meadowlarklogs | open | no need to be afraid there

Entry tags:

open | no need to be afraid there —

WHO: ANYONE ( outside the sim )
WHERE: New Magellan
WHEN: During Phase Two
WHAT: Cassius Rescue Mission!
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, monsters, possible death, etc

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> WELCOME TO NEW MAGELLAN

The mission is simple: get Cassius before Johann can delete him. Simple.

The Displaced slip between cities through the gates, arriving in New Magellan with ease and moving on to the laboratory where Cassius is located. It's frigid, the southern tip of the South American peninsula a collection of dry, cold islands, and creeping wintery chills, the temperature as unfriendly as the mission they're moving toward.

Cassius's map leads them on a road outside the city which brings them to the laboratory quickly enough and they're able to get into the facility itself with little trouble.

It's not until they're inside that the trouble begins.

> WHO KNOWS WHAT MAY BE LURKING

The laboratory is devoid of people, seemingly abandoned, and it's not hard to see why. Once they get inside, the monsters set upon them. Some are the same golden-eyed creatures that have become strangely familiar to the Displaced, all sorts of creatures just slightly off in some way, their DNA altered, modified, spliced, warped.

◉ A large snake, except that it also has four small legs (two near the front of its body, two near the back) which allow it to skitter around rather than slither, making it much faster than any snake has a right to be. It's large and strong enough to strangle its victim, making it difficult to remove by a single person. Don't let it unhinge its jaw, it's got way too many teeth.
◉ A hyena-creature with impressive amounts of agility, due to the fact that it seems like almost all of its joints are double-jointed. It can turn its head almost completely around as well, making it an extremely skilled hunter. Its fangs protrude from the top of its mouth in rows of three like a shark. Even if it's disemboweled or it loses a limb, this creature will still continue to attack in a frenzy.
◉ A stag beetle, except that it's the size of a medium-sized dog. It's still able to fly and its pincers can do damage if it's allowed to get too close. Worse than that, they tend to move in swarms of three or four. Beneath the hard shell are human-like eyes with dilated pupils that follow shadows and light.
◉ A humanoid creature that stands on two legs. Its eyes glow in the dark, catching bits of light from a distance. Upon closer inspection, the creature has snake-scale skin, a long, flickering tail, and claws for hands. These scales are incandescent in nature, shimmering whenever they're underneath enough light.
◉A sloth-like mimic that cries from a distance for help from hidden, high places. Once it hears a voice, it can mimic it, drawing someone in toward it due to it sounding like another Displaced. Getting too close will leave them within reach of the creature that's all arms and little else, leaving a toxic and poisonous trap to weaken its prey. Its hiding places include the rafters, where it may drop on those looking for their friends. Under certain lights, the slothly creature's eyes are humanoid in appearance, sharp and aware — yet still gold.
◉ Humanoid creatures that give off a thick, putrid smell of decay. Not unlike zombies, they move sluggishly, but upon closer inspection, it appears that something is off about these people. They have claws, sharp rows of teeth, and skin that flakes off with every shuffle of their feet. Potentially some early or later stage experiment of the snake-skinned humanoids. They're highly aggressive and will follow someone with the intention of attacking until they're incapacitated.
◉ A cross-breed insect that looks like a mix of a wasp and a mosquito, but is only the size of a dime. Its sting can draw out a large amount of blood, sedating the individual. The toxin that they inject will leave large, red welts, depending on the efficiency of the immune system. They're blotchy and painful. Once they have found a target, they will swarm around that individual all at once.
◉ A naked creature resembling a dog with a reptile's body, with patches of hair. This creature has long rows of crooked fangs protruding from its lips, mouth and tongue, with a large, dilated eye. It has sharp scales on its back to keep it from being touched, but it has a thirst for blood. This creature will attempt to surprise its prey from around corners, jumping onto someone's shoulders with hopes of sticking to them and drawing blood like a reptilian tick.

In addition to the type of monsters seen previously in the research facility outside New Amsterdam, there is an even more horrifying threat, a new monster:

◉ An overwhelming brand of eyeless, bipedal creatures with large rows of teeth that are 7-to-8 feet tall. They're both incredibly aggressive and violent, ready to tear apart anything that comes close to them with open jaws. It'll almost seem like they're inflicted with an insatiable hunger. They're fast, strong, and merciless. And they are not an easy kill.

