revivalproject | [OPEN] The Lore Of The Highlands

WHO: Reeve Tuesti, Open
WHERE: Temba
WHAT: Shadow Hauntings
WHEN: During The Storm
WARNINGS: CW: Big, predatory dog, eyes in the darkness

I. The Cat-sìth | Early Storm Days

There wasn't much to account for the first time let himself go outside into the fog. It was actually a strange thing for him, where he hadn't noticed it the first day at all. He'd been inside, and his unique forms of magic didn't really seem to linger in his mind or awareness except when he was actively using it to reach for and control Mini. Given he'd been so busy with working on getting logs into the storage room he'd taken for himself in the Ampitheater, he'd gotten tired and just settled into a cot by the door and slept. So passed the first day of the storm. And so it was that Reeve didn't end up finding out their problem until he walked outside on the second day.

Even then it had taken a moment for him to process. Fog wasn't, in and of itself, a problem after all. Weather could be like that. It wasn't until there was a strike of crimson lightning that Reeve realized something was wrong. Even then it was mostly because the flash of lightning cast a new shadow from Reeve's body, and it was behaving weirdly.

Mostly because it was behaving. The shadow swirled and swirled until brilliant crimson eyes were staring out at him from the fog. Cat eyes. Cat eyes at the level of a dog's head. The form stepped forward, hissing, bearing teeth that were as stunningly white as the spot on its chest.

"Cat-sìth," Reeve said in shock. How could he not understand what this was with a single sight? It was a story that had shaped him as a child, what had led him to making the original Cait Sith. A fairy-cat, one that stole the souls of the dead. Which, of course, meant Reeve should be safe, provided he didn't die.

That wasn't good though. Okay, how to deal with this... Reeve was frozen in place as he thought and the shadow continued to grow. To split. To spread. And soon Reeve was being surrounded by scores of felien eyes.

"A man goes out in heavy rain with nothing to protect him from it. His hair doesn’t get wet. How does he do that?" Reeve asks. The feline creatures pause in their advance on him, instead looking at each other.

They couldn't resist riddles after all. And, with them distracted, Reeve turned and fled. Maybe he wasn't dead, maybe no one was particularly weak to the soul stealing (he hoped), but Reeve rememebered what his power was. Inspire, after all, was a soul magic. He was perhaps at too great a risk.

II. The Cù-sìth | Late Storm Days

Fairy-Cats were hardly the most threatening of the fae that stories were told of when Reeve was a child. They were so easily held back, so easily driven aside with riddles and attention and even cold temperatures. So Reeve had come to be prepared for the cats, and was more willing to go into the thick fog. It's not easy, of course, but he has the maps memorized so with carefully counted paces, he can more easily find his way in the fog. Sure, it wasn't perfect, you couldn't walk in a straight line for any distance without points of reference, but he could try.

The flash of lightning wasn't enough to make him jump, he was used to the ghostly felines arriving. The growling made him stop though. Made him freeze and look back over his shoulder. What he found made his blood go cold.

A massive, shaggy creature like a dog, but the size of a small cow. Its coat was a dark shade of green, and its bared teeth yellow against the color. The creature's eyes were a bloody crimson and shining, and as it snarled those eyes were narrowed.

The terror was too much. This creature was one Reeve knew, and was as dangerous to the living as the cat-sìth were to souls. Reeve knew the stories said the creature had a bark that was low and menacing and carried impossible distances. One bark could reach miles, even over the waters of the sea. And to hear three of them would be to die from terror of the sound alone.

"Fuck," Reeve said, and he started running. Even though there was silence behind him, that didn't keep him from running. He was too terrified to stop. the hounds were said to be silent hunters, and all he could do was run. He needed shelter and to find a way to plug his ears, and he needed it now.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"Perhaps," Reeve said, reaching for the broken pipe. "But we have some form of weapon now."

Dustin makes an irritated noise and hops to his feet. He dismisses the idea of fighting back immediately and without saying anything; does Reeve honestly expect that they'll be able to defend themselves with a broken pipe? Him? Dustin might as well try to tickle it, and he doubts Reeve's chances would be any better. Instead, he stomps his way over to the center of the room, rummaging through the debris for those large strips of wood he couldn't find a use for earlier.

"Let's hope we don't need it," he grumbles, lifting one end of the plank with a grunt of effort. "Here--line these up around the wall. Make a channel for the water."

Oh yes, it would be better if they didn’t have to fight. But he wanted to be ready. So Reeve tucks the pipe into his belt and goes to gather the wood as well.

“A sound enough plan.”

It's slow going, mostly because Dustin is not built for this kind of manual labor, but also because his clothes got pretty wet from that initial spray and, while the late autumn chill from outside doesn't cut quite as bad in this abandoned building, it's still awfully cold in here. Several minutes of hauling wood planks into place leaves Dustin visibly shivering, hands numb enough that he can barely grip the debris he needs to shift.

"So--what," he eventually ventures through chattering teeth. "Do we have to stay here all night, to make sure it's given up?"

“Yes, I fear we will have to linger until we are certain it is gone,” Reeve agreed with a sigh. “Or until we can be sure that we can find better shelter.”

Dustin hefts and unceremoniously drops another piece of lumber roughly into place, and then he just. Stands there, staring ahead for a few heartbeats.

Considering his age and general temperament, Dustin is a remarkably tenacious kid. He can put up with a lot of adversity and work through roadblocks if it means achieving a distant goal, and he's generally willing to put aside plans that are no longer working without complaint, in the spirit of pragmatism. Giving up entirely is not something he does.

So it should say something about how absolutely worn down his resolve and patience is when Dustin throws in the towel in this moment. He thinks about spending another night in a strange place, in the cold, soaked to the bone, and under constant scrutiny from a fae predator that may or may not be deterred by their defenses and that they can't be certain will ever leave them alone, and all of that compounds on the fact that he's lost and his brain isn't working right (and when it is it overloads to the point of nearly killing him) and he doesn't even remember the name of the guy he's stuck here with, and--it's all simply too much.

Dustin quietly sits down in the middle of the floor and curls his face into his knees.

“I’ll keep watch if you need to rest,” Reeve said, his voice soft and thoughtful. He can see the young man is wearing himself out. Whether it’s the physical labor or the stress doesn’t matter. He’s young, and he’s tired, and he deserves the rest.

'Needing to rest' is a gross understatement of the bone-deep physical and emotional exhaustion Dustin is feeling right now. He wills his brain to shut down and finds it compliant for the first time in ten years, simply letting himself sit in numb silence. Eventually his eyes close and he starts to drift off, and at some point he'll think enough to find somewhere a little more sheltered to lie down and properly sleep, with the vague, half-hearted hope that he won't wake up to a giant dog's jaws in his face later.

No, they shall be lucky in that. The rest will be good for Dustin, because he’ll be able to sleep, and soon enough the fog will end.

And the moon will come. And whole new terrors may well begin.

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[OPEN] The Lore Of The Highlands

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