No one mourns the wicked.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]

Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz done. Th'air'n m'lungs pushed out hard, there wuzza flash 'fore m'eyes, an'en th'pain wuz gone. But not b'fore I heard somethin', a weird screamin' noise somewhere deep'n th'mist. Closest thin' t'it've ever heard s'when I came 'pon a mama vixen'n th'woods, she stood up from'er cubs'n fuckin' screamed at me. This sound wuz like'at...but wit'n edge, like th'bone squeal'a teeth grindin'n pain. Dunno what't wuz, but't made me feel sick'n pale'n sweaty, an' I didn't sleep no more after'at.

Seems mosta th'others'n th'Carnival felt somethin' th'same. Lotta folk woke up'n th'night, 'r member a chokin' spell...nobody else mentioned the scream, though. I don't mention it neither, but think mebbe I oughta go talk t'Nanshe soon's I can. Whatever't wuz, don't think't meant anythin' good.

Fer t'day, though, there's work t'be done. Can't b'lieve th'summer's near t'ended. We's headed fer our second winter innis town, an'I think mosta us're resigned t'it. Somma th'folks'a been lettin'eir wagons go, lettin' th'wheels sink inta th'ground, 'r settin'em on blocks. Some folks've built shacks 're rented places in town. Some've taken jobs, too, part time 'r full. Can't blame'em, really, since'ere ain't allat much money comin' in fer the rides 'r games no more. There's a feelin' on th'Lot now't we might never leave, annit makes m'skin itch.

Me, I still keep m'wagon ready t'move, an'm makin' 'nough cash sellin' potions'n charms, so'm doin' okay. Smokey's gettin' fat, though, 'e's spendin' so much time'n pasture. I ain't never learned t'ride'r nothin', so'ere really ain't nothin' for'im t'do. Guess I could rent'im out t'folks in town, but I dunno. In some ways't makes me feel like'm puttin' down roots m'self, an'at jes' makes me twitch.

At least I still got work t'do. Shoulder m'satchel 'n head out inta th'woods. Rain's gone, but'ere's a cool breeze, so I throw on m'jacket, 'n pull boots on 'gainst th'mud 'n wet grass. Th'woods 'n th'river here've been good t'me, at least in terms've finding materials. Roots 'n herbs, moss 'n bone. Miss somma th'stuff I c'n get 'n th'south (Christ, I miss olive oil), but gotta say, gathered a lotta stuff last winter't I can't normally get, annit came in right handy over th'past few months.

...Lord, guess I better start thinkin' 'bout getting th'heaters set back up inna few weeks. Jesus wept.

[OPEN to Reed and Catherine primarily, but others too]

Comments

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

I will bloody well have my own time and measure and space of breathing, though it's grown rare; so when I set hands to it then for my peace it suits me to make bloody sure there’s no-one laying claim to me, nor to have mind of me to do so.

I did this more often, afore. Now need plan and plead for the time of it, and that truth rubs raw as grit on sweat-worn skin. So draw feathers and stone around myself, and there’s a quiet in the air around me, cloak of mist and dreams, and it soothes.

The cool of wet riverstone, and a stillness.

Take myself out and further, and come the moments I mind where I’m going. Recall another time I did this, mind set in myself and body wrapped in the cochl o caddug and that fool rabbit blind to me ‘til I clear and away stepped on it... Grin at the memory, and take myself over moss and through clearing, listening to the day around me, and nothing gone quiet for my being there, nothing stilled at sound or sight of someone out walking; no place I need be and no-one I need answer to, and I feel the misery of ache and duty knotted through flesh and across bone start to ease.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Birds. Keep findin' th'damned thin's. I saw'em scattered 'round th'Carn'val lot, an'I thought I heard someone say we'd lost a few layin' hens, but I di'n't really get th'sense ovvit 'til I wuz out'ere. I see sparrows, blackbirds, crows, robins, even a hawk. Gather 'nough feathers'n talons t'last me a lifetime, but th'whole thin' leaves me witta bad taste'n m'mouth. Somethin' happened 'is morning, an'I still don't think 't wuz nothin' good. T'morrow I go t'Nanshe, see what she thinks.