All of the monsters, both new and old models, will rapidly regenerate and continue to fight even with mortal injuries, unless they are taken out with a killing blow (a head taken out, their heart located and removed, or they're burnt to a crisp). No matter how physically unsettling it may be.

Hopefully someone brought a flamethrower.

> OOC NOTES

This is part of the SAVE CASSIUS PLOT and so it's located outside the simulation, but everyone that has since been woken up by Gabriel and Tony and brought out of New Amsterdam can also participate. For more details, please see the mod write up HERE. This is just for the infiltration/monster fighting, the success or failure of the mission will be addressed in the aftermath post.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You are not going to die.

[Daenerys says this with confidence and certainty. Normally, she might have expressly forbade it but -- well, Jon has made his position on her declaring authority over him very clear, so she skips it for now.

The truth is that she needs to hear her own bravado right now. The transformations were stressful, frightening, and painful. Jon would be witness to most of it, and would feel it through the empathy bond once he reached out. There would be no secret for her to hide -- but being honest about that now is too much honest vulnerability for her to deal with.

So he'll be surprised by it, and figure it out.]

You have a dragon. Don't lose hold, and you win the battle.

Is that the way of it?

I had no dragon at Hardhome. [He sounds philosophical about this, dismayed, not challenging.] I lost then, but anyone would have. I don’t want to lose again.

I will do what I can to keep hold, so we all live to fight another day.

The others — are they used to fighting with a dragon about? Do they know when to keep clear, and not to?

Will you fly?

So many questions.

[It is charming, in its own way. And, of course, valid. He would not like the answers she was going to give him.]

No.

[That was the gist of the answer to all of his questions.]

I will be too large to fly indoors. And if the others are not intelligent enough to keep clear, well...

[She makes a face, which says really everything that needs to be said. Surely nobody would be stupid enough to get in front of the giant fire-breathing reptile.]

How many times have you fought as a dragon?

[Troops need to train, and to drill. He’s had his whole life to learn how to fight. Her... well, that clearing she had brought him to suddenly makes sense, with the claw marks in the scorched grass. But it might be that they could learn to fight better as a group. Not today, but for some day yet to come.

There had been talk of a dragon in New Rio, too, mentioned in passing around the tavern. He hadn’t thought much of it — had thought it might have been one of the golden-eyed beasts.]

With luck, they’ll have the sense to keep to your flanks, or behind you.

Do you doubt me, Your Grace?

[Because it sure sounds like it!!! She might have even been offended, were it not for the fact that everything she was telling him was probably pretty unfathomable.

So instead of grilling him on that, she switches gears.]

You must only make certain I move where the danger is. I will do the rest. And yes, with luck, you should not need to advance ahead of me — you will only need to protect my flank.

No. But any good soldier should know what they’re about before they go into battle.

And I doubt anyone who isn’t used to fighting with a dragon on their side.

[Which means everyone! Including him, which is why he’s asking all these questions.]

Battle is madness at the best of times, even when everyone thinks they’re prepared for whatever may come.

I will only give you one piece of advice, then.

[She takes a moment to figure out how best to phrase it, to keep him from balking — because it is important. She has a better chance of escape than most because of her sheer size and the aggressive fight or flight instinct that she harbors as a dragon.]

If there is ever a moment where you must turn back, then you should do so. Even if it means you must break the connection. Eventually, the dragon will tire and flee as well — but she will last longer than any man.

[He takes a moment to absorb that — to consider the implications.]

I don’t want to leave anyone — to leave you behind. But I’ll do what I must, if the time comes.

I’ll think of it less as leaving you behind, and more of it as you guarding our retreat. You’ll be the most fit for that. But I will not retreat if there are other options.

[And in his mind’s eye, the image of a few minutes ago: her small hand, sprouting scales and claws, fingers flexing.]

That is a good way of looking at it.

[But the last thing he says — its of some concern. If he chose to release her and hung around too long, there would be a high chance of her turning on him. Not as a willing party, of course — but it would make no difference whether she was willing or not if he died by her flame.

The building is in view on the horizon, now. The moment of truth was fast approaching.]

It will be best if we make this quick.

[The bonding. Not talking about it. Not thinking about it too deeply. There is no way for her to hide it — this is not a particularly comfortable situation for her. But she steels herself anyway, because it is necessary.]

