i know that smell anywhere: frustration and cocoa butter

@Daighre

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there was a lingering emotion in his chest after that weird interaction at the watering hole. he felt twitchy in a whole new way, his teeth gritting against each other often and his claws flexed into the ground.

unlike the tension that came when olive spoke of her interests, he wanted to act on it. wanted to tear at the man who called his parolee a bitch, who she named as a devil.

obviously the bbeg of this arc.

the plains always broke him down into little than a dissociative mess, but the anger in him grounded him as he broke away to find the evil, blonde creature.

(why were they always blonde?)
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The—her—cat was back.

Prowling, slinking, on the plains. Not stumbling and stuttering and tripping over nothing, but still fucking existing near him.

A sign, a symptom, of what was fucking wrong in the world.

The weaker hiding behind the weak.

Having others do her fucking bidding while hiding behind her cowardly, spineless fucking lies.

First, the mountain lion, then, the grey one, his face still split and raw, and now, the mountain lion again.

What was it, she had said? Watch out for rivers?

Tch.

A misdemeanour.

A lie.

A fucking trick.

He stopped.

Stood

Time trickling to a halt.

Standing, and staring.

Teeth bared and head tilted back as he looked down upon the creature.

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the wolf merely stared at him. benry paused, waiting for the big bad speech that usually came, instead being met with cold, red eyes and bared teeth and crinkled scars. it made him pause, if only for a moment. he regained himself quickly (by benry standards) enough. “why you being mean t', t'uhhhh, olive garden?”
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It meowed at him.

A drawn out, horrible kind of sound.

Seemingly, speaking. Its green-grey eyes looking, watching, waiting.

He stared back, in cruelty.

In coldness.

In blank, stone-faced, lack of understanding.

And growled, low, in his throat.

His teeth on display.

Ears pressed back.

Stepping forward, once.

Stalking.

Behind him, his tail coming to rise, straight, beyond his back.

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yep, that's him: "wow"

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he'd spent enough time with wolves so far to know that this was a bad posture. not that it really bothered him much, but it made him frown. “ya gonnnnnnaa...” he began, his own hackles starting to rise. “gon' answer my question? or not?” he found himself...

what was it, angry? he rarely felt strong emotions, the last time being...well, when he confronted this guy. but that was nothing compared to how he felt when olive had revealed her suspiciously scientist like profession, which was closely being equaled by his emotions now.

his brain was coalescing into something solid and cohesive, and it was shaped like an arrow. and said arrow was directed at this guy. “yer bein' fuckin' rude, man.”
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It continued to ‘speak.’

Long, drawn out, trilling—warbling—sounds. Chatter. Moving whiskers and hazy, unfocused, green-grey cat eyes.

And—

He didn’t fucking care.

He didn’t fucking care.

He growled, low, deep within his throat.

Stepping forward, again.

A threat, a promise, of violence that was to come.

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he licked his lips and teeth. it was one of the strangest threats he knew, but it had come unbidden as his anger grew, serving as a display of his fangs. his ears splayed to the side and he hissed, a growl spicing his voice as he spoke. he was tired of this. everything was bubbling at the surface. “ffffuckin just fight me, man!”
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He lunged, forward and gravity bound.

Tackling it.

Open-mouthed and snarling.

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he was not. absolutely not. a fighter. no matter what anyone had tried to do to him, it never clicked in his mind to want to hurt and kill by instinct. never in an ever present way like it seemed with this wolf. there was nothing like a warrior spirit in him, least that he recognized as such. it changed when he met olive, for whatever reason. something like it was there, buried deep under all the fuzz in his brain. the natural instinct to defend oneself paired with manipulations beyond his understanding made him a lethal but unrefined weapon.

he was tackled, sure, but his flexible body made such a position negligible in terms of ruining his. his hind claws unsheathed as he pounded the wolf's stomach in a flurry of kicks, his forelimbs wrapping around the wolf's shoulders as his fangs struck out towards the crook of the blonde's shoulder and neck.
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Its back claws found his stomach. Its front paws his shoulders.

Sharp teeth catching and tearing at the skin and meat of the crook between his shoulder and neck.

He grunted.

Twisted.

Arching, his own teeth finding the cat’s shoulder in return. Thin skin, muscle, and flesh.

He pulled, teeth clamped shut.

And shook.

Rend the skin from the fucking fat. Expose the meat below.

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“ow-” he said dully, discordant with all of his growls and anger. he knew impulsively that that was the thing to say when one was hurt, which he was doing a lot of now with the wolf tearing at his shoulder.

he clamped his jaws now on the wolf's muzzle, still talking though he was woefully muffled. “bruh, fuckin— sssstop.” his kicks slowed (he was distracted), but his forelimbs' grip tightened as he began to bite down harder.
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The cat continued to grab and bite him. Its stomach kicks slowing when its teeth clamped shut around his muzzle, muffled—distorted—sounds coming forth.

