Encounterlogs
Deacons Odd Encounter Sr Aristotle
Deacon, a man predisposed to combat, and Angelique, a woman of style and pride, are thrust into a foreboding mission to hunt down a supernatural fugitive wanted by The Hand for stealing secrets and defecting. They prepare to search for the target near the dark and misty woods, with Deacon arming himself with a military rifle and blade while Angelique reluctantly joins, her high heels ill-suited for the terrain. Despite the mist clearing and the path becoming more visible, they venture into the woods, their hearts heavy with an ominous silence, suggestive of an ambush.
Their trek quickly turns into a spine-chilling encounter when a grotesque, reanimated stag confronts them. Deacon, driven by his instincts, attacks and incapacitates the beast, provoked by the terrifying aura that envelops them. Suddenly, they hear a voice challenging their presence, revealing the fugitive's ability to manipulate darkness and death. Deacon and Angelique, realizing the gravity of their adversary's power, decide that facing this sorcerer is beyond their compensation and rationality. Deacon grudgingly calls for a retreat, backing away from the confrontation with the sense that their foe had allowed them to escape. As they return to the car, their target, the golden-eyed sorcerer, simply observes their departure before disappearing into the night, still at large and as dangerous as ever.
(Deacon's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Fri Dec 8 2023]
In a cozy, rustic bedroom
Furnished with a tasteful yet minimal design, this room is not so large as the atelier that it attaches to; rather, it's smaller dimensions impose a sense of coziness and comfort, rather than breezy and expansive airs. A pair of end tables flank the expanse of a king-sized bed hidden behind the curtains of a canopy frame. Underfoot is a plush, comfortable carpet that's not quite long enough to be called shag in muted tones of black and grey swirls that match the marble of the rest of the manor that extends across the entire surface of the room's floor. The western wall boasts a flatscreen television large enough to dominate most of the wall. Beneath that sits an oaken entertainment stand stained in deep hues of mahogany that house a stereo sound bar and a collection of next-generation gaming systems. The southeastern corner of the room boasts a little nook of space that's been converted into a place to sit in between two windows that let natural light into the space during the day and offer a beautiful view at night.
It is night, about 35F(1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
Deacon is just getting dressed within the confines of his bedroom in the large mansion-sized house located on Sidney Way. The tall man has a foot propped on the bed-frame to tie laces (or at least pull them tight) on the shoes he's slipped into and taking a last look at his appearance before he's ready to head out the door and presumeably out onto the town to find something to do!
It's a cold night, largely quiet save for the sounds of the ocean that can be periodically heard as waves crash along the beach to the east. The mists outside continue to thicken, and as it does so, all signs begin to point towards tonight likely being an inside kind of night, despite Deacon currently dressing himself to step out. As this tall individual continues his actions, his phone begins to buzz and does so incessantly, prompting him of some notification.
With a blink, Deacon doesn't seem too surprised to hear his phone ringing off and with a grunt beneath his breath he's slipping the phone out of his pocket to look at it. Eyeing whatever brings urgency to the buzzing of his cell, the Cajun raises eyebrows for a moment before slipping the phone back into his pocket.
Eying the message on his phone would show first a symbol of a clenched fist - detailing explicitly who the sender of this message is. With it comes a photo of a man, pale skinned, eyes so hazel they look almost golden, and hair a dark brown. Beneath that lists further information detailing this individual is deemed an enemy of The Hand, wanted dead or alive by any means necessary - their crime? Also listed - having stolen Hand secrets to sell to rival factions after an unauthorized defection. Not from Haven's chapter, but a neighboring one and it seems this person may be seeking refuge in Haven somewhere.
The message's content does seem to catch Deacon by surprise. "Huh" he says aloud while he's putting the phone back into his pocket. Then he's turning back to the confines of his room. Rummaging through the walk-in wardrobe closet, the man will retrieve a canvas military rucksack made of sturdy canvas. Opening it, he nods at himself checking the contents: A spare vest and a generic long-bladed 'pig sticker'. Slipping this over a shoulder he also moves to grab the large rifle that sits next to his bed almost always within reach even when he's asleep. This is much harder to be subtle about of course, there's no stuffinf the length of the Barrett M82 into the duffel back. So he's hustling down the stairs and across black and white Italian marble to the door that leads outside where his Rogue waits. Then he's slipping something from a pocket, and into his ear. "Do we have any Scouts available right now?" He speaks into the communications device as he dials in their command channel.