[He pauses in his tracks for a moment, then strips off his glove and stuffs it in the pocket of his padded jack, then the other. He has to lift the waist of the thing to draw Longclaw, so it's in his right hand. The pommel is warm from being against his body, but the air on his knuckles is cold.]

All right.

[He holds his left hand out to her at his side.]

[She glances down at his hand for a brief moment in consideration, knowing that she has not prepared him well enough for this. If she'd had it her way, she would shift out of sight, and have him come when it was through -- but there would be too much risk of harm to the rest of the party, if she did that. Too much risk that the dragon would spin out of control, and fly in another direction.

No. This was how it had to be done.

She leaves the small pack she had brought with her to the side of the road -- it will come in handy later, when she ceases to be a fire breathing lizard. After closing her eyes and taking a long, slow breath, she grasps for Jon's hand. The blue glow is a soft thing that shines through her jacket just so.

When her eyes open again, they are not the vibrant, cool color as they normally were. Instead, they were a fiery, hateful orange. The empathy bond offers nothing but raw anger, hot as the sun as the scales return to race over her arms. But when he bones begin to shift and crack out of place unpleasantly with growth, pain mingles with her anger, and she drops to one knee. Stubbornness is all that keeps her from vocalizing through the process.

The change is swift after that (though no less noisy), and though she is eventually forced to release his hand when her arms grow to wings, it will be clear that the momentary respite had been necessary -- for the change starts to slow when the dragon replaces the woman at her side: small enough to grab hold of again, though not large enough to carry a man for great distances.

The dragon is momentarily exhausted, when it all finishes. She stays flat to the ground like a fish out of water, heaving slow, warbling breaths and attempting to gain her bearings. The party is far enough behind that she does not rouse immediately.]

[What she feels from him when she takes his hand and the blue glow begins: curiosity, patient interest, concern for her, some trepidation about what they might find at their destination. Fearful excitement about what they're about to do.

If he had not seen the dragons in their shared dream, had not seen her hand a few minutes earlier, he would fear the coming dragon more. He has misgivings, but they are small: this is necessary.

Still, he's taken aback when her eyes change color, when the rage comes flooding from her, rage he hasn't felt since -- he'd felt some of it for Melisandre, for Stannis's little daughter, and less of it when Sansa spoke against his decisions in front of his lords, but in truth, the last time his rage flared hot was when he had bashed Bolton in the face with a Mormont shield and then twenty or thirty times with his fists. And even that, the angriest he can remember being in his life, is only a candle compared to the furnace of Daenerys's fury.

He doesn't drop her hand, even as the scales and claws emerge from it again. He hears a crack as her body shifts, then another, and can't control his startled expression as her arm begins to do something it shouldn't be able to do -- expanding this way, folding that way, growing webbing. Her pretty face -- when he looks at it again, that's gone too.

It's easy to tell, both from their connection and from the sounds she makes, that this hurts her. He doesn't look away. Something comes through from his side: he's worried for her, sorry for her pain. Sorry that she will suffer this to save some sort of man-made god, man-made ghost. There is nothing he can do to make it easier for her. When he has to let go of her, he does, just for a moment. Just for as long as it takes.

Then there's a dragon beside him. If he had not seen her dragons in a dream, he would think it -- her -- large. She is large compared to him, to the woman she was a minute ago, to a direwolf, to a horse, but not to a dragon. Gods. She's panting, so he puts his hand gently on her wing, as she had told him to.]

Easy there. Easy.

[He murmurs words of comfort as she heaves, the way he might if she were hurt. She is injured and not injured, he thinks. This isn't something she chose for herself.]

[Daenerys feels like she's run a marathon, with an impossibly heavy weight bearing down on her back. Two consciousnesses fight for dominance on the other end of the empathy bond -- the raw anger of the dragon, and the cautious zeal of Daenerys herself. The anger has no anchor, but the rest of her clings to the empathy bond like it is the one thing keeping her conscious.

His voice cuts through the anger, thanks to his hand on her wing. The next time she huffs out a breath, it comes as a small cloud of mist on the air, and she rises to all fours. Her head swings on her long neck, turning to observe Jon with one orange eye. There is no mistaking her fury -- but there is recognition somewhere deep within them.