As'm passin' near t'th'river, I hear some rustlin'. Takes me a minute t'see'er passin' through th'trees, dressed'n workin' browns'n greys. 'er belly's gone flat, an'er's a satchel at'er side. "Glass." I call, raisin' m'hand inna wave. "How ya been?"

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Eyeing a particular twist and flare of bramble and take the cloak off and turn it and wrap it up in itself. It's sturdier than I'd right to expect, but the idea of catching it bothers me nonetheless; I wonder if it'd bleed, more'n all else.

"Glass," as I come through the tangle and for a moment thinking of pulling back into feather and mist and gone, but time of quiet's settled me some, and the voice isn't a misery.

"Well enough," call back, thread through and down a lace of trees towards Syl. "You and yours?"

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Ferra minute I think she's gonna draw back, but she turns t'me'n calls back, "Well enough. You and yours?"

"Not too bad." Gesture t'wards'er belly. "All come out well, I hope?" Likely so, with Nu watchin' over'er. Ain't known Nu t'lose many babies.

Start walkin' t'wards'er an' stop onna dead woodpecker. "Fuckin' hell." I says, an' sigh. "Y'feel't? 'is mornin'?" Glass ain't got th'sense't Tess has, but she's got a li'l bit ovvan eye t'er. Curious t'see if'n she felt anythin'.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Nod to matter of health of me and mine. "Y'feel't? 'is mornin'?" she say, stepping 'round another dead bird. Imagine some of it was the length of holding a breath, but...

Shake my head. "Woke up direct after, near's I can tell," I say dry. The screaming... Well enough she got her breath back, can't blame her for being upset over the matter. Some shock to find quite how quick you can get to your feet woken that way, or how fast your heart goes. "Didn't catch word of it being matter for others 'til I actually spoke to another. What was it?"

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

She shakes'er head, but she felt't, sure's stone. "Woke up direct after, near's I can tell. Didn't catch word of it being matter for others 'til I actually spoke to another. What was it?"

"Fucked if I know," I snort, pickin' th'carcass up. "Y'need feathers? I got 'nough t'stuff a lifetime's pillows." Sigh'n toss th'bird aside. "I dunno what't wuz, I'm jes' sure't ain't good. But'en, what innis town is?" Gotta laugh't some point. "I really ain't sure what happened'is mornin', Plannin' t'go'n talk 'bout't wit' folks later. Meantime, dunno't'ere's much t'do 'bout't 'scept gather's much feathers'n claws's we can."

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"Fucked if I know," she says, picking up the woodpecker. "Y'need feathers? I got 'nough t'stuff a lifetime's pillows."

"Thinking I'm set," I say, and smiling faint to be imagining what Dorian'd threaten to make of it if he saw aught other than chicken feathers. Some great twist of things, no doubt.

"I dunno what't wuz, I'm jes' sure't ain't good. But'en, what innis town is?" and crack a grin. "I really ain't sure what happened'is mornin', Plannin' t'go'n talk 'bout't wit' folks later. Meantime, dunno't'ere's much t'do 'bout't 'scept gather's much feathers'n claws's we can."

"S'pose," true enough. "You need a hand at claws, or you set for those as well?"

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Head hurts. Felt all night like there's a storm coming. Thought it broke some time before light, crack in the air like thunder with no sound, pressure makin my ears pop an hair go up on my arms, but no storm ever come. Felt dizzy since then, low pain right down in the back of my skull like when I used to drink rum, wake up next mornin feelin turned inside out.

