Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: The Phantom Quarter

Tiko

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
as written by Dashmiel

Ragenard couldn't help but wrinkle his sensitive nose as his headlong run with Baron moved off into the Phantom Quarter. To say the place reeked was to do it a disservice.

Rotting flesh of at least three different species, mildew, waterlogged thrash and burning thrash, feces, blood, and bodily fluids Ragenard couldn't even begin to guess at assaulted his nose along with a hundred other odors firmly in the disgusting olfactory spectrum.

Worst still was the pervasive pall of smoke-stink that dominated over it all, seemingly coming from a large dwelling on fire several blocks off.

Ragenard managed a curious glance over the rooftops that rewarded him with a few firefly's of cinder and smolder off in the distance as he gave his legs all they had and jumped clear from one side of the street to the other before the world went dark for him.

Unable to support his prodigious weight, the roof of a crumbling ruin that once a million years ago might have passed as a fashionable tower room in a noble's château estate exploded into splinters as Ragenard crashed through it, falling a few stories before he managed to gain solid ground.

Enraged at the prospect of losing the race over an ill-timed tumble, Ragenard simply ran up to and through the nearest wall leading in what he remembered as the last direction Baron had been running towards, breaking several bones in the process and landing in a tangled heap of moldy plaster and rotted wood at street level.

Despite a lot of angry hissing and snarling as his bones re-set themselves and started to mend, Ragenard was relieved to see his gambit pay off by half at the least, as he could now see Baron off ahead by only a dozen or so yards.

Not a win, but at least a decent showing.

With some more snarling and furious wood mauling, Ragenard extricated himself from the debris and howled to his brother, somehow signaling to him with it's piercing tones that he both admitted defeat and that he would appreciate it if his brother stopped being a right bastard and stopped running already.
 
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as written by Tiko and Dashmiel

Baron had already come to a stop when he heard Ragenard come barreling through a wall somewhere at his back. The scent of smoke had brought him up short and he was scenting the air. There was a fire nearby, and fire would draw fire engines and police. A couple of wolves tearing through the district in the wake of arson was as good a way as any to land them in a police station for questioning.

His skin rippled and writhed as he shed his fur, and a few minutes later a man was crouching in place of the wolf.

He stood and shook his hair out before turning to face Ragenard.

"So what is it this time. Tell me you didn't put Noel in the hospital again."

Ragenard gave Baron an exaggerated dismissive wave as he crouched down and began his regression back into his human form.

"That" he groused as he stood up and turned to face his brother, "Was this morning's news, utter horseshit, and I didn't start it."

"For fucks sake, Ragenard," Baron replied in exasperation and irritation. "Do you have any idea the position this shit puts me in?" he asked. “How bad is he?”

Ragenard put on a face of mock contemplation before replying. "Hey, far as I'm concerned, he had it coming talking all of that shit about us. Well, me at any rate." He gave the question of Noel's wellbeing a few seconds of thought before continuing, "Uh. I don't know? Alive? Maybe a few broken ribs, spleen, and who the fuck cares? Guys an ass, James."

“And you wait until now to tell me?” Baron asked. “Does his sister even know?”

"Hey, I wasn't planning on telling you anyways. It was a gentleman's dispute, didn't need pack law figuring into it" growled Ragenard irritably before looking down at his feet. "Uh, and no. I haven't, uh, seen her all day. Buggered off after the fact and caught wind of some blood suckers."

"Well you're alive, so I'm guessing they're not," Baron remarked. "Nothing that'll trace back to us?" he asked.

Baron didn't particularly approve of Ragenard's vendetta, but neither had he ever made any effort to stand in his way either. But he had made clear to his brother that if he chose to act alone, he would be cleaning the messes up alone. His beef with the entire vampire race wasn't a pack matter.

Ragenard shook his head before replying, "Clean as a whistle. Well, not clean if you take my meaning, but nothing that links back to us" said Ragenard as he tilted his head.

The distant sound of sirens was drawing closer and Baron moved off to the side of the road as flashing emergency vehicles blew past, no doubt en route to the fire that the pair had caught the scent of.
 
as written by Tiko and Dashmiel

"Well, what is it you need then?" Baron asked.

A few more vehicles barreled past before some measure of quiet resumed. It was an awful lot of vehicles for a fire Baron noted.

Ragenard took a second to watch the passing lights after having their talk interrupted and to compose his thoughts. "Wonder what that fuss was about, shimmered and flared something fierce from up top" mused Ragenard as he patted down his thighs looking for a non existent pocket. "Damn. Wish I'd have brought some smokes or something" muttered Ragenard while hoping with little hope that his brother wouldn't notice his sudden bout of furtiveness.

"Last time you were acting this way, it was to tell me Dad skipped town," Baron remarked. "Spit it out."

"Funny you should mention skipping town..." trailed off Ragenard with an exaggerated sight. "Now, don't get pissed...but I wanted to ask-" stopping mid sentence, Ragenard seemed to shake himself off and stand up straighter.

"No. Not here to ask the leader of the Bloodstone Pack. I'm here to let my brother know" Ragenard said with more conviction he had felt in a while. "That last nest of vamps I took down. Something was off. Not sure what it was, but I could feel it down in my gut" said Ragenard before taking a deep breath and finally letting it out and getting to the point.