The response that comes from his earpiece is quick, but brief. It's preceded by a bit of static before anything verbal is heard through it, but after a moment it clears up enough for Deacon to be able to hear, "Yes." As the initial response. A beat passes, and there's a follow up of, "Did you need tracking of something?" Comes the next response, questioning and tone neutral.
"I was sent a target, I need to see if we have eyes on him inside town limits" Deacon responds to the voice immediately. His tone has shifted to something also very clipped and no nonsense. The only thing that still provides a sense of nonchalance or lack of hurry is the way his southern drawl stretches out everything he says. "I was already on my way out - two birds an' all." Then he's shifting to the attachment, copying it over to a new message and sending it off through the appropriate channels as well. "He's not like Dennis Rodman, but he has a look that will stand out among the locals."
The response for Deacon's words aren't immediate, not by a mile. "For the Godling? Are you planning to go alone?" That voice asks. It doesn't allow much time for a response from him before reporting, "We were working on tracking him the second he stepped foot into Haven." They say, factually. "Last sighting we had for them was just south of Mariner's highway into the forest." They explain. "As of an hour ago, or so."
"I was, but reach out to Angel. She's close if she's not out of town" Deacon replies, turning his attention back to his phone and starting up his vehicle. He doesn't pull away yet though, waiting for the reply that may come. "Two will be easier, but a little less quiet. Outskirts? Shouldn't be a problem" he's half talking to the scout and half to himself before quieting down so the un-named operative can look into the next request and hopefully get him on the move.
Though the house is extravagant, the sound still travels a bit depending on which doors are open. From in within the house, Angelique could probably hear the male voice of her roommate in his room, muffled soundings of being sent a 'target' and 'town limits,' assuming she was in the house to begin with. Regardless of her current location though, the voice responds to Deacon's request by stating, "The... bounty, if you want to call it that, was sent out from Headquarters to everyone. She should have that notification already." They say.
And, of course, regardless of where Angelique is, a glance to her phone would show a notification of a clenched fist, detailing specifically who that message is from, and with it the picture of a man, pale skinned, eyes so hazel they're almost golden, and hair a dark brown. Wanted for an unauthorized defection and for stealing Hand secrets to sell to rival factions.
With an idle rap on the door of Deacon's room, Angelique calls out, "Guapo, estas vivo?" Though she's clearly aware that he's quite alive, if he's talking, there's a lilting, almost playful tone to her voice as she asks. "These people, they send -me- an alert to find some wicked man." Light and playful becomes quite disgruntled as she relays this task that she, apparently, has decided was assigned to her and so very unreasonably assigned, at that. And so she demands, "You will come, si?"
At that moment, Deacon is just running back into the house having forgotten something perhaps or changing his plans for how he himself intended to handle such a thing but that's fortuitous as he hears Angelique calling from up the stairs her voice easily echoing down from the open-aired atelier at the top of those stairs where the bedrooms then diverge from. "Ah! Miss me by two minutes, cher! An' yeah I'm already on my way out!" Then he's smirking up the stairs at her, as his voice makes the distance with a loud call.
"You will not go without me?" It's a question, but it's not a question. Angelique mutters a curse or two in Spanish as she heads back to her room for her purse. Not her weapons and armor that she can barely use anyway, but her purse, and a quick glance at her lipstick in the mirror. Then, the stiletto-heeled girl heads for the stairs, traipsing her way down them to attempt to catch Deacon before he goes. "Deac, you had better not..." she begins, quite clearly ready to harrangue the fellow. But since he's right there, her words die off and she merely nods, slanting him a coy, satisfied smile. "Good."
It seems, one fortunate thing about the time taken for the pair to reconvene - the mists have begun to dissipate. Assuming their target is still in the woods, tracking him will be significantly easier now that contending with the mists won't be an issue.
Waiting is a matter of patience for Deacon, but he shoots Angelique a grin when she is finally ready and he's hurrying her outside, and into his SUV. He's not a particularly crazy driver, but he IS reckless enough to push the speedl limits by nature and without as much mist swirling around that will only make him more confident as he begins to chaufer them out toward the Highway. "Scout said last sighting was out south of Mariner's in the woods. I know Guardian cuts pretty deep out that way, figure we can use that as a way to plot the area. Here's hoping we'll get lucky though .. a grid search could take all night and end us up with fuck all." His tone is serious right now. Not that he seems particularly invested in this particular target but rather that when he's on the job he's ON the JOB.