The bond was no good for communicating complex ideas, but she feels his pity for her now that she is no longer distracted by pain. The growl that comes from her is only partially unbidden, and short lived. A minor complaint.]

[A lot of people might flinch at that growl. He doesn’t, but he does look wary. There is some awe mixed with it. He has never seen a dragon before in truth; he has certainly never touched one before.

If he had anything to fear from her now, it would already be a problem. He doesn’t, but he understands her unhappiness. His hand on her is gentle. He doesn’t know how to soothe a dragon, and he can tell that she’s mostly dragon now — but not entirely.

He wishes he had paid more attention to the stories of the Targaryen dragons of old, but it was Arya who had loved them.]

Doesn’t hurt as much now, does it? If you want to walk about — stretch your legs while the others catch up — I’ll stay with you.

[He’s not even completely sure that the dragon can comprehend his words.]

[There is intelligence in her eyes, and she does not turn away even when Jon communicates that he will stay with her. Truthfully, she does not have the capacity to process the difference between her prior transformations and this one -- it might be easier to unpack once she's gone back to herself.

But she can comprehend his words well enough. She does not want to stretch, she wants to storm the building, unleash the rage coiling in her belly. But the others are some ways behind, and if she were to forge ahead now then they would be left even further behind.

So she gives into Jon's nudging, sidestepping just enough to spread her opposite wing out.]

[He moves too, closer to her side behind the wing, so that she can spread that one too, if she wishes. He won’t let go of it.

It’s warm, standing next to her, warm enough that it doesn’t matter that his gloves are off. The skin of her wing is leathery under his rough fingertips. He keeps Longclaw close to his side, so there’s little chance of her brushing against it.

Gods, dragons have so many teeth, all of them sharp. Little horns at their temples.]

It’s never an easy thing to prepare for battle. You need fury and fear.

[Daenerys' neck stretches outward along with reach leg. When her tail thuds back to the ground, she shifts some to turn more readily towards Jon. She cannot communicate well like this, even if she understands him.

She has fury. And she won't admit it, but she has the fear too. If he pays close enough to the empathy bond, he might find her on his own -- Daenerys, in the shadow of the dragon, and her fear of losing control of that fury. Somewhere under all of the fire and scales, she measures her breathing, and stays focused on the objective just ahead of them.

And to that point, she takes a long moment to shift her weight to one side, shoulder dipping to the earth in an inviting fashion. It would be easier for him to keep control if he did not have to try and keep up wit her gait. A low rumble echoes out of her chest, something that sounds almost like a purr (if not for the fact it was coming from a menacing half-grown dragon) -- an invitation.]

If I do that, I have to sheathe Longclaw. It will only be a moment when I’m not touching you.

[Dragon hide is very thick, he knows that much. But given that the Valyrians were dragonlords, he does not trust that Valyrian steel won’t cut into her. And then what would she be when the dragon leaves her? A small woman with a gash in her side or her arm.

He takes his hand off her, but stays close, so that he can touch her again in half a moment; then, he quickly lifts the jack and sheathes the sword. Then his hand is on her again.]

All right?

[He has misgivings about mounting a dragon. This empathy bond, it’s a little like the way he feels like Ghost is a part of him, but it’s different, too. Stronger, more direct, not just a dream or a hunger or the scent of a fresh kill.

Finally, after that moment of hesitation, he sets to it, climbing on. It can’t be much different than a horse. There are two spikes that seem convenient to cling to, like reins, so he does. And then he says to her,]

If this hurts, if I’m too heavy for you, think of a way to let me know, and I’ll get down.

[The moment when Jon lets go, panic floods into Daenerys' veins. She shifts uncertainly on her feet, as if coming out of a drunken stupor -- and then his hand is back upon her. It feels like being caught while falling, and the dragon grips the ground a little tighter. Her warble is brief and nervous.

But once Jon is on her back, she feels comfortable moving again. She can breathe, she can get her bearings. A piece of her wants to lie back down, the way they had melted to the floor inside of the simulation. But now was not the time, nor the place.

Her gratitude is faint, underneath the dragon's adrenaline, but it is there.

Her shoulders shift, helping to seat him in place before she starts to walk forward with purpose, step by step, muscles rippling.]