Ain't right. Ain't nothin right. Nothin natural. Time to find Catherine.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

I felt it this morning, oh, how I felt it. Like God had call for the air to condense and then beaten it like a drum. Except I do not think that it was God's hand behind it, not at all. When I stepped out of the abbey this morning, there were birds lying dead beneath the trees, and the brothers and sisters looked alarmed. The horses in the stables were frothing; a few had kicked their way free of their stalls and were running loose in the corral. Hirondelle was still there, standing stock still and trembling. I soothed her, and fed her, and dressed in my leather jerkin. When I passed by the weapons storage, I asked for my rifle. The Brother asked why I wanted it. I told him that I was going hunting. He said perhaps I would bring home supper, and I said that perhaps I would.

I only wish I could ask for my sword. My rifle and long knife will have to serve.

I left the abbey and found Reed. We both had felt it. We both knew that the time had come. And from what we had learned in town, we both knew where to go.

Reed knows these woods. We know the witch comes here frequently. Surely, with her master so active, she will be here tonight. I know it. God has shown me the way.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

It ain't that I want to hurt anyone. Lady knows I don't. But sometimes you just got to, to keep other people safe. The town. Children, like that Parsons baby. Always swore I'd be a soldier no more, do the works of peace, but how c'n I sit back an let others do evil when I can stop it?

Still, it ain't an easy thing. I got my weapons, an Catherine got hers, an I got a sick feelin right down in my gut still. Least we're away from town, no one else to get in the way. Doin the right thing, I know it. Walking soft, like hunting. Hear a voice up ahead an go still.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

I know that Reed is reluctant, but she is the first person that I have met in this town who seems to understand what is at stake here, and who is willing to act. And in this case we know, we know that this woman is a witch, that she is acting against God. From asking around town, I have learned she is even helping women end their pregnancies. She is killing babes in the womb and outside it, and clearly the town authorities are willing to let her do it. How can we let this stand?

Reed is in the lead, she is more accustomed to this sort of battle than I, and when she freezes I do similar. Voices, yes, voices. There is someone up ahead. Thank you, God, for guiding us.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Takes me back, this does. Up in the mountains with the irregulars, ambushed and broken ground: quick strike and away. My hands remember how to slit a throat.

"--'til I actually spoke to another. What was it?"

Voice's familiar. Can't place it. Shame someone else's there. Maybe we can wait for her to leave. If not - remember a phrase. Collateral damage. That soldier they hanged, the man-eater, he'd've understood. Makes me shake my head for a moment, sudden sense of wrongness. Push it away. Needs doing, this.

Wave Catherine up, round. Quiet, quiet. Forward.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Voices, yes, certainly voices. Two at least; one older, smoke-roughened, and one young. Reed gestures to me, indicates that I should move to the side and around. I draw my rifle, though I don't dare cock it, and inch my way through the bushes.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

I know the second voice: was the apothecary's girl, time gone by. Pair of 'em talking about takin parts of the dead birds, an my spine goes cold. They both in on this? (Birds or babies.)

Movin quiet. Load an prime my pistol: can do that in my sleep, quite as anythin. Nod to Catherine an step out, drawin back the hammer to full cock. "Mornin, ladies." Voice's cold. Got to do what you got to do.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

We come out on either side of them, guns at the ready. I can see the witch. Her appearance surprises me; a tall, lanky woman, hair going grey. She's neither a voluptuous, wanton temptress, nor a bent and withered hag. But evil takes many forms, after all, and I suppose the Devil wanted someone who could conceal themselves easily.

"Mornin', ladies." Reed says, as the two stare at us.

I glance at the younger woman. "Is she your apprentice?" I spit. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

'm about t'laugh 'n say't Glass's welcome t'th'claws too, Lord knows I got 'nough, when two women step outta th'bushes. Dressed like'ey's out for a day's huntin', 'scept one's gotta pistol 'stead of a shotgun, an' both ovvem got'eir guns trained on Glass'n me. "Mornin', ladies." Says one ovvem.