As Deacon drives, there is no further update that comes from the scouts to suggest a drastically new location. It seems the silence on the other end would only suggest they're still in that general vicinity. The drive there is smooth, Deacon driving reckless enough to go fast but not so much that it draws police attention. Fortunately, the roads were bare, anyway, given the thickness of the mist and the townsfolk learning not to be on the road when that white fog comes through. They're faced with no trouble on their drive towards the highway.
"Wait. What?" Angelique stares at Deacon like he's grown a second head as he keeps right on driving, after having laid that out for her. "Pero... I cannot. No, no." She looks down at her shoes, the best excuse in the world for not tramping through snowy, dirty, muddy, foresty forests. They're Italian calfskin leather. "Mis zapatos." As she grows more upset, the Inigo's Spanish roots come out in full force, clearly, and her English starts to falter.
There's a quiet laugh from Deacon, but he does take his eyes off of the wheel to give her a side-long glance. "I'll buy you new ones" he offers to her, with that grin. "Don't worry. Two of us goin' out there. Two of us' comin' back. Unless you wanna take this guy alive, I'm not cleanin' out my trunk for this asshole."
That pulls her eyes off her feet, and Angelique swings a look to Deacon that's somewhat bemused and perhaps a little startled, but not at all horrified. "They do not want him alive?" she questions, her accent still thick, but at least she's speaking in English to the fellow beside her. "This is fine. Si. Yes," she corrects, relenting slightly. "But I will hold you to that promise. None of the, 'Just don't pay rent this month.' Real shoes," she states, with that familiar note of challenge in her voice. But then, and Deacon must have done something right to earn this softening, she asks, "You know that these cost... a lot, si?"
It isn't long before that journey to the highway comes to a close. Whether or not they get out of the car is their choice. There are only a few street lights that provide lighting on the area, and even then the forest just seems... darker, and it's made bitter by the cold and mud and the snow. The road is quiet, peaceful even, but eyes into the forest provide a different take on that silence. In the forest, that silence is thick and heavy, and feels sentient, as if something in there is waiting to be tested.
The combat instincts of Deacon are on high alert, and even here in these woods he's used to hearing the usual sounds of critters in the underbrush and things like that. That silence is almost a roar to his ears then, and it causes his expression to turn into a frown, now. "Infinitely more than a pair of my Jordans cher ... but worth it I think" his eyes cut sideways at Angelique as a hint of his grin shows itself. "As long as I get to take you shopping for 'em then." Maybe not a fetish-reveal from the man, but certainly he's taking the time to infer some sense of sexuality to the whole thing during what might otherwise be a tense moment! "On my last name, cher. On my last name. All your pretty parts intact, and fresh leather for your toes ..." his words are distracted though, now. His eyes are peering through glass out into the woods but it's not enough. "Alright. Let's go" he finally opines. He's grabbing those things from the back though, passing that spare vest to Angelique and foregoing one himself. It's the rifle that he grabs next though, and then he's clamoring up onto the top ..of his car? Yep. With greater than human strength, it's not hard for him to hoist the large .50 calibur weapon more like a regular rifle but he's using the Scope on the thing to peer into the density of the woods beyond now. "Let's see if we can find anything to point us in the right direction" he murmurs to himself, now lost in his work.
"Very well. We will shop together," Angelique relents with a firm nod. She takes the vest, strapping it on over her expensive clothes with only the slightest of grimaces as she tries to make it fit curves it was clearly not built for. She slides from the car, but when Deacon starts to climb up ONTO it, she freezes. "I will wait down here," she declares assertively, before wrapping her arms around herself and leaning back against the solid vehicle, in order to ensure she's not an easy target, herself.
The darkness of the forest seems suffocating, even despite not yet having crossed the threshold. It's silent and one can't shake the feeling that something is both watching and waiting for them. It feels predatory, and red flags come no redder than this. If there was any indication they might be in the right place, it is the ominous sensation that they both would be able to feel, even if their sense of eyesight might not help penetrate through just yet. But from where they stand at the car, there is safety for them.
There's a grunt of frustration from up on the roof of the car and soon enough, Deacon is climbing down from it and re-joining Angelique. "Alright well .. my gut say we're on point. Let's .. into the breach." He glances down a moment. "Can you walk in those if you break off the heel?" He asks seriously, since he's going to replace them anyway. Hefting the rifle he's turning his attention now onto the woods and with a tilt of his head he sets a steady two-step march toward those woods. "You CAN stay back, but you'll miss out on the fun when we find him!"