"I need to go do something about it. Probably won't be around The Den all that often, at least not staying over. I'm going to try to join them.
 
as written by Tiko and Dashmiel

"Tell me you're not talking about what I think you are," Baron bit out, a low growl had edged into his voice. "They're butchers. What the fuck are you thinking," he demanded.

"I'm thinking that they know their shit when it comes to blood suckers. I'm thinking they can actually be useful in helping me resolve this shit. I'm thinking they might see it as me doing the world a service when I tear off another godfuckingdamned vamp head off, and not look at me like I'm some sort of lost soul with a look that's half pity and half disappointment! " growled Ragenard as his eyes began to turn a feverish yellow and his face shimmered slightly like a candle's wax running down the side.

Ragenard took a few steps back to get his anger under control for a minute before speaking again. "I know what they are, James. I know I'm talking about sleeping with the devil. But I'm planning to fuck it, not marry it. No harm would come to the pack from that direction, not while I draw breath."

"No it won't," Baron growled. "Because as long as you're with them, there won't be a place for you in this pack," he warned. "But you already knew that, didn't you."

"Aye." said Ragenard while taking another look in the direction of where the flashing lights could be seen off in the distance. "I suppose I did" sighed Ragenard before continuing.

"The pack is strong. The territory is secured. You got more bruisers and with Carlisle alone there's enough experience to keep them in shape and train new ones if you found any. The pack...the pack will be fine without me" said Ragenard before looking at Baron in the eye "I will not do anything that will threaten the pack. Should the pack ever need me, I will be there. Should my brother ever need me, I'll be there" he said resolutely.

"But I'm going. Even if it means exile. So do your pack leader part, you pox ridden bastard, and I'll think none the less for you as a leader or of as a man."

Baron couldn't say he was too surprised by the turn of events. Ragenard's obsession was leaving him spiraling out control, and this had been a long time coming.

"I hope you get your head back on straight someday, brother," Baron told Ragenard before he doubled over with the popping of contorting muscle and bone. He shook his fur off and headed off down the street at a lope.

"I hope so too, brother. I hope so too" muttered Ragenard to himself with one last look towards the flashing lights before his skin rippled and he exploded into his towering wolf.

He gave one long howl to the nascent moon before leaping off into the roofs on his way back to The Den for the last time in what might be a long long time. The noise that pierced the night would have sounded like that of the lone wolf to any with an ear for such things.
 
as written by Knosis and Lorelia

The woman looked desperate as she entered this part of city. Her eyes were wide with fright, and the stench was almost enough to make her gag. But Re'Altarm had not eaten anything in three days, and she was sure there was some discarded treasure here just waiting to be plucked and sold off for a good bit of coin-- even if it did stink.

The woman wore rags, and under all the dirt and mud she could have been very pretty. But even before moving to this city, she had lived a hard life. Her hair was unkempt and coated with the dirt she had slept on the night before, and her golden skin was made darker by the mud she had walked in all day. But her eyes were clear and determined-- No one could break her spirit at least.

No, she had a plan this time! Get in, dig as fast as she could, find the treasure she dreamed would be here, clean it up a bit, and go straight to that black market everyone kept talking about to sell it off for whatever she could. Yeah that was it!

She found the nearest trash heap and began to dig through it rather loudly, wanting to find that 'treasure' and get out of this area as fast as possible.

____

The beast was making his way towards the warehouse. He could tell that Cass was wearing thin. Within a few weeks, he would have them. He would have them all.

He would have them fulfill his dream. Fresh minds were ripe for illuminating, and his plan was already set in motion. The she-bitch couldn’t keep him away all the time. She was busy reaping supplies. He was better at reaping supplies. Whilst she was away he’d often take the time to share his stories, spread his word: the time of the werewolves has come. Still, his audience was too small. But that could be fixed.

What moved through the ruins of The Phantom Quarter was enough to send a shiver down most people’s spines. A seven foot beast which was mostly furless prowled with ease, sometimes shifting onto all fours to climb effortlessly through hollowed buildings or jump from crumbling wall to rotted house in a clicking of claws. A thick bristle of fur ran from the creature’s head right down into the small of its back, a werewolf dorsal stripe. The hair was black which blended with shadows at it moved through this derelict course. It wasn’t so much the sheer size or horror of the wolfish features which blended so unsettlingly with some human ones which made hearts stutter in terror. Above that long snout which was adorned with a set of slightly decaying, but still sharp teeth, and below those gnarled ears which pointed up either side of the bristle… were a set of yellow eyes which seemed to be designed to conjure screams from anyone who met their gaze.

Half-way through his journey Arman saw something in the mess below his vantage point of a ruined, open-sided building. He crept closer to the edge where brickwork was crumbling and adding to the jumble below. If he hadn’t already saw this figure, he’d have definitely heard it as it started rifling through some trash and making one hell of a noise which was only made louder through his heightened hearing.

He watched for a while, not noticing that he was licking his muzzle with a long, hungry tongue.
She looked tasty.
But of course, he didn’t eat people.
He hadn’t eaten anyone in a while.
No… he just enlightened them.

A low growl rumbled from his chest when he decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, the craze threatened to take over if he didn’t act now, whilst he was still able to hold back some. Arman knew what could happen if he let himself grow too excited for blood: too much blood.

He didn’t need to judge the distance. He just leapt, those insanely muscular legs sending him shooting through the bad air towards the helpless woman.

