting to answer Brando when ALL HELL BREAKS loose, almost literally. She's actually taken somewhat by surprise by this turn of events, and she wastes a second or two cursing sulfurously before her hand gors back behind her jacket, returning almost instantly with a tiny little handgun almost too small to take seriously, like a 1911 that's been left in the wash too long. Small or not, however, it's certainly more than capable of putting 230 grains of Full Metal Jacket into one of the alien things, accompanied by a rush of supernal energy.

They do bleed, and if they bleed you can kill it .. right? A leg is blasted off, and it turns still in eerie silence, there are no eyes but clearly she is looked upon as it begins to run out, leaping forward much too quickly towards the woman. Another one leaps from the ground now, landing on Sage's other shoulder to stabb its thin legs into his shoulders, poking through flesh and poking into his shoulderbones.

Sage brushes off the first blow as it comes, but the second does find purchase through his arcane armor. It takes a second for him to get used to all the spiders coming at him, and he focuses in on two more before they get a chance to take him out. With a call to the Primal Wilds the Theurgist rends their physical forms as best he can.

As Sage lashes out, rending the forms of the entities they latch onto his legs in eerie silence even as they are being broken down by his arcane might, more blade like legs stabb into his thigh and ankle, digging in deep. Now four of them standing on the man, they still weigh next to nothing, giving a strange painful sensation.

"Oi!" The other Obrimos' voice bellows out over from the side just before he leaps out from the wall by the door he had been leaning against while Rachel laid down fire on the hellspawn spider... things. The leap ends with a stomp of one foot against the ground just next to where the creature's path speeds through and the other foot getting carried by the left-over momentum to slam hard against it's side to send it tumbling across the ground, all limp limbs and cracking bones (does it have any?). His gaze flicks to Sage, next, to take count of the situation and he calls over to Rachel quickly, "Don't shoot, you'll hit him! We need to get them of!"

One of the creatures leaps up into the air from Sage's shoulder. It seems a determined process to slowly flay the man, peeling his skin back even as it heals unnatural under their handywork, but as it falls this time it misses, Sage moving as it strikes into nothing but ground. Taking the failure in eerie silence.

It's somewhat predictable: as soon as her first target's down, Rachel takes aim for one of the crowd of them currently attempting to devour Sage. She pauses a tick longer than absolutely necessary -- everything's /moving/ and there's someone involved she really doesn't want to hit and her gun barrel shifts point of aim several times before she squeezes the trigger, accompanied once again by a rush of supernal power. She's had to be a little too cute, though, and her shot doesn't take the target down. It doesn't seem to do much for /her/ health, either, as a tiny rivulet of blood trickles down from her nose. She doesn't bother to wipe it away; it'll just make her hand slippery.

Sage has had worse days, but this is a bit worse than the usual. The only thing left to do in such a pinch is to get bigger or get gone, and the Monk isn't going anywhere from the looks of it. Mana's exhausted, and again he calls for a piece of the Primal Wilds' power as he adopts the shape of a rhino inside the small building.

The entities are shaken off as Sage suddently shifts into the shape of a larger mammal, falling to the sides they never the less appear fearless in the face of a greater .. animal? Not that they are, but their blade like legs prove useless against the thick hide.

"...Okay, that works," mumbles Brando under his breath after 1) Rachel has fired a shot into a spider anyway and 2) There is suddenly a rhino that the things are exploding away from. Apparently, he ends up deciding to taking on cleanup duty, too, since he hones in on the spider Rachel shot up just now, and after leaping next to it, pounds his fist down onto it from above -- hard enough for the already-damaged monstrosity to be left simply bundled limply down onto the floor. "--!" And he spots a bladed leg thrusting towards him just at the last important second, too, and s otwists his body to hte side to impose his body just away from the trajectory of sharpybits before he rolls himself to the side and further away from it.

Now there's something you don't see every day. A fuckin' /rhino/. In Maine. But it's a rhino being eaten by spider bug things, and that's just not cool. Like, at all. Her equanimity undamaged by the sudden appearance of an equatorial ungulate of the family Rhinocerotidae, she takes aim at one of the remaining alien beings, waits for rhino horn to twitch out of the way, and blows a hole all the way through Mister Spiky.

It takes an effort of will not to bellow with rage, but Sage keeps himself composed well enough to focus in on the enemy in this ebon hellhole. He locks in on a spider, lowers his head, and simply tramples over the giant arachnid like he's doing the chacha.

Brando directs the briefest look towards the charging rhino from his leaned-to-the side posture of actively avoiding spider-stabby-legs. Maybe with that and the gunfire it's going to be a good idea to take care of things quickly and scatter before any curious onlookers come along. "Ha--!" The Obrimos breathes out as he turns his body along it's own axel to be propped by another arm, with the motion used to swing his other leg, first, and then thrust it against the head(?????) of the creature with a squishy sound -- and then using it as a stepping stone to push himself back in a roll across the floor that leaves him back on his feet. "...Clear?"

And so the last thing is crushed, leaving only an empty abbandoned boathouse. The black ichor that lingers in the spots that were once .. creatures lingers, staining everything. The sense of wrong lingers however, this place tainted far beyond the mere presence of these things, and supernal vision reveals clear traces, tainted, perveted and wrong which lead into the water and out the sea.

Poised with pistol in one hand, Rachel takes several moments to scan their surroundings in search of further threats, meanwhile exchanging her mostly-empty magazine for a fresh one just in case there /are/ some. "I don't see anything," she says. "You two okay? We'd better do a quick sweep to see what we can find and then get out of here before anybody else shows up."

When the melee's over and the dust's settled Sage moves about to examine what he can. Shit vision and all, he at least has arcane senses at his disposal, and when signs point to the water he starts making odd noises. When it hits him he no longer has a human mouth nor any formal clothing he casts the same spell once more, shifting down into a mutt of some kind. The most he can give Rachel is two barks, and then starts moving for the door to see what may or may not be near.

When the melee's over and the dust's settled Sage moves about to examine what he can. Shit vision and all, he at least has arcane senses at his disposal, and when signs point to the water he starts making odd noises. When it hits him he no longer has a human mouth nor any formal clothing he casts the same spell once more, shifting down into a mutt of some kind. The most he can give Rachel is two barks, and then starts moving for the door to see what may or may not be near.

"I'm okay, unplanned charge nonwithstanding," Brando murmurs back Rachel's way, but... He doesn't move from where he's been left crouching. He's staring off through the interior of the boathouse, and towards the water. "...This is bad. This is really bad." And then he looks towards Rachel. "This place is tainted to hell and back. And the water is too. We need call someone who knows what to do. Is there anyone in the Consilium that has connections to the police? We might need crowd control."