Angelique gasps. "I can walk in them -now-," she declares without a second's hesitation, her eyes wide and her expression absolutely horrified. "These are Dolce and Gabbana!" she tells him, with utterly as much intention as if he'd suggested ripping up a Bible. "I will keep up." It's probably the sort of claim that'll see her walking barefoot in the yuck, or giving in and letting him destroy the heels, eventually. "Let's go." With a toss of that long, dark hair and a lift of her chin, she starts off into the forest with far more outward confidence than she could possibly really have. Pique does that.
If from the outside that silence was like death, then breaching the forest and passing that threashold /reeks/ of it. It's assaulting, and it's immediate, and it's still so ominously dark. But there are sounds that can be heard, now. Why they couldn't be from the outside is anyone's guess, but from within the sounds of animal's wailing and screams from deeper in. They aren't the screams that sound human - but they're pained, like something wanting to die but being made not to. Everything points further south into the woods. Unfortunately, the trek isn't the easiest for pointed heels - mud and snow and the sharp heel digging into the ground that make the walk not without it's effort.
Something seems to scream caution in Deacon's mind and he's keeping his voice low. He crouches after making some headway in further south, giving Angelique time to catch up. "Could be a lure .. or he could be on some crazy Voldemort shit" he mutters, piercing green eyes cutting through the trees as he looks for signs of passage, anything beyond merely the sounds of what might be a wounded animal crying out for mercy. Growing more quiet, Deacon gives the woman with him a silent gesture of his hand, pointing at his eyes and then at her, and then southward with a wave of his hand. He motions for them to take a swing around to the west as they move south, so they don't make their way toward the sound simply head on. While not heels, Deacon's own shoes aren't exactly made for trekking through the woods themselves and their going is slow. MOving branches out of their way, ducking under growth or having to climb over it and all while trying to make as little sound as possible. Out here, it's all but impossible.
"Deac," Angelique says, though her voice has dropped to barely a whisper and it quivers. She probably has no idea what those hand signals mean, but she knows enough not to yell, right now. "Deac I do not like this." It's not often the prideful Inigo lets this side of her show, but despite the struggle to walk in her shoes, she moves over to Deacon's side, reaching for his hand. "This man. What is he? Or is it a monster?" She shivers, sliding right up against the burly soldier as he clears their way through the forest.
"Godling" Deacon murmurs quiet, now. "That's what the scout said" he calls, and then frowns. "Should've requested bullets" he complains but it's too late now. Still that doesn't stop him from moving forward and around - and neither does Angelique's warnings and misgivings either. The man is laser-focused and intent now.
Those inhuman wailings, likely from some animal, begin to turn into low groans, similar to a cat when it's trying to be threatening. It hangs in the air. It is impossible for Deacon and Angelique to move silently, though. Twigs break under their feet, snow crunches, and mud squelches beneath Angelique's heel. The foliage rustles with every gesture. As they continue to move, the smell of death worsens. There's something approaching, now, as evident by the steps of branches crunching and foliage rustling and this time the noises aren't coming from either Deacon or Angelique. That low groan has ceased, now, but the sounds of the forest in this little bubble continue. Birds which would usually be sleeping, are flying off in caws and chirps, and still something approaches.
"What? You brought that big gun and no bullets?" Angelique asks Deacon, looking entirely lost. Perhaps she eventually tacks it up to a language miscommunication, for she doesn't continue to nag at him the whole time. Much of her effort goes into just lifting her feet and setting them back down without losing a shoe or losing her balance. Still, she sticks right by Deacon's side, clearly not willing to step out of his shadow for even a moment. And then, as she looks down at the mist starting to swirl around her feet and noises suggest that it's -them- being stalked, there's a low whimper. "Deac..." she whispers again. But she sticks with him.
To make matters worse, that creeping fog begins to roll in, and it starts to obscure the ground beneath their feet, and it slowly rises. Soon, whatever is awaits them in this forest, be it the Godling or otherwise, won't be seen coming.