In a whirl of claws, teeth and manic eyes, Arman the werewolf crashed into her.

____

Of course, the woman wasn't paying any attention to the surrounding area, or else she probably would have felt the neck hairs rise. She thought it was just a sign that she was getting closer to the treasure. In fact she thought she saw something very shiny in the grime and had tried to dig it out further.

It was only after he had leapt into the air towards her, did she notice movement. She gasped and looked up, straight into the beast's yellow eyes. Those eyes seemed to sear a hole into her very soul and freeze her to that spot. Time seemed to slow down, but she couldn't move. Hell, she couldn't even scream, as it seemed it was stuck in her throat. The fearsome creature had frozen her solid with fear.

She was just barely able to get her arms out in front of her to try to protect herself. He came down on the tiny woman hard, knocking the wind out of her as she hit the ground. Gasping for breath, too much in shock to understand any injuries or pain at that moment, she flailed trying to get from underneath the beast.

____

The arc that he’d travelled sent him down to the ground with quite a force. His own bones had jarred and probably fractured with his landing, so he couldn’t imagine what had happened to this woman, cursed by her fragility.

Even his scrambling to get into a good position was full of power and grace. He was on her in all of the confusion. His hands, which were mutated - claws, huge and strong - grabbed a hold of the top of her arms and pinned her down. No escaping. Arman executed the action violently, and in the rush, as her arms collided with the rubble which she lay on, he’d brought his face right down to hers. That wet nose touched the tip of the woman's, his breath escaped between those corroded teeth, fanning her with his vile, stale exhalation.

What came next emerged from his chest. It sounded like a chuckle. A distorted laugh, frightening; a humorous rumble.

May as well allow himself a little fun.
Slowly, he began to dig those claws of his into the flesh of the struggling woman’s arms, his actions accompanied by that disturbing noise he was making.

____

Her heart throbbed in a quickened pace in her ears and she began to tremble in his grasp. She was pretty sure at least one arm was broken now, as it pained her as held it to pin her down. She couldn't look away from those burning yellow eyes, tears falling from her own honey brown hues as they burned from the disgusting heat of his breath.

She was afraid. She couldn't recall a time she was in fear of her life. She had always been able to take care of herself. But not against this beast.

She finally found her voice but couldn't seem to get it above a whisper. "P-please... "L-let me go.." She pleaded with him, her accent thick and hard to understand with her trembling.

As his claws sank into her flesh, she struggled harder to get away from the discomfort, but it most likely caused more harm than good, causing him to rip her skin. She choked out a loud sobbing scream in her fear, her pain and frustration. Today was suppose to be the day she found something to make her not poor, not be eaten!
 
as written by Tiko

Jesse was kneeling on the floor of a decrepit building examining a cut on a young girls arm while she sat in her father's lap. The cut was festering and the skin around it was inflamed and red with infection.

He wasn't licensed as a doctor anymore, but that had done little to dissuade him from his chosen profession. The people out here in the Phantom Quarter hadn't the money to go to a hospital, or even a family doctor, and they were grateful of the help he offered. Not a one had any thoughts of turning him in to the police for practicing unlicensed.

He finished with disinfecting and cleaning out the wound and dressed it in clean bandages before ruffling her hair.

"There see? That wasn't so bad," he told her. "Go on, I need to talk to your father."

She hopped down from the fathers lap, gave Jesse a hug around his waist and ran off. She had an energy about her that children often have, and a light in her eyes that even squalor couldn't diminish. Children where resilient though, and had a way of finding joy even under such conditions as these slums.

"I'm going to leave you some stuff to dress the wound yourself, but she needs antibiotics. I'll see if I can get my hands on some, and bring them by next time," he told the father.

"Thank you, it means a lot to us," the man said as he stood up and offered Jesse a hand.

Jesse took the offered hand and after some idle small talk and instructions on how to keep the wound cleaned, Jesse was on his way.

____

Jesse was nearing the outskirts of the Phantom Quarter when he heard the scream, and it gave him a start. It wasn't in the direction he was headed, and he could just keep walking. People get mugged, raped and murdered out here all the time and he was well aware of it. Many of his patients where victims of the violence spurred by desperation.

He hadn't a gun with him, a knife, or any means of weaponry. It wasn't who he was. But neither was walking away from someone who was hurt.

With his mind made up he moved quickly, stripping his clothes and leaving them with his bag behind a dumpster where they hopefully wouldn't be stolen.

He doubled over then and his hand grabbed the side of the dumpster as if he might be ill as fur sprouted along the length of his arm. Once the transformation was complete, Jesse shook himself off and headed towards the source of the scream at a swift run.

He wasn't a particularly large wolf, and in fact could easily have been mistaken as an ordinary wild wolf or large dog.
 
as written by Lorelia

The animalistic chuckling stopped when he noticed she was crying, but he did not loosen his grip.

She didn’t understand that he was helping her. She could help seize their time, rule their time, make their time last forever. Their spell was approaching, and he was doing her the kindness of involving her in their rise.

As she began to whimper he let out a booming roar to drown out her pathetic, hushed pleads. The sound carried far. But that didn’t matter, his job would be over soon, and then he’d be off before they stumbled upon this woman. And he hoped that they did. She needed to survive.