Th'other ain't so friendly. "Is she your apprentice?" she says, lookin't Glass. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

"She ain't no 'pprentice 'a mine," I says, lookin't th'guns. There's a sick feelin'n m'belly, but I hide't b'hind drawin' a cig outta m'case 'n lightin' t. "Mind tellin' me what's's about?" Even though I gotta pretty good idea.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"Mornin', ladies," and the clean shock of it leaves me staring at her, light in the moment, and she looks like hell. "Evening to you," as it is by my count, and then "You aright?" thin and distracted afore the weight of the weapon brings me back to earth, leaden sick feeling in my stomach.

"Is she your apprentice?" the other says to Syl, as if I weren't for speaking-- no, worse'n that. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

"Beg your pardon," steadier than I feel, and place her then; woman as kept a roof over her head at the Abbey, seeking to take up arms 'gainst the thing in the tower.

Bloody Wednesdays.

"I apprentice to none since my mam died," I say, "and that was winters gone. Can speak to answer questions, mind."

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Just stare at the girl a minute when she asks after my health. Can't you see the gun plain in my hand, child?

(Evenin, mornin, I lose track these days. Don't make no difference anyhow.)

"Just you stand easy now," I tells them both. Eyes on the young one, cos that's a sharp tongue on her, and if she ain't a part of this it could make trouble for her. "Lady an me's got some questions." Ain't a word of a lie. Won't lie if I can help it. Not like the rest of this town, all gone wrong. See the muzzle of the pistol weavin a little, an that ain't right, that ain't like me. Always had a steady hand.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

The witch lights a cigarette and draws on it, as though she had no cares in the world. "She ain't no 'pprentice 'a mine. Mind tellin' me what's's about?" Cold anger grows in my belly. How dare she show have no fear when confronted with God's warriors? How dare she show such arrogance?

"I apprentice to none since my mam died, and that was winters gone. Can speak to answer questions, mind." That is the younger, but I am not so sure that I believe her. Wouldn't servants of the Devil lie? Isn't that what they are known for?

"Just you stand easy now. Lady an me's got some questions."

Yes, questions. That is how we should hat least begin. "You," I say, levelling my gun at the witch. "I want to hear it from your lips. That you are a witch, a whore of the Devil, that you have murdered children." It's nothing more than what we know, but it is always so much better if they confess. This much I know.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Don't like th'way th'dark one looks, not't all. 'er hands're shakin', there's sweat on'er face, an' er eyes're jitt'ry. She says'ey got some questions. Oh, yeah, cuz folks't jump out't ya'n th'woods wit' guns always wanna fuckin' interview.

Th'other one's steadier, but I seen'er like b'fore. Us'ally jes' b'fore'ey start throwin' rocks. I guess guns're a step up. "You. I want to hear it from your lips. That you are a witch, a whore of the Devil, that you have murdered children."

Can't help it, I bark laughter'n smoke inta th'air. "Ferra pair'a d'voted crusaders, you two sure ain't done yer research. Yeah, sure, 'm a witch. Whore'a th'Devil, though? Seriously? Been t'th'tea house lately, have ya? An' killin' children?" I laugh again, but I still got'at sick feelin', cuz I don't see 'is bein' won wit' logic. Cup m'hands 'round m'cig like'm tryin' t'protect th'flame.

But 'stead I scorch m'skin 'gainst th'ember, draw m'power in, an' blow out, hard. Ash 'n hot cinders blow out front m'hands, inta th'faces 'a th'two gun-totin' bitches. I grab Glass' arm, "Run."

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Oh bloody hell.

"Run."

Tell me twice and you'll find me gone.

Pull away and snap the cloak out of its bundle and settle it 'round me; with the grit and burn in their eyes, can't swear they'll even see me doing that. Not bloody leaving Syl, not now and to this, but very much not caring to be favoured as a target. Wish I thought she could hold me to blame for all they're accusing her of, once I'm unseen, but doubt it'll be so clean.