Like two predators sniffing each other, Deacon and this other godling seem to be of similar mind. They circle and approach but the noises come around and from behind? It's hard to tell, and the birds fleeing only confirm that this area is definitely the right (or wrong) place to be in. And now the mists come swirling around and rising up from the ground once more there's a soft curse. "Fine" he whispers, and then crouches low. He sets the rifle down, wincing at the thought. That blade comes out of sheath and now the soldier comes silent. No noise, no movement in fact. He tugs on Angelique's hand to get her to crouch down with him with a mildy apologetic look that lasts only long enough for the next sound of twig or snap to come. His lips are pursed, and there's a certain ... gleam to Deacon's eye. Something that says that he's more aware than he lets on of how dangerous this may be for them, now and that seems to excite him. He puts a finger to his lips trying to keep Angelique quiet as well.
What steps through the clearing, the source of those footsteps as if carried by the fog, now, is a simple animal. A Stag. Not a Godling. Majestic in its silhouette - likely harmless. At least, it would be described as such until it steps a bit closer to reveal itself in the light. Deacon's eyes would possibly be able to see it clearly, but less so for Angelique. The stench that rolls off of this Stag though would be more than enough to fill her imagination with a visual. It's missing an antler. It's missing half of its head, that portion caved in, and with it, goes one eye. The other is a murky white. Lacerations and decorate its belly which see bowels trailing beneath it. Though they've crouched, the one good eye on this walking anomaly stares at them. It does not approach. It does not move. It merely stares with an emptiness in those murky, dead eyes.
At least she's wearing jeans and not something absolutely absurd, like she does on most days. When Deacon tugs at her hand, there's an odd wince on her face, but immediately she ducks down to crouch beside him. Hide? Yes please. It doesn't take more than that to get her into a much less obvious position beside him. Her hand reaches for the gun, but she doesn't pick it up, even though Deacon has put it down. She's clueless about them. Instead, she turns her attention entirely to their surroundings, trying to pick out in the mash of grey and black that is her vision, this interloper, the man they're hunting who might well be hunting them. Other than her breathing, Angelique is silent, and as still as those shivers let her be.
And then she sees that... that thing. Her nose curls and the Inigo woman ducks her head, clamping hands over her mouth and nose as her body rebels against the scent. She gags, violently, though thankfully not to the point of actually vomitting on Deacon. It is a struggle though. A real struggle.
The gagging that leaves Angelique sees that death-ridden Stag tilting its head to one side. It still does not approach. It is still silent. It's dead eye continuing to peer.
The soldier himself isn't certain what to make of it. He's never seen a shifter turn into something like this, and so the thought doesn't even really cross his mind. What does cross his mind, is the absolute unnatrualness of that thing in front of them. "Oh that can't be good" he says, blissfully ignorant at least for the moment of Angelique's impending gastronomical problems. It's hesitation, which is also unusual for the man too. He's not a philosopher, or a philanthropist. He's not a thinking man's man and it's clear that even with his self-assurance and confidence that he's really not used to this kind of situation without someone there to give the -order-. Making the choice that seems the most logical on the surface, Deacon is moving fast then. Pushing forward with everything he can to bring a heavy swinging slice toward the Stag's neck. Closing the distance will be the real problem before it can run away or even worse ... attack in kind? But the Army boy can't help but stick to what he knows: Killing, whoever that happens to be in the name of.
When Deacon leaps forward, Angelique squeaks. It was originally a scream, but as with the first round of gagging, she manages to contain -most- of it. But she's not entirely still, while she waits there. Finally, the spoiled woman reaches down and unfastens her little red shoes, letting the straps fall loose. She's preparing to run, should worst come to worst. She's utterly and entirely unprepared to fight this thing and, if Deacon can't manage it? She's utterly and entirely incapable of doing what he couldn't.
That Stag tensed the moment Deacon began to speak, murky eyes picking up on the slightest shifting of his body. Nose perhaps picking up on the change of hormones that saw Deacon's adrenaline spike. It responds. It responds as quickly as Deacon does with his charge. It's dead head is tilting back, nose up to the sky, and it howls. Not like a wolf. Not... like a roaring grunt that is native to the Stag. No, it's that same, low groan that was heard before, like a cat trying to intimidate... Or worse. Warn. That noise is silenced though, immediately, as Deacon slices at its neck, and it crumbles, seemingly returning to that state of death it was in before it was... whatever it is now. There are no birds to make noise, now. There is no howling of forest creatures to fill the air. This siren silenced leaves an absence of sound, now, and it with carries a sense of dread.