Her wriggling and writhing was growing more frantic so he called play time over. Arman snuffled his muzzle down to stop at the bend of her neck, leading into the straight plane of her shoulder, breathing in her scent as he did so. The wetness of his nose left a trail which chilled in the breeze as he prepared to strike.
His jaw opened. His terrible head jerked. His jaw closed.

Blood gushed into his mouth as he chomped into the soft flesh. His teeth caught her collar bone, digging into her neck and shoulder, cutting painfully through skin and muscle until he was certain he’d define it as a good bite.

Then he drew away – with some difficulty – and left the woman in her world of pain as he shot off into the night. A dark dart against an even darker backdrop.

He didn’t quite understand why people were so against his scheme. Some died. But an equal amount rose as something more, something better, something heavenly… Looking up as he fled the scene, Arman took in the moon and the stars, the witnesses to his sincerity. His powerful limbs took him away from the crime he had committed in good faith. The night rushed with him and he was engulfed by a sense of greater duty.

If only they could all feel like this.
 
as written by Knosis and Tiko

She continued to sob even as his chuckling stopped. She thought maybe, just maybe she had finally won over the human side of this beast.

Until the booming roar that deafened her.

Her trembling became more violent as he bent closer to her neck and she tried to stop herself from crying out. Perhaps that was what was upsetting him? Soft whimpers came unbidden though, as she was not able to stop the sound now that she wanted to be silent. But that did not stop the werewolf's mission, it seemed.

Pain. Blinding pain shot stars in her eyes and she felt the guttural cry of agony wrench from her throat as Arman ripped through her flesh like a fresh butcher's knife. Eternity passed, but even as he let her go, the pain did not recede. Darkness surrounded the edges of her vision as she laid limp in the trash heap.

'I don't want to die..' She thought to herself. "H-help.." She choked out in a whimper.

____

Jesse caught a glimpse of Arman, but only just barely as he took off into the night, and his first impulse was to give chase, but the choked whimper of the woman drew him back. He hesitated as he looked in the direction that Arman had gone, and then back to the woman. Identifying her attacker would be a step in preventing this from happening to others, but likely at the cost of this one's life.

He mentally cursed himself as he wheeled back towards Re'Altarm.

Given the circumstances, the last thing she probably wanted to see was the face of a wolf pressed up against her own, but that's exactly what she got. Jesse sniffed at the wound with a low whine.

The bite was deep.

____

Re'Altarm reached up with the only arm she could move to feel the wound on her other shoulder. She drew her hand back to see the blood, sticky and red. Her eyes caught more movement, but before she could react, another wet nose was shoved into her face.

Her initial reaction was panic, but if he wanted to harm her, he would have already done so.

She didn't care one way or another if he wanted to finish off the job the other had started by this point. She reached out with her bloody hand, gently petting what fur she could reach. "P-please..." She whimpered tiredly. "H-help.. me.." She pleaded. 'I don't want to die...' The thought echoed in the fogginess of her brain. Tears ran down the side of her mud covered, blood stained cheeks.

____

Jesse whined and lay down with his head on her stomach to show that he didn't intend to hurt her. He needed to shed his form to tend her injuries, but it wasn't coming to him. He silently cursed himself for having shifted in the first place. After a minute he stood back up, trying to will his human form back, but nothing happened.

This was getting him nowhere...

He turned tail and headed back the way he had come, wishing he had some way to communicate to the woman that he would be back. When he returned he had his shirt in his jaws which he deposited on her shoulder, nudging her hand towards it with his snout trying to get her to apply pressure to the wound.

____

Her heart sank as she watched her only witness run away. She gritted her teeth, finding the determination to will herself to keep awake. Slowly she pressed into the wound, using the stinging pain it caused to bring her back to somewhat to awareness. She had survived on her own for this long, and so help her, she would make it through this too.

She was panting when the wolf returned with the shirt that it pressed on her shoulder. He pushed her hand back to her shoulder and for some reason, she got what it was trying to say. Pressing down on the wound with the shirt to try to hinder the bleeding, she hissed as the stinging continued. "G-good boy.." She murmured. "Good.. boy.."

With that seen to Jesse gave one more plaintive whine before he was off again, this time in search of help for the woman.
 
as written by Lorelia and Script

After laying low for a few days, Arman decided that it was safe to resurface. The Phantom Quarter was known for its shady happenings, and ‘random’ werewolf attacks had been occurring for years, he wasn’t expecting any surprises. It was mostly overlooked as a place for the damned and worthless. Who cared? Perhaps the authorities would change their mind if they were to catch on that it was mainly one hunter behind the attacks…

He was making for the warehouse. He’d missed Cass. He’d been on his way to finish her off that night he’d attacked the scavenging woman. He was sure she’d have crumpled since their last fight had only been the day before. But now, she’d had time to heal up some and so total victory this night seemed unlikely. If only the others saw things his way, if only they would see the truth in his words, if only they would support him instead of the useless, misguided woman who knew next to nothing about real werewolves. They had a werecat, for fuck’s sake. What a state that scraggly band was. And Arman knew that he could fix them.

His human form was nowhere near as daunting as his wolf one. He was on the short side, 5’8”, but heavy built. And dirty, unshaven and unkempt. He was wearing little more than rags. His hardened bare feet carried him through the dirt, weaving through ruins, jumping low piles of rubble and finding paths when they could.

