Logs:Sun's Gettin Real Low
|Sun's Gettin Real Low|
|Dramatis Personae|| |
March 2nd, 2018
Bonnie runs into Kharn once again, and an agreement is made.
Forest, Hanging Hills
Despite the sun being down, the forest is illuminated rather well by the Full Moon. The forest is alive, the sounds of creatures wooing each other from every angle. Shadowy things move about in the darkness, an Elk freezes in place and looks around before continuiing on it's way.
It disturbs the cacaphony of animal sounds when reality seams to shear apart. The hulking form of Kharn's near-man form bursts through the rip, followed by something -else-. The thing that follows him is black and shiny, with quills running from it's head to it's tail. Kharn's green, glowing eyes are dim in comparison to the bright amber orbs set under feral brows. It has a skull-like face, and no lips to obfuscate the multiple rows of knife-like teeth that line it's long muzzle.
Kharn turns sharply to face the thing, seemingly unarmed. "Grimhildr, gefou mer styrk." The werewolf viking reaches behind himself, reaching under his shirt, and retrieves a sword that's over five feet long, and vicious. The creature screams at him, and he roars back at it, running toward it at full tilt.
The undergrowth itself seems inclined to aid Bonnie in her unthinking stealth; her position beyond a sturdy tree trunk wreathed in shadows surely darker than might ordinarily be expected, the foliage around her set just right to obscure her from passing glance. And so it is that she has a rather unique vantage point on proceedings. Having been out gathering herbs for goodness knows what, the blonde had paused to admire the towering Elk nearby - which, bizarrely, seemed to ignore her entirely - when all hell decided to break loose in her vicinity. Pressing close to the comforting bark of the tree, she peers around it at the cacophony, belatedly recognising one of the figures. It'd be pretty difficult not to recognise Kharn, let's face it. As for the other..
She observes, fleetingly considers intervening, then wisely decides against it. There's a Viking with a five foot sword. What good is she going to be? Though.. it surely can't be coincidence. There's a gnarled root threatening the creature's path that.. wasn't quite so high or trip-worthy before..
The sword is useless, so Kharn drops it and falls on top of the creature, it's teeth ripping hunks of his arm away when it's wrenched free. There's something primal about the way Kharn roars in the thing's face from an inch away. He begins to pummel it, the sound of bones cracking with every blow the werewolf delivers. After a few moments, the sounds of snapping bones are replaced with something akin to punching a bag of meat.
Long after the thing has stopped moving, Kharn finally slows and stops. His breathing is ragged and he's bleeding from everywhere it seems. As a final act of 'fuck you', he grabs his sword and drives the point through the throat of the creature, leaving the blade a couple feet in the dirt as he begins to catch his breath. He hasn't even begun to survey his surroundings.
Bonnie watches the grisly scene unfold with equal parts revulsion and fascination, unmoving from her spot behind the broad-boughed tree. The wildlife within the area, those who had so peacefully accepted her passing, have fled and are still fleeing, in the wake of the sudden tumult of battle. Birds, ravens mostly, scatter high above, and to this briefly goes the young woman's gaze, noting the winged silhouettes against the purple-black, moonlit sky. But then, somewhat inevitably, it's back to the carnage of the tableau before her. She flinches and winces here and there, sympathetic to the degree of injury wrought, even if she lacks the instinct required to have avoided it herself. That roar from the Uratha would have others running screaming in the wake of the Elk and the crows.. not her. Damn. Sometimes a little common sense would almost be a blessing.
Pressing her lips in a firm line, the Warden doesn't even attempt to interrupt as Kharn vents the wealth of his rage on the bloodied, smeared pulp remnants of his opponent. Only once he slows and eventually halts the beating - and a few moments more as he draws much needed lungfuls of air - does she actually make her presence known. With a typically Captain Bonnie Obvious statement. "I'm fairly sure it's done for.." Quietly, she eases herself away from the tree and out of the questionable protection of the shadows, eyeing the enormous wolfman with just a touch of wariness. The last thing she wants to do is surprise him into another attack. One hand lingers behind, as if reluctant to lose the tangible contact of the treebark.. and then she's away entirely, out in the dappled moonlight. "You're hurt." Okay, make that two obvious statements. Her blue-green eyes take in the damage with.. concern. Not fear. That's an awful lot of blood. She swallows drily before lifting her gaze toward Kharn's.
"Got me pretty good, huh? It was faster than I expected." He touches the edge of the wound gingerly, wincing. Slick with blood, a couple inches of intestines are pushed back into the wound.
"Hm." He says with concern, not fear. Using the sword once again, he rises to stand but has to take a knee. Already you can see the flesh on his arm where he'd been bitten knitting itself back together. The blood coming from his side doesn't appear to be slowing very much though.
"What was it..." Quite a reasonable question, especially given the pointed way the blonde is avoiding looking at the smear of your former enemy; focusing instead on that nasty injury at your side. In the short space of time it takes her to cross the distance between you, she's shrugged out of her coat and stripped off the light cotton hoodie she had been wearing beneath. The coat is to be put back on, evidently; but the hoodie she bundles into an oversized padding.