Whirling, Deacon almost doesn't expect for his blade to land, and that sound it draws a crawling, shivering, shudder down his spine even as he manages to put the dead thing back into the state of being that it was most likely found it. "Fuckin' .. goddamn I HATE magic!" He growls it out, loud now into that dreadful silence as his patience wears thin and his Pride cometh before other things. "COME ON!" The man who speaks with who sees the spirits of the dead and speaks across the veil of life and death roars out his denial of all of the things that lie within -him- with those same words. Anger and irritation feed Pride the way the cold and dark feed Fear, and the all-but challenge sees the man turning about as if expecting his enemy to simply take him up on it and make things easy! Does he have the werewithal to continue to pay attention more astutely to the other small cues of his surroundings? Perhaps in theory, but less than likely in his current place of aggrivation.
If that Stag's dying howl was a siren meant to warn, than Deacon's challenging words are a beacon. Whispering can be heard, now. It can be heard from all around them... they are not in sync, and it confuses the senses to cause one to think multiple entities are near. The foliage from deeper within the forest ahead of them begins to move in the process. Or rather, something moves through it, but... it's dark. Nebulous, and whatever it is seems to suck in the light from the moon, already difficult to see due to the stormclouds, and makes it darker. All signs point to an approaching sorcerer. While whatever it is has not approached fully enough to be seen, a male's voice can be heard. "Is this what The Hand brings to hunt me down?" Is the question asked. It's spoken so closely behind Angelique, though.
This is where the severeity of the situation really comes to kind of settle onto Deacon as that nebulous darkness comes kind of surrounding them with ominous ease. His teeth grit but he's also not backing down, now. Not when his back's been riled up, not when it's his Pride on the line. "For now" he calls out, trying to keep the sound of confidence and authority in his voice as he tries to measure up with what he's about to face. Whipping about his eyes are shifting toward Angelique as he tries to make any sense of where this man might be coming from or already there? He's tense, rigid with the need to act, and no target to act upon.
Angelique jumps to her feet. Suddenly, the fear she's been feeling has triggered enough that she's gone from potential flight to full-on fight. But without weapons, she can only reach down and grab a shoe, turning it in her hand so the stiletto heel is out. Then, she throws it! In the right circumstances, it could probably be dangerous, but this is anything but the right circumstance. "Hijo de puta," she snaps, her eyes narrowing as she stares toward where the voice came from, and where her shoe went to. Of course, her senses are muted, can she even really tell where that voice came from? She takes a step backward, grasping up the one, lone shoe left, in the process.
"I don't think we can, now" Deacon says, and for once he sounds like he agrees whole-heartedly with Angelique here.
Angelique clearly agrees with Deacon, though she still scrambles backward toward him, that last shoe in her hands.
There is no sense of where this man might be save for that nebulous energy approaching them in the distance, despite his voice being heard somehow behind Angelique. There is nothing behind her... except her shoe which disappears into the darkness. The surround sound whisperings continue, as they do, that dead stag on the floor begins to twitch. "For now." The voice echoes, this time near Deacon. That nebulous darkness continues to approach - for the more flighty, there is time to flee. "...Your bodies will join my army. The more of you they send, the more of you they lose." He says, and the threat is heard clearly in his voice. This supernatural 'criminal' by Hand standards might not be a simple Godling as they were told. That Stag continues to twitch, limbs kicking slightly as life spurts back into it.
A showing of actual fear comes to Deacon's face with a shuddered breath. "Death magic .." he whispers, and his eyes cut toward Angelique. "We're not getting paid enough for this" he says plain, and there does seem to be SOME clarity in his eyes. Risk is one thing ... staring down death on the garuntee is whole other thing. He's shifting his chin, waiting for Angelique to move so he can cover her and his potential retreat. "Na-uh, cher. Not near enough."
"No, no, no." It's not English, though only Angelique's accent makes that clear. "Madre de Dios," she murmurs again, though when Deacon also looks to have seen the light, she nods firmly, and then slips behind him, backing quickly toward the distant car. In bare feet, in the dark and gloomy woods, while watching more over her shoulder than the path at her feet, her progress is slow going, but she mutters beneath her breath, "I am too pretty to end up that kind of dead."
Through the darkness comes a roiling ball of writhing, black energy towards both Deacon and Angelique. It doesn't strike their person - instead, it hits the ground near their feet and sprays up mud and dirt and snow. That energy, though - little flecks of it that can be felt? It burns. That Stag begins to sit up, now, a low groaning bleat leaving its cut throat in ways that sound like death gurgles. Sorcerous necromancy brought it back to its feet just as those whispers have finally ceased, and the mention of an army suggests he can likely create an endless amount on top of the sorcery he flings. That Stag does not chase, though, but it watches as they make their retreat, almost studiously.