____

The padding of light footfalls on the rooftop above Arman would likely be the first that he knew of Seri's presence. It was likely that if the raggedly dressed werecat had wanted to remain undetected he could have, but he seemed to be making no effort to hide himself. The yellow-eyed boy peered down at the heavier-set man with a grin. "What do we have heeeere then?" he purred mockingly, "Looks to me like someone's been a bad, bad dog again, haven't they?"

Seri hopped from the rooftop to the fire escape below nimbly, balancing precariously upon a guard-rail with seemingly no trouble at all. "Can't contain yourself for a few measly days? Tut tut. Anyone might think the puppy was rabid. Is that it, Arman? Are you foaming at the mouth like a dumb animal, a slaaave to your instincts?"

____

"Hello Kitten"

As much as he wanted to despise the odd little creature, he really didn't. Seri was an unusual thing -a freak. That's why he belonged. Sharp of tongue, claws and teeth; there was no use in getting stirred up and striking out at his wind up games. Not if you didn't want to make a fool of yourself. Arman had learnt so. Besides, he was weirdly charming; in a way that made you want to tie him up in a bag and dump him in a trash can.

Despite being rash and often brutal, Arman was not hateful, not towards pack members, and neither was he that easily angered. There might have been some malice to Seri's words and his regard for Arman. But the werewolf took it all as friendly jibes, as he usually did when he was met with hostility within the pack. He remained happily in his sphere of social ineptness.

He gave the werecat only one glance before fixing his eyes forwards and on his way.

"Big bad dog? Sure you got a word wrong there.
I'll have you know I have a good hold on my instincts. If I didn't... don't you know what dogs do to cats?"

Letting that hang for a while, he then let out a small, barking laugh. It was lost of humour.

"Did she survive?" He asked, interested as he strolled trying not to be put off by the feline manner in which Seri moved. It made him a little uncomfortable. Arman assumed Seri knew what had come of the attack, since he knew about it in the first place.

____

"Hello Kitten"

As much as he wanted to despise the odd little creature, he really didn't. Seri was an unusual thing -a freak. That's why he belonged. Sharp of tongue, claws and teeth; there was no use in getting stirred up and striking out at his wind up games. Not if you didn't want to make a fool of yourself. Arman had learnt so. Besides, he was weirdly charming; in a way that made you want to tie him up in a bag and dump him in a trash can.

Despite being rash and often brutal, Arman was not hateful, not towards pack members, and neither was he that easily angered. There might have been some malice to Seri's words and his regard for Arman. But the werewolf took it all as friendly jibes, as he usually did when he was met with hostility within the pack. He remained happily in his sphere of social ineptness.

He gave the werecat only one glance before fixing his eyes forwards and on his way.

"Big bad dog? Sure you got a word wrong there.
I'll have you know I have a good hold on my instincts. If I didn't... don't you know what dogs do to cats?"

Letting that hang for a while, he then let out a small, barking laugh. It was lost of humour.

"Did she survive?" He asked, interested as he strolled trying not to be put off by the feline manner in which Seri moved. It made him a little uncomfortable. Arman assumed Seri knew what had come of the attack, since he knew about it in the first place.

____

Seri nodded his head absent-mindedly, as though he hadn't really thought about it. "Found by one of Baron's wolves, taken away to a hospital. Lucky girl. Not so lucky for us, though. Baron won't be happy... won't like humans getting attacked on his doorstep, I'll bet. He's got a fondness for them, can't imagine why. Nasty hateful things that they are."

He stretched out on his perch, yawning, before stalking after Arman along the railing. "If you don't start being more careful, one of these days somebody's going to come to put the rabid wolf down." he said, voice laced with snide disapproval. "Church, Ardelean, Baron... doesn't matter. We're gonna get caught in the crossfire." The werecat slipped from the fire escape onto the top of a half-ruined wall, bare feet padding across the brick.

____

"Lucky girl. That's good. Really good. I'm glad." In support of this, he smiled in a nastily toothy way.

"Hm" he continued, scratching the tangle that was his dirty beard in a worried way at the mention of Baron. "Not so lucky. Don't worry your strange self, nothing'll happen to the pack. I'll make sure of it. And especially not you. I've never met anyone better to wriggle out of things. I have everything under control. Everything will be ready-" he cut off, a menace eclipsed the previously buoyant glaze.

"Maybe it's time to expand our territory, Kitten..."
In fact, he had a few things in mind that Baron would like even less.

They were heading towards a row of ruined houses, their insides gutted, making a good, covered pathway. The warehouse was located at the other end. As Arman passed beneath the first roof from a gaping hole in the side of the house, he started to hum, which lightened him up some. The sound would ricochet, an eerie echo ensued which matched the scene of rot perfectly. There were signs of recent life lined along the walls, mouldy blankets, cheap wine bottles; the smell of urine was particularly potent.

"So, have you all missed me? I'm certain Cass has." He was only half joking. Arman was under the illusion that quite a lot of the pack members actually liked him, rather than that they were too scared to be outwardly belligerent.

____

"There's murmurs in the pack that you go too far, you know. I'm sure you hear them, you have good ears, yes?" Seri murmured, shaking his head. "Expand our territory... and then what, hmm?" he hissed in a breath through his teeth. "Then we're out from under the feet of the bastards who tread on us? For a whiiiile, at least. But then? Then the boot would come down harder. Splat. Bye bye, us."