Entirely ignoring the sword and.. well, pretty much everything else about this unconventional situation, Bonnie moves to hunker down, if permitted, and press the makeshift poultice to your side. "You heal even faster than I do.." This much appears to be more to herself than an actual demand for answer. Though she does flit a glance up toward you.
In reaction to the makeshift gauze being pressed into his grievous wound, he clenches his teeth and his abdominal muscles involuntarily tighten. A growl comes from somewhere in that scarred chest of his, but it cuts off and he lets out a pained breath. "Mother Luna blessed her champions with healing and ferocity, for what good would we be if every time something bit us we had to hang back and lick our wounds." At least he's fairly upbeat about it. "Thank you, by the way." And despite the pain, he smiles.
"I'm not much of a healer, beyond old folk remedies and the like.." There's apology now in her words, her tone returning to its usual sweetness. "..will this close on it's own?" She's fairly certain she knows the answer, but it's best to be sure. After a moment, she shifts her weight and settles down cross-legged on the dirt. No plushy, mossy, makeshift cushions for her, no sir. Though she does spy an apparently identifiable sprig nearby and reaches to gently bend and pluck one piece of it, leaving the root behind. The motion has her briefly distracted, even as she continues. "..you're out here actually making a difference and I'm.." She smirks. "..putting together a good-luck charm for a newly-married couple. Puts things in rather harsh perspective."
At some point she'll see him with a shirt on, maybe. For now, he's bare chested again, wearing those old grey firehose pants and boots. "What if I told you that what you're doing is as valuable as what I do? True, this creature is an abomination and sought ruin wherever it went, but the difference you make is a lasting one that is reflected in the Shadow. You may not be able to see it yet, but I can. Where you go, your path in the Shadow blooms."
Chuckling softly, she lowers her gaze to her hands, allowing for a short moment of quiet, perhaps for you to better reflect on your injuries. "..I think I can do more. I've been told I could, if I can learn.." Okay, starting to say too much now, perhaps. With a soft sigh, Bonnie focuses her blue-green eyes on her discarded coat. First, there's simply a twitch. Is there some creature trapped beneath it or something? Then it lofts into the air, sleeves spread like arms awaiting an embrace and beginning to slowly undulate, dancing.
She shifts her gaze back to you and the garment drops without ceremony to the forest floor. "I'm.. pretty sure I could lift you." she admits, soft-spoken. "Maybe even stand a good chance of throwing you back a couple of feet. But beyond that.. helpless." Straightening her spine abruptly, she rakes a hand back through her loose tresses, an idea occurring to her and immediately vocalised. Such an open book, this one. "Could you teach me to fight?" Yes, ask the wolfman with his insides on the outsides. Solid plan.
He hadn't realized he'd been tensing up his body against the pain and he breathes a sigh of relief, gingerly, and actually lets his muscles relax. "I would be honored. There's no finer fighter for a thousand miles, and to be requested by a Warden is not something I take lightly."
"And yeah.." she continues, softening back into honesty mode. "..you're certainly the best I could think of to ask. If it's not too much trouble." Tilting her head a little askance, Bonnie regards you. "..how much could the last one do? The other Warden you knew. What was she like..?"
With a little difficulty, he pulls the sword from the ground, but when he puts it over his shoulder where a scabbard should be, it seems to disappear. "I didn't know her well, but I know she was no fighter. She tried to remain neutral in the affairs of the wolves, the gauntlet, and the broods that work against us."
"I.. just go off what sense I can make of my dreams. If I'm supposed to somehow 'watch over' things.. that, to my mind, doesn't just mean the humans in their houses. It means everything. To watch over, I need to understand. To understand, observe. To observe, be able to defend myself." She counts them off, literally, on her fingers, before seeking your gaze again, jaw tilted upward.. as much in stubborn defiance of her stature and nature as for the viewpoint. "If you're willing to teach, I'm willing to learn." Without a thought, she offers out a hand in a gesture of agreement, only to add, more gently, "..are you going to be alright? What if another one shows up?"
Kharn peels a bit of the hoodie back; for the most part the blood flow has slowed to an ooze now. "If another one comes, then I will kill that one too. Or die trying. In order to sit in the Hall at Sessrumnir, I fight with everything I have. I hold nothing back and I fear nothing. Only through true faith in Grimildr will the both of us be accepted to sit at Freya's side." And he's knee-deep in Norse mythology again.
Shrugging her coat on properly, the young woman offers you a weary smile as she carefully pulls her long hair from beneath the collar. "It's a date, then. Once you're all healed up." Eegads, wrong choice of words. Val would throttle her. "..and, assuming you don't smoosh me.. maybe you could teach me a bit about your beliefs afterward, too." She has a pretty solid grasp on basic mythology.. but the apparent enthusiasm of one who is an eternal student. Not a bad quality, given her calling.
The wild, ginger beard does nothing to mask the blush on his pale cheeks. "Yes, a date." A smile creeps onto his face, "It's an interesting, if convoluted, story. It also happens to be quite humorous. I'd like to hear about yours, as well."