Trees between me'n them, best I can, and trying to keep Syl in sight. Can manage that.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Eyes're burning, and could be a trick or could be real magic but I ain't waitin around to find out. Can't shoot cos I can't aim, and I'm swearin an hearing them takin to their heels.

"Don't make me shoot you!" I call, scrubbin at my eyes with the back of my arm, an I'm goin after them even though I can't see. When my eyes blink 'emselves clear I've lost the younger but I can see the other runnin, aim an fire just past her in warnin. Can still do that, at least.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

She laughs and she denies, of course, because that is what the Devil-cursed do, that is why he is called the Prince of Lies. And then she cups her hands around the burning ember of her cigarette, and even before I hear her exhale I curse myself for a fool. What should I have expected from a witch? At least I throw up my arm to guard my eyes from the worst of the smoke and ash, and I hear her call, "Run."

There are the sounds of footsteps crashing through the brush, and I hear Reed yelling, "Don't make me shoot you!" Before a gunshot sounds. There are no cries of pain, no sounds of stumbling, so I assume it was a warning.

I curse, blinking hard to clear my eyes. "Come on! We can't let her get back to the Carnival!" Before I take off in pursuit. So we are hunting after all.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Glass makes some motion, an' suddenly she's gone. Ain't goin' dim; she's jes' gone. But I c'n still hear'er crashin' 'round b'hind me, so I know she's'ere. Hear a pistol-shot, but think't wuz inta th'air. Ain't gonna stay 'round'n find out.

"Don't make me shoot you!"

Oh, yeah, sure, what wuz y'plannin' t'do b'fore? s'what I wanna yell, but ain't gonna waste m'breath onnit. Dammit, dammit, why'd I hafta walk so far? Tryin' t'think how long't'd take us t'run back t'th'Lot. Try t'think if'n we c'n make't wit'out gettin' shot. Try t'judge from th'sounds b'hind us jes' how fast'ey's comin'. Try t'keep runnin'n draw m'knife't th'same time, which's a damned sight harder'n't sounds.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Several things I could set the edge of my tongue to, over "Don't make me shoot you!" Little enough point to't as I am, mind.

"Come on! We can't let her get back to the Carnival!" And think they're 'tween us and town, too... Sure's hell no bloody time for trying to go back for help. Mind myself they cannot see me and take a glace and again to the ground I'm crossing, find a decent rock and its close cousin. Not as if you'd catch me trying to cut someone when I can keep my distance a little.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Ain't stoppin. Stupid girls, stupid. Why'd you run if you'd not guilty? Provin it all, ain't it.

'M in good shape and I know these woods, better than most. Even with my eyes still streamin I can follow her. Blind man could follow her, ain't goin quiet. Wish I knew where the other one is. Don't want her comin out of nowhere.

Goin to have to take this one down, one way or another. Damn it.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Run, then, yes, run. Your master will not save you now. He has no power over Reed and I. We are servants of God, and we will bring you down.

I don't know where the younger girl has gone; she seemed to vanish into the air. She must indeed be an apprentice, but I can't concern myself with her right now. My target is the witch herself, the head of the snake.

I can see her in the rapidly dimming light, and I know that if we do not stop her before full dark comes, we may lose her in the woods. I utter a quick prayer, set my rifle to my shoulder, and fire.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

S'gettin' dark, but I c'n still hear'em gainin'. M'chest's startin' t'hurt...goddamned cigarettes, If'n I'd known I wuz gonna spend th'evenin' runnin' fer m'life, y'c'n bet I woulda cut down.

Still ain't sure where Glass is, but don't sound like they've caught'er, annat's what matters. If'n I c'n jes' keep movin' 'til full dark, mebbe I c'n lose 'em in the...

There's th'crack of a rifle, an'en somethin' slams inta m'shoulder. Don't hurt't first, jes' feels like bein' shoved hard. Stumble over a tree root, slam inta th'trunk, an; m'shirt's goin' heavy'n wet. M'whole arm's throbbin'n burnin' an' m'shoulder's goin' cold, oh CHRIST....