He growled.

Shook.

Dragging the cat’s teeth further and deeper into his muzzle but also tearing at its shoulder.

He shoved.

Pushed.

His front paws placed on the cougars moving, squirming chest.

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the wolf wasn't listening, wasn't slowing, his teeth driving deeper into his shoulder, then, then he pushed.

that got him.

benry squirmed, knowing that he was being pinned and needing to escape. he wriggled and writhed, trying to get off the ground and from under the wolf. he began to kick after a while, his flexible body doing its best to twist itself from the wolf's weight.
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He felt it.

He felt it, as it started to panic, wiggle, and squirm beneath him.

Its spine arching, twisting, bending.

Its back legs kicking.

And—

He smiled.

Without humour.

Without happiness.

Without joy.

Panting, blood staining his teeth, his lips.

His front paws continuing to push and shove. Pinning the animal on its back.

Positioning himself.

Positioning himself, to grab it by its fucking neck.

Except—

Except, a single back paw struck out, flailed, kicked, sharp claws unsheathed, against the inside of his inner thigh.

He fumbled.

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It was, at this point in her friendship with Benry, that the cat was not the only one who pursued. Olive was also constantly after him, wondering where he was, and why he wasn't with her. The pale woman managed to slip out from under his gaze often, and actually found quite a thrill from the act, but she was irked whenever it happened to her. Where was her officer, and why wasn't he at her side?

The fae followed the tell-tale scent of the man through the reaches of the Plains, and as she came closer, his scent began to meld into something else entirely. She detected more iron, a tang which quickened her step from a lazy trot to a very concern sprint, and lit a fire that simmer in her belly. As her paws beat against the earth, her heartbeat and pulse grew in time. Her mouth dried and her anger grew, wondering what the mountain cat could have done to put himself in harm's way —

If her mind hadn't been clouded with disquiet, the witch might have recognize the scent Benry's entangled with, but the presence of the golden wraith took her entirely by surprise. She did not see the nuances, the fumble and the catch of a claw, but she took in the gross entirety of the scene within seconds. Benry was below, Daighre was up top, and there was red, red blood that stained their glimmering, glinting tangle of bodies. Olive reacted instantaneously.

With her adrenaline surging at an all-time high, Olive continued her critical bolt up towards the pile of bodies, without the intention of stopping or slowing down. "Get off of him!!" the woman shrieked, turning her face to the side and preparing to make contact with the brawling wolf with her shoulder, at least to throw his balance enough that Benry might recover and tear into the beast. In the next moment, she too would use her fangs.

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it wasn't working. despite it all he felt his shoulder continue to rend underneath sharp fangs.

he felt his claws cut, felt the wolf above him falter, and instinctively knew he had to move. not just keep attacking, but get out-

his body twisted entirely — his back now to the wolf. he could push up from here, launch the wolf off of him but-

“olive!” his voice raised beyond his normal flat pitch, towards something more normal, more expected. panic. of all things, he didn't want her here. he just wanted to...

deal with this. himself.

he guessed?

“don't- i jussst, this is one v one, you can't-” he babbled, his previous plan to throw the wolf in one go vanishing.
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He slipped.

Stumbled.

Felt, as the cat began to twist and move from beneath him. The brush of its short fur against his chest, his stomach.

And then, she was there.

Her body colliding with his.

Throwing him from his already lost perch.

He fell.

Rolled.

Sprawled.

Laid out on his side against the ground, shoulder and hip and head colliding against dirt and overgrown grass. And—

He bit.

Arching, turning, lifting.



From somewhere, the cat started to call.

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Olive succeeded in throwing the Lord of the Void from her partner's form, which was no longer supine and writhing but turned upturned and calculating, but she did not achieve much else. Olive was not a creature made for battle, which was why she dedicated her life to honing her mind; this was a role that had handed to her from birth. Lightweight and waifish, her body lacked the bulk it took to throw her weight around, and her nature repelled violence that was anything less than necessary—

But in situations like this, she found violence to be entirely necessary.

The wraith, who had already lost his footing, was thrown and Olive went along with him. Benry was left to regain his footing and shout some words in her direction, but the sylph had no iota of time to think about what to do next. Her opponent, already bloodied and torn from the battle, turned onto her and sunk his teeth into the fine curvature of her flank; she might have felt pain but all she felt was fear, and the innate drive to preserve her own life. She wasn't a fighter. The witch would surely murder him later with hexes and spells; this act of violence act was to allow her only friend to save himself, so that he could then save her.