And with that, Deacon will beat that retreat but he does it with an angry eye out into the south woods. "Ain't done with you" he mutters to himself as he forces himself to put the safety of his companion over his urge to throw caution to the wind.
Angelique doesn't need to be told twice, though she might need Deacon's help to make any sort of speed through the forest. Muttering curses in Spanish beneath her breath as they race for the road and the car, she does NOT seem to have the same opinion as Deacon about any sort of round two with the sorceror.
There is nothing that stops Deacon and Angelique from making their retreat, but should they glance back, they would see this man standing near that once-dead Stag. He's tall. Handsome, even despite the grime that cake his features. His hair is greasy, but brown, like his photos, and his skin is pale like death. His eyes though, are his striking features. They're not so hazel they're almost gold, no -- they're /just/ gold. He watches them leave, fingertips writhing with that dark energy he could fling if he wanted, but he does not. As Deacon and Angelique retreat, so too does he. He steps back, and it's one step before he's gone. Only the stag remains, that siren of a warning to go off at the next sign of intrusion. It appears this criminal will still be at large until the next attempt.
Deacon bows!
When they get to that car, and there's no sign that they're being further followed, Angelique relaxes quite a bit, though her pride has undeniably been stung and, as one might expect, she takes that out on Deacon. "My feet are -frozen-," she grumps at him, as she slinks toward the car. Is that his fault? "That was..." But no, she's not going to admit it, and instead she demands, "Worth two pairs of shoes..."
Their trek quickly turns into a spine-chilling encounter when a grotesque, reanimated stag confronts them. Deacon, driven by his instincts, attacks and incapacitates the beast, provoked by the terrifying aura that envelops them. Suddenly, they hear a voice challenging their presence, revealing the fugitive's ability to manipulate darkness and death. Deacon and Angelique, realizing the gravity of their adversary's power, decide that facing this sorcerer is beyond their compensation and rationality. Deacon grudgingly calls for a retreat, backing away from the confrontation with the sense that their foe had allowed them to escape. As they return to the car, their target, the golden-eyed sorcerer, simply observes their departure before disappearing into the night, still at large and as dangerous as ever.
(Deacon's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Fri Dec 8 2023]
In a cozy, rustic bedroom
Furnished with a tasteful yet minimal design, this room is not so large as the atelier that it attaches to; rather, it's smaller dimensions impose a sense of coziness and comfort, rather than breezy and expansive airs. A pair of end tables flank the expanse of a king-sized bed hidden behind the curtains of a canopy frame. Underfoot is a plush, comfortable carpet that's not quite long enough to be called shag in muted tones of black and grey swirls that match the marble of the rest of the manor that extends across the entire surface of the room's floor. The western wall boasts a flatscreen television large enough to dominate most of the wall. Beneath that sits an oaken entertainment stand stained in deep hues of mahogany that house a stereo sound bar and a collection of next-generation gaming systems. The southeastern corner of the room boasts a little nook of space that's been converted into a place to sit in between two windows that let natural light into the space during the day and offer a beautiful view at night.
It is night, about 35F(1C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
Deacon is just getting dressed within the confines of his bedroom in the large mansion-sized house located on Sidney Way. The tall man has a foot propped on the bed-frame to tie laces (or at least pull them tight) on the shoes he's slipped into and taking a last look at his appearance before he's ready to head out the door and presumeably out onto the town to find something to do!
It's a cold night, largely quiet save for the sounds of the ocean that can be periodically heard as waves crash along the beach to the east. The mists outside continue to thicken, and as it does so, all signs begin to point towards tonight likely being an inside kind of night, despite Deacon currently dressing himself to step out. As this tall individual continues his actions, his phone begins to buzz and does so incessantly, prompting him of some notification.
With a blink, Deacon doesn't seem too surprised to hear his phone ringing off and with a grunt beneath his breath he's slipping the phone out of his pocket to look at it. Eyeing whatever brings urgency to the buzzing of his cell, the Cajun raises eyebrows for a moment before slipping the phone back into his pocket.
Eying the message on his phone would show first a symbol of a clenched fist - detailing explicitly who the sender of this message is. With it comes a photo of a man, pale skinned, eyes so hazel they look almost golden, and hair a dark brown. Beneath that lists further information detailing this individual is deemed an enemy of The Hand, wanted dead or alive by any means necessary - their crime? Also listed - having stolen Hand secrets to sell to rival factions after an unauthorized defection. Not from Haven's chapter, but a neighboring one and it seems this person may be seeking refuge in Haven somewhere.