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Hear Catherine stop, and a glance shows she's aimin. Make sure I'm well clear, an then there's the crack of the rifle, smell of powder an the witch goes down. Hopin' she ain't dead - we ain't murderers. Could come to anythin later, but shootin a woman in the back don't sit right with me.

Catch up to her an get my pistol trained on her again. "Don't you move," I tell her.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Our mission is truly blessed. God guides my hand and my aim, and the witch stumbles and falls. I would rather take her in honorable combat, but I cannot risk her escaping to do yet more harm. And I should know better than to expect honorable combat from a creature like her.

The shot caught her in the left shoulder, and she is thrashing on the grass, trying to get up. Reed reaches her first, "Don't you move."

My pace slows, and I cradle my rifle in the crook of my arm. I wish we knew where her apprentice had gone.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Jesus Christ. Don't think've ever been shot b'fore. Hurts like a bitch. Arm's hangin' near useless, an' m'shirt's drenched'n blood. Well, bleedin' t'death'd likely be more comfort'ble 'n whatever'ey got planned for me.

've jes' managed t'roll over onta m'back when th'dark one wit' th'wild eyes runs up t'me. "Don't you move," she says, pantin' like a dog. Swear I c'n see foam 'round'er mouth. Th'other one's slowed down, lookin' satisfied, strollin' nice'n easy. Still dunno where Glass is. Hope t'hell she got away.

They think'm down. Well, 'is ol' bitch still has some teeth in'er. An'in some ways'ey did me a favour. M'bloods poolin' on th'grass, soakin' inta th'earth, bein' taken up by root an' stem. Clench m'good hand 'n th'earth. My body nourishes you, drink of my blood, grow strong and lend me your aid.

Done'is charm b'fore, but'at boost Verdi'n tez gave me sure gives a boost. Th'dark woman yells azza tree root rips free'a th'ground'n winds 'round'er ankle. A branch whip's cross'er face, an'a bush stretches out t'embrace'er. Th'other freezes, a split-second'a surprise, but't's enough. Snatch onna th'pouches from m'belt 'n hurl-t inta'er face. It bursts inna cloud'a powder, an'n th'next second a swarm 'a flies 'n wasps pours outta th'trees t'surround'er.

I don't take time t'gloat 'r listen t'th'screams; scramble t'm'feet an' start runnin' again.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

The gunshot knots my gut like bunched wire. Ought've done something sooner, ought've thought of something, ought've...

They're slowing, and Syl's not dead, but the blood... Feeling damn sour I ever had courteous word to say to Sir Catherine, can at least set that out. Draw up behind her, a dozen paces back and wish I knew more of how soon their guns were like to need reloading. Still. Take aim--

Rather thrown by the swarm of flies, and it puts my aim off a bit. And then I'm bloody clearing out, as can't swear to how well the other's seeing; toss the second rock in her direction, hoping it'll be enough to at least have her head down, and off after Syl again.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Think first I just gone and tripped, an then somethin hits me cross the face an somethin else's grabbin onto my arms, prickly an leaf-wet. Freeze up for a moment just cos of the unnaturalness of it all, things that should be still comin to life, an then I'm fightin to get my work knife out. Noise round Catherine like round somethin dead, but I can't look to see. Start slashin at the branches, cuttin myself free.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

The root rips its way from the ground like the rend of flesh, and it winds around Reed's ankle like a serpent. It is so sudden that I freeze, just for a moment, but it's long enough for the witch to hurl a bag of powder into my face. I cough and choke on the foul-smelling dust, and before I can catch my breath I'm surrounded by a buzzing, stinging cloud. Wasps dig their stingers into the skin of my face, flies batter their way into my eyes, my nose, my ears. I shriek in pain and surprise, wrapping my arms around my head, and over the humming of wings I hear the crashing sound of the witch escaping.

No. No, it cannot be allowed! Not when we're so close!