She received the wound she was due, and she didn't fight it. Instead she focused on finding purchase on the earth, in order to move away once his grip on her flesh loosened. The woman trusted that that her lion would be at her side in a second, and she held out for the attack upon her being to cease.

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he stood up, relieved at the sudden disappearance of the literal weight on his shoulders.

seeing olive fight was strange, at odds with reality and discordant. he didn't like it. he was the only slightly-eldritch entity around. only he could occupy the uncanny valley.

really he just didn't want her to get hurt.

he ran back in, yowling and spitting. tables were turned, motherfucker, now he was going to pin him down.
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His teeth sank into skin, into muscle, into flesh. A flash of too white fur and green eyes.

And—

It was her.

It was always fucking her.

“Fuck you!” He barked. “Fuck you!” Pushing, and shoving.

“I fucking had it!”

It was pinned.

It was down.

It was fucking his.

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Olive hadn't been able to foresee that the culmination of her many encounters with Diaghre would have been this, but it didn't surprise her entirely. Though she was not a wolfess who needed to brawl and fight to feel something (anything at all), but he brought out something feral in her. She wanted to hurt him; she wanted him to suffer for harming Benry, for denying her gifts, and for threatening Archon with his vile presence. It was three offenses too many, and the irony was not lost on her. In some small way, Olive wondered if she, Benry and Archon might be the three eagles that drove the man to drown himself in her vision.

Though the far bulkier man wrested her to the ground easily, the witch could not help but loose a noise that was somewhere between hearty laugh and a sneering growl. Wouldn't that be something, if the demise she had foretold would be at her own hands? The universe had a funny way of these things that she was easily convinced of. Thrown against the ground like a doll, Olive continued to laugh to herself, musing that this must be why she had been granted the vision in the first place. The world (at least her world) would be better without him, right?

The bloodwraith was not consistent in his hold; he faltered, and the second Olive recognized that his mind seemed distracted, she bunched all the muscles in her body and pushed against the earth, tearing superficial muscle and skin in her desire to free her body from his hold. Free herself she did, and she darted away several leaps, unsure where Benry was and unable to locate him with two frantic turns of the head. His yowling alerted her to turn back ground to where the two engaged in combat, and Olive gave Benry a moment to take hold of the situation before she became physically involved again. With adrenaline thrumming through her veins, she strode closer. What to do next, would be decided in the following few moments.

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his instincts told him that he could grip this wolf's neck in a tight grip and break it with a shake. his teeth ached with the sudden desire and he remembered, remembered...

his large paw pressed down on the wolf instead, claws unsheathed and ready to dig into flesh. “ow.” he said quietly, his voice flat. he wrinkled his muzzle before looking to the pale wolf. “you ok?” he wasn't happy that she was here — hated it, really. he could do this by himself. that's what he was for.
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There was a break.

There was a break in the cat’s hold.

A moment of distraction.

A moment of weakness when it spoke a few quiet warbling sounds to the white bitch above.

And—

He escaped.

Kicking.

Pushing.

Shoving.

Rolling onto his feet, and away. Sagging where he stood and swaying in a nonexistent breeze. Panting. Bloodied and torn.

Something metallic and sour, dripping from his teeth.

He watched.

Waited.

Seeing if they would continue to come.

Not putting it past the two to attack if he turned his back to leave.

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Olive watched with something akin to wonder and horror as the seconds ticked by, and the scenes transformed themselves from one to another. First Benry had the riled dragon pinned, and Olive felt the energetic pull towards the two golden, bloodied bodies where they lay tussling in the grass; to run up on the nameless man and laugh directly in his face, saying something witty about how destiny had come to meet him and how she was now the arbiter of his fate. The river rose, and her thrashed within the confines of her ribcage, and then all-too-quickly the man broke free.

At least he was attempting retreat.

"Let him go," the woman barked out at Benry, not afraid to command him at this moment; the adrenaline in his veins would likely propel him to continue his onslaught. It was then that Olive was at the cat's side, explaining her position. "I am sure those wounds will kill him," she was certain. "if his own poison doesn't kill him first." How this man had made it this far in the world, was beyond her. The witch carefully regarded the man as he stood away from them, still defensive even in his loss, lest he try to take advantage of the lull.

"I am... fine," she whispered out of the side of her mouth, forgetting about the wound upon her flank for the moment. "But you are not..." Still watching the man, she nudged Benry away from the scene, where they could decompress and Olive could make a salve to keep their wounds from festering. No other words needed to be said, and the two moved off, back into the mountains, their travel timeline having gone quite astray.

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