The warehouse was fast approaching at the end of the street. Seri deftly ascended the side of the building, still looking down at Arman below. "There's a reason you haven't already taken charge, rabid wolf. Cass keeps us safe. You put us in danger. Not everyone's as... ambitious as you. Keep that in mind." he purred, before slipping inside through a hole in the roof, choosing not to take the door with Arman.
 
as written by Tiko and Lorelia

Desmond pulled up alongside one of the back roads on the outskirts of Lupaix before turning the engine to his car off. His brother, Brendan, was seated in the passenger seat of the car, and the pair of them where supposed to be searching the east side of the Phantom Quarter today.

It was only a short walk from where he had parked to the Phantom Quarter, and one could already smell its putrid stench on the hot summer day. It was humid, which always made it worse, and the smell clung to everything. He certainly didn't want to be trying to wash the stench out of his car for a month.

He threw his shoulder into the side-door as he tugged at the handle, and it took a try or two to get it to swing open.

Most of the car was a bit of a rust bucket with blue chipped paint, and numerous dents. It still ran reasonably well though, and Desmond was fond enough of it to have not replaced it.

"Well, 'ere we are," he said as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

Once he had one lit up, he leaned against the side of the car. If they were going to be traipsing all over the Phantom Quarter all day, he was going to enjoy his cigarette first.

Brendan wrinkled his nose in reply.

"Stinks like shitty water" he said eloquently as he joined his brother and propped himself up against the car. It didn't take too kindly to the added weight.

"Didn't think to pack me rain boots. Don't want none of that mess creepin' into me socks." His complaints weren't really holding any meaning; honestly, he wanted to get to the bottom of this recent hell too.

"We wolfin' it or walking?"

"Can't track worth a damn out 'ere anyways, so might as well walk it so we can question folks," Desmond answered.

The stench of the Phantom Quarter and the frequent flooding made it notoriously difficult to track much of anything. More subtle odors where all but masked.

Once he finished his cigarette he dropped the butt of it onto the ground and ground it out.

"Guess we better get started," Desmond said.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

Soon after they’d started searching, Brendan was glad of their decision. This place was bad enough to deal with without heightened senses. His boots were soon caked in a layer of questionable dark sludge. Eventually, even his jokes of the strange objects they found littered about died off after they’d passed their first water-logged corpse.

They were trudging through hollowed out houses. Rows of dilapidated things with only a few signs to tell that they were once inhabited left. A peeling strip of wallpaper here, moulded armchair there. And Brendan was holding onto the strange feeling that they were being watched. If they were, his eyes weren't sharing any evidence. He couldn't help but muse with some sheepishness on how fitting ‘The Phantom Quarter’ was as the name of this awful place.

Watched they were, but not by any phantom. The rooftops - or in the case of some of the more decrepit buildings, wall-tops - above the pair of werewolves were playing host to a small figure, stalking alongside them. Seri had been following the pair for a while, since not long after they'd entered the slums. The raggedy-looking teen's footfalls were light as a feather. He was well practiced in evading even the heightened senses of wolves with the aid of the Phantom Quarter's somewhat ... pervasive odor.

But simply avoiding notice wasn't his intent today. He'd quickly pegged the pair as members of the nearby Bloodstone pack. The pack had been sniffing around the area for the last week or so, and it wasn't the first time he'd followed along after a pair. It was obvious from the conversations he'd overheard that they were looking for Arman.

And today, he'd resolved to give them a helping hand. As the two werewolves rounded a corner, Seri dropped down from the roof of the building on the end of the street, landing on the fire-escape with a loud enough bump to draw their attention.

"Hello, doggies." he called down, leaning onto the railing and flashing a grin at them.

Desmond had just been about to suggest they call it a day when the werecat landed somewhere up above them.

They had been at the search for a few hours, and not a one of the squatters they had come across claimed to know anything about any werewolves living out here. Maybe there were none.

"'ey up there, 'ave a minute?" he called up.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

For someone to approach the two - apparently knowing full well that they were werewolves – suggested to Brendan that this figure on the railings was worth their time. No doubt the creature had been following them too. The somewhat impressed look in his eyes was unnoticeable by the squinting he was doing as he tried to see better.

“Just a few questions, ain’t gon’ hurt you.” As he finished his sentence, he came to a quick conclusion that this individual knew that. Or, they thought they could get away if things didn’t go in their favour.

"I'll keep my distance if it's all the same to you." Seri replied, though he did slip over the railing and descend a few flights to a more reasonable height to communicate from. He perched on the rails, letting his bare feet dangle down. For someone from the Phantom Quarter, the teenager was surprisingly clean. That, combined with his feral gold eyes, made it clear there was something more to him than just another squatter.

"Looking for something, hm?"

Brendan rearranged his standing position into something a little more relaxed, feet apart, thumbs looped into his belt. He leant back a small amount too for more comfortable viewing. He regarded this person; his appearance, his demeanor with eager interest.

“We were just takin’ a look ‘round here. Ain’t the nicest of dwellings, if you’ll pardon me. Was wonderin’ what kind o' folks made this place their home. You don’t seem the usual sort, anyway.” Brendan cocked his head some. “There more like you?”
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

Seri smirked. "No, actually. I'm fairly... unique." he replied, leaning forwards dangerously over the edge, hanging onto the railing. "So, what're these questions you've got?" he asked with mock curiosity. He knew why they were here. But they had to go through the motions.