I scrub my face against the leather of my jerkin, striving to wipe the powder away, and swat at the insects with my hands. My face is swelling, but I can see Reed hacking away at the bushes that hold her. She can't be allowed to escape!

There's a bottle of water at my belt; I seize it and upend it over my face, splashing and scrubbing. Oh, it hurts, and it's swollen and itching, but the insects are starting to dissipate. I snatch my knife and move to help Reed.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

Christ all-fucking-mighty, too damned close. Dunno how long they'll be kept busy, nor how much mojo I got left in me. Run wit' m'right hand clamped tight over m'bleedin' shoulder; least th'blood seems t'be clottin', so guess I don't gotta worry 'bout bleedin' t'death.

Full dark now, an'I can't hear th'curses 'n yells no more. M'side's pulled tight inna stitch, an' m'shoulder feels fulla th'same wasps I sent't th'blonde, Lean 'gainst a big tree t'get m'bearin's. Felt like I wuz gettin' t'know'ese woods pretty well, but th'woods when't's dark 'n ye're bein' hunted are a diff'rent animal from th'day, an'I really ain't so sure where th'fuck I am

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

They're hacking away at the branches, and hope for a moment that the plant twined 'round her is strong and green, and that they slip and cut themselves as well. Push back the cloak, pick up another rock as I draw up to Syl, touch her on the good shoulder and wave to the direction we ought be taking.

Fine, it's dark. Night's not come yet where that's a problem for me. Being out this long, mind, it's starting to bloody well hurt.

[pirate-mystic.livejournal.com]

Get me cut free. Skin's all scraped, bleedin a bit where Catherine nicked me. Can just see her in the dark: face swollen up, an her eyes're wild. Things in the air round us - one hits my face, stings. Hornets?

"After her," I says all hoarse, an we're goin on. Ain't easy without light, but I know these woods like the back of my own hand. Listenin', smellin'. Snapped twigs and such showin the way she went. 'F she can do that, what all else can she do? Cold all up my swine though I'm sweatin like a pig. Not frightened: angry. In my town. My town.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

We work together, hacking through branches and roots. My knife is near to blunted by hacking through the wood, but it is still sharp enough to serve. I think that I nicked Reed's skin, but she makes no complaint. But it takes time, it takes so much time. By the time she is finally free, darkness has fallen fully and the witch is nowhere to be seen.

But Reed doesn't seem phased; in fact, if anything, she seems more determined. "After her," she says, and shows no hesitation. She can track, ah, thank you, God, for bringing us together. My rifle is safe under my arm, and I follow Reed with a light heart.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

A hand falls on m'shoulder, an'I jes' 'bout scream. Rip m'good hand free'a th'wound, snatch m'knife outta m'belt, whip 'round, an'...

"Jesus FUCK." I says, quiet, all th'wind rushin' outta m'lungs. "Jesus Christ onna jumped-up chariot-driven diesel-powered CRUTCH, girl, I thought you'd run back t'town. How'd you...?"

Then i see th'way 'er body's hidden b'hind somethin'...c'n see folds'a cloth, but also see th'way't keeps'er hidden from view. "...Jesus. Might ask ya 'bout'at later." I says, still whisp'rin'. Got no idea where th'two bitches are, but ain't about t'make't easy ferrem t'find us.

Glass seems t'know th'way outta th'woods, an'I follow'er. Shoulder hurts like a bitch, but if'n'm real lucky, 'at's th'worst'll have t'deal wit'.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Should've taken that I'd startle her. "Tangled story," covers it well enough, and nod to matter of it coming up later. Ought ask her about Silence, I suppose, when we've time.

Have some measure of where we are; be a sight closer to Excolo and the Carnivale both if there hadn't been that little matter of needing to run from a pair of guns, but on balance giving the not running can't say I'd complain. Nothing I can do of the moment for her shoulder, not with cloth blown into it and whatever she may've picked up from falling, and so it's best we keep moving (http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/462043.html).