[Riding any creature is partly about having the balance and strength to keep your seat, and to not interfere with the animal’s own balance. That Jon is a practiced rider is a boon of being raised as a lord’s son and not a servant. He is uncertain, at first, but he feels her gratitude and tries to make her feel secure in return.

He keeps his seat well enough as she moves, clinging to the two spikes that protrude from her spine.

This is strange: it reminds him of carrying one of his brothers or Arya about on his shoulders when they were small. Arya was almost too close to him in age for it, nearly too big once he was big enough to do it, though she was always little for her age. Bran and Rickon, though, he had carried them each around the yard once or twice while their mother wasn’t looking. The thought of it makes him feel pleasantly nostalgic, a warmth that may pass into the empathy bond.

But if that’s what this is like, then he’s the little child now. And they still have a fight ahead of them.]

Do you have fire in you?

[What will it feel like when that begins?]

[On the other side of the bond is a feeling of affirmation -- the best way a far-away Daenerys can communicate with Jon. Now would not be a good time to show him the flame. After all, it was not always reliable, and it sapped her strength to force it for too long.

The dragon's nostrils flare as they approach, and she pauses just a few feet away around the back. The fins along her back shrink downward, and a hiss passes between many rows of sharp teeth.

They were close. This would not be a simple smash and grab -- they would be beset by enemies just as soon as they entered the building.]

[In response to her confirmation, she'll feel that he's satisfied with the answer, and growing more tense.

The time before battle is always a serious time, the wait nearly unbearable. The fact that they're to be the attackers helps a little; the fact that he doesn't know the enemy well is not. He has not really fought in this world before. Only briefly at Everest. No big battle.

He is becoming keen to fight. Maybe they'll lose today, or maybe they will only be able to help a little. Or maybe, somehow, if they're lucky, they'll be able to do something that helps in New Amsterdam. What that is, he's not sure, so it's good that they aren't there alone.

It's not long before the others catch up with them, and they do what they came for.]

Edited 2020-06-25 01:14 (UTC)

[By the end of it all, Daenerys is utterly exhausted. She's never stayed a dragon for so long -- typically, her rage burns hot enough to force her back to being human. But with Jon's assistance, she goes and goes and goes.

Until she doesn't.

It's not until the area is clear and the power flickers out from a yank of wires that Daenerys realizes that she needs to back away. There's nothing left to fight here, and everything smells of strange blood and burnt flesh.

She is practically dragging her belly as she moves to retreat to the outdoors. The blast of cold keeps her from finishing the journey -- being nearer to the warmth seems like a better idea. She lays down heavily, leaving Jon to roll off of her outstretched wing.

The strange shrinking of bone will encourage him to move quickly. Before long, the dragon is replaced with an exhausted (and quite naked) Daenerys.

At least the bag with her change of clothes wasn't too far away.]

[What they do: it’s a horror.

But any battle is. From her back, he doesn’t use his sword much, only tries to remain as steady as he can, so she can feel it. That’s hard when fighting has always put a madness into his blood. At one point, when she had killed one of the creatures diving at them, a near miss that had not gone well for it, he had laughed — just once. Another time, he had shouted.

But he had still been calmer and a little more kind than a dragon.

He can feel the power ebbing out of her, so it’s not much of a surprise when she begins to slink away, then shows him that she needs to be free of his weight.

It is a surprise that he turns to find her naked. He blinks, not taking in much, then averts his eyes politely.

A moment later, he’s tugging at the fastenings of his jack, pulling it off, holding it out to her.]

Wait. Take this.

You all right?

Edited 2020-06-26 06:38 (UTC)

[She hardly has the strength to take it. She is starving, dizzy, and dehydrated from the effort needed to keep fighting. Fact of the matter was that she wasn't a fighter, and the Fire and Blood that she was born of -- it might have come naturally, but it was not cultivated. Never conditioned.

Truthfully, she does not care very much that Jon sees her like this -- naked, that is. Flesh was flesh, after all. Weak, vulnerable, those things are something she is less than pleased are on display. So she takes the jacket to hide those things, the way her pale skin loses some of its color and makes her look more porcelain than person.]

Yes.

[It sounds as if she's been shouting, from how her throat scratches. But she is happy to have the warmth of Jon's jacket to give her a moment's respite while she tries to will her headache away.]

The pack I brought -- it has water. And other things.

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cw: vague body horror

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