"'av you 'ad any werewolf trouble out this way? Or anythin' out of the ordinary?" Desmond asked. "An' you sure you don't want to come down?" He was getting a crick in his neck from craning it to look up at Seri.

"Well, I have noticed an awful lot of you wandering around here lately," Seri teased, "Sniffing around, like you buried a bone somewhere but can't find the hole." He flashed another grin with a glint in his eye.

Brendan liked him. Unique he sure was.
This youth did not seem the clueless type, so he just decided to spit out the rest, the reason.

“Sure you’ve ‘eard of all the trouble happening down in Vargeras. Killin’s, maulin’s - plain nastiness. A lot of. Looks like werewolves. We’re tryna’ get to the bottom of, put a stop to it. Any things like that happenin’ ‘round here? Anythin’ you can tell us would be great.”

"There we are. And here I thought we were going to pretend I hadn't been following you lot around for the last week." Seri said, laughing. "I know what you're looking for. And I know exactly who you're looking for, too." He smiled wickedly, "But before I tell you anything, I need some assurances."

"Assurances?" Desmond asked up at him.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

"That the fallout from bringing our resident psychopath down isn't going to cause any problems for me, or my pack." Seri replied. "His little killing spree has nothing to do with us. We want him gone just as much as you, before he gets this entire place burned to the ground by the church." There was venom in the teenager's words. Clearly, this was personal.

Psychopath. Killing spree. It sounded bad and promising at the same time.
There was something else Brendan sought to address first, though.

“A pack? A werewolf pack lives here?” he didn’t quite manage to tone down the pity that rang clear in his voice.

"Yeah, it does." Seri replied sharply, with an edge of defiant pride in his voice. For all his aloof attitude, the Runts were his family. They might not look like much compared to the Bloodstone Pack, but they were what he had.

"If your pack didn't 'ave anythin' to do wi' the recent attacks, then you don't 'ave anythin' to be afraid of. You 'ave our word," Desmond reassured Seri. "We just don't want more people gettin' 'hurt, or killed. Like that lad over in Lupaix. Maybe you can get us a meetin' wi' your pack leader?" he asked.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

"I suppose I can do that." Seri replied, rolling his shoulders with a thoughtful expression, "His name is Arman. Long hair, beard, built big, but short. Or on a bad day, seven foot and ugly as a troll, with a weird hybrid face." He wrinkled his nose.

He didn't want to lead these guys to where Cass had gone to ground. He might have been willing to set them on Arman's trail, but he didn't fully trust them. "I'll bring my pack leader to you, not the other way around." he decided. "Wait near the old warehouse a few blocks that way, and I'll be back with her within a half hour." he pointed off down the road towards the abandoned warehouse that the Runts had called home until a week ago, "If you're lucky, we might even find him there, looking for trouble."

Brendan was finding it hard to believe their luck. This stranger had told them what they initially wanted to know and more. A trap? By the sounds of it, this pack that was living out here wanted rid of this psychopathic troublemaker, as would the Bloodtones. A common interest, a promise of more information, an opportunity.

The O’Callaghan brothers could handle themselves. He glanced sideways at Desmond then looked back to the werecat appreciatively. Worth a shot.

“We can do that.”
 
as written by Lorelia

Cass had hoped they weren’t easy to find. But this was Seri. Quick-witted, slithery, sly Seri. He looked well; she couldn’t help noticing with a flash of pride.

They’d been hiding out on the upper floors of a derelict apartment complex, sat in shadows, hunched in their human forms. The first few days hadn’t been so bad, but now the life seemed completely drained of Cass’s band. Her time was split cripplingly between scavenging and caring, and even with the help of Michel - who hadn’t lasted three days on his own and who had come to offer his help – there wasn’t enough food or affection to go around. Malnourishment had taken a hold of this group, even their complaints of being hungry and cold had begun to die off.

She’d been livid at first, devastated by betrayal, but she didn’t have the energy to protest for long. The pack that was poking around hadn’t passed unnoticed by her. And she was sure Arman was on her tail too.

Seri had convinced her, of course he had.

Desperation had her reconsidering everything.
Hand yourself in. Seek help. Hated but not hungry. Unloved but warm.
Leave them. Let nature take its course. You’ve ruined them.
Find him. Get him.
Kill yourself.
No, wait. Wait the full fortnight.
Bad decisions…

Cass couldn’t figure the way out. So she’d followed Seri to what could either be their salvation or doom, leaving Michel in charge.

It was the pack leader they’d asked to speak with but Cass couldn’t muster any of the expected qualities of such a figure as she approached the warehouse. She was ragged, dressed in something so big and dirty that it functioned well as a disgusting smock dress, with bare feet and skinny legs propping her up. She probably looked a lot younger than she was.

Cass shot Seri an uncertain look, wanting to siphon some of his vigour.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Alara

The abandoned warehouse was as much in disrepair as the rest of the phantom quarter. The front of the building was laid open by a sizable hole in the wall, and multiple holes riddled its roof. Inside, old shipping containers and crates were stacked around the place, but the majority of the cavernous space was empty and bare.

Desmond gingerly took a seat on one of the crates, uncertain if it would hold his weight. It creaked, but didn't seem in any danger of falling appart beneath him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

It was a text from Snow, that Bastien had called him in to follow up on a lead in Fontainebleau and that they wouldn't be able to swing by the Phantom Quarter.

"Looks like we're on our own," Desmond told Brendan.

A bit more muscle wouldn't have hurt if they where dealing with a whole pack out here, but they would need to make the best of the situation and try not to get themselves tangled up in a turf spat without the pack behind them.

“Hm” Brendan murmured as he thought, with everything that was going on, he thought best not to ask what had happened now which meant they’d be going it alone; there were other things to concentrate on at the moment. And it for sure wasn’t any vital news.

“What’s wrong? Scared o’ the ragtags?” He joked. He really couldn’t imagine a big, powerful pack living off the pickings in The Phantom Quarter. But still, most werewolf packs were dangerous. “We’re good if they all agreeable as the young’un. Like ‘im, spunky.”

Brendan’s gaze shifted across the warehouse. They’d been warned that another visitor might show up. One much less co-operative. Shadows began to dance on the concrete before the hole which was perhaps the main entrance to the warehouse. He tensed, waiting for a sign that whoever was approaching did so in a compliant way.

Cass stepped over the threshold. Picking out the two big figures, her advance slowed some.

Brendan blinked. Well, they really needn’t worry about being overpowered, not in these forms, at least. He regarded the werecat for a moment, was this really his pack leader who he’d brought? He was sure that if this woman was in more crude company, she’d have been subject to some jokes. As for Brendan, her state only gave him a surge of sorriness.

“Ma’am” he greeted her.

Cass responded only by stopping in her tracks and fixing the Bloodstone pack members with suspicious stares.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

Seri crouched a short way forwards from Cass. He didn't say anything himself, casting a glance back at her as though waiting for a cue.

Cass wasn't remotely anything like what Desmond was expecting, and he couldn't quite conceal the raise of his brows at the state of her dress and physical condition.

He finally stepped forward and offered her a hand in greeting.

"'ey there. Me name's Desmond, an' this 'ere is me brother, Brendan," he said. "You must be the pack leader that your cat friend told us about? He said you could tell us about some stuff 'appenin' out 'ere?"

Desmond’s hand remained hanging in the air for a few seconds before Cass tentatively shook both his and his brother’s. It had been a while since she’d been involved in such polite gestures.

“Yes.” She said, making sure that she spoke loud and clear as to not make herself even more of a laughing stock. “I… I just need to know, that the information I am going to tell you will be kept between packs. Away from the authorities. And that, well, no one is going to be hurt. There are… children involved.”

Cass’s eyes flittered between their faces, making eye contact with each for a while. She was not looking forward to the judgments that she feared would be passed once they learnt the full story. Her awareness of Seri’s presence was a warm comfort, at least.

"No one except him." Seri interjected with a grimace.
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

"'ey now, we're not lookin' to get anyone in trouble, or to 'urt any kids," Desmond reassured Cass. "Why don't you 'ave a seat an' tell us what's goin' on out 'ere?"

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was dealing with a child, rather than a pack leader.

Cass shook her head at Seri’s comment. No trouble? They hadn’t heard yet. She did not sit.

Apart from the starvation, disease, and general nastiness that everyone ignores?

“This man. He found us, maybe, five years ago? I’m not sure. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know anything about him. He brought us things we needed, he protected us. This wasn’t long after I was… changed.” Changed. Not turned. “I didn’t notice at first. It took- It took three, three or four for me to notice. To notice what he was doing.”

She paused for a moment then found herself looking at the floor next time she spoke. All the fight, the sureness and confidence, had fled. The pretense was gone. She was not one to be followed.

“He was biting them. On purpose.”

“Why?” Brendan was frowning. To be a werewolf was not much of a joy in Lutetia… unofficially sectioned off, looked down on. It was also an entirely different thing to bite and turn. All that torture. He could take a guess; no sane, stable person would do such a thing.

“He’s mad” she said, quieter now.

Brendan nodded.

"We're gonna need to talk wi' the rest of the pack, and I'll be straight with ya. Not all of them are gonna take kindly to you guys livin' out 'ere," Desmond told Cass. "But if you 'elp us find this man, it 'ill go a ways to 'elp the situation. Baron's an upstandin' fella. You be straight wi' him, an' 'e'll do right by you and your pack."
 
as written by Lorelia, Script, and Tiko

"Not like any of you bother to stick your noses this way until something starts to overflow into your territory." Seri jabbed, "I don't see why you would care that we're here."

Cass was also bitter and didn’t scorn Seri in the slightest.

“Won’t take kindly?” Her eyes hardened, some of the helplessness that had been shrouding her fading away. “Why’s that? You have your homes. This is ours. This is mine.”

“The person who has been bitin' people, killin' people, was also yours then, was he not?” Brendan said calmly, without disdain.

Cass scowled.

"'e's right. The pack is going to want assurances that somethin' like this won't 'appen again," Desmond explained. "Look, why don't we all meet over at The Den the-marrow night, an' we'll put this all to rest, alright?"

He offered his hand to her again, a gesture perhaps to reassure her.

She nodded curtly then shook their hands again before leaving.

A sudden terror clutched at her throat.
What if she’d done the wrong thing? If these people weren’t as trustworthy as they made out to be? Not being ‘straight with her’ at all? She’d uncovered them, they’d all be in danger. And if Arman found out… his return would be in vengeance.

“You’d better hope this works out, Seri” Cass was not all too pleased with him. But she was less pleased with herself.

Too late for that.
 
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