The message's content does seem to catch Deacon by surprise. "Huh" he says aloud while he's putting the phone back into his pocket. Then he's turning back to the confines of his room. Rummaging through the walk-in wardrobe closet, the man will retrieve a canvas military rucksack made of sturdy canvas. Opening it, he nods at himself checking the contents: A spare vest and a generic long-bladed 'pig sticker'. Slipping this over a shoulder he also moves to grab the large rifle that sits next to his bed almost always within reach even when he's asleep. This is much harder to be subtle about of course, there's no stuffinf the length of the Barrett M82 into the duffel back. So he's hustling down the stairs and across black and white Italian marble to the door that leads outside where his Rogue waits. Then he's slipping something from a pocket, and into his ear. "Do we have any Scouts available right now?" He speaks into the communications device as he dials in their command channel.
The response that comes from his earpiece is quick, but brief. It's preceded by a bit of static before anything verbal is heard through it, but after a moment it clears up enough for Deacon to be able to hear, "Yes." As the initial response. A beat passes, and there's a follow up of, "Did you need tracking of something?" Comes the next response, questioning and tone neutral.
"I was sent a target, I need to see if we have eyes on him inside town limits" Deacon responds to the voice immediately. His tone has shifted to something also very clipped and no nonsense. The only thing that still provides a sense of nonchalance or lack of hurry is the way his southern drawl stretches out everything he says. "I was already on my way out - two birds an' all." Then he's shifting to the attachment, copying it over to a new message and sending it off through the appropriate channels as well. "He's not like Dennis Rodman, but he has a look that will stand out among the locals."
The response for Deacon's words aren't immediate, not by a mile. "For the Godling? Are you planning to go alone?" That voice asks. It doesn't allow much time for a response from him before reporting, "We were working on tracking him the second he stepped foot into Haven." They say, factually. "Last sighting we had for them was just south of Mariner's highway into the forest." They explain. "As of an hour ago, or so."
"I was, but reach out to Angel. She's close if she's not out of town" Deacon replies, turning his attention back to his phone and starting up his vehicle. He doesn't pull away yet though, waiting for the reply that may come. "Two will be easier, but a little less quiet. Outskirts? Shouldn't be a problem" he's half talking to the scout and half to himself before quieting down so the un-named operative can look into the next request and hopefully get him on the move.
Though the house is extravagant, the sound still travels a bit depending on which doors are open. From in within the house, Angelique could probably hear the male voice of her roommate in his room, muffled soundings of being sent a 'target' and 'town limits,' assuming she was in the house to begin with. Regardless of her current location though, the voice responds to Deacon's request by stating, "The... bounty, if you want to call it that, was sent out from Headquarters to everyone. She should have that notification already." They say.
And, of course, regardless of where Angelique is, a glance to her phone would show a notification of a clenched fist, detailing specifically who that message is from, and with it the picture of a man, pale skinned, eyes so hazel they're almost golden, and hair a dark brown. Wanted for an unauthorized defection and for stealing Hand secrets to sell to rival factions.
With an idle rap on the door of Deacon's room, Angelique calls out, "Guapo, estas vivo?" Though she's clearly aware that he's quite alive, if he's talking, there's a lilting, almost playful tone to her voice as she asks. "These people, they send -me- an alert to find some wicked man." Light and playful becomes quite disgruntled as she relays this task that she, apparently, has decided was assigned to her and so very unreasonably assigned, at that. And so she demands, "You will come, si?"
At that moment, Deacon is just running back into the house having forgotten something perhaps or changing his plans for how he himself intended to handle such a thing but that's fortuitous as he hears Angelique calling from up the stairs her voice easily echoing down from the open-aired atelier at the top of those stairs where the bedrooms then diverge from. "Ah! Miss me by two minutes, cher! An' yeah I'm already on my way out!" Then he's smirking up the stairs at her, as his voice makes the distance with a loud call.
"You will not go without me?" It's a question, but it's not a question. Angelique mutters a curse or two in Spanish as she heads back to her room for her purse. Not her weapons and armor that she can barely use anyway, but her purse, and a quick glance at her lipstick in the mirror. Then, the stiletto-heeled girl heads for the stairs, traipsing her way down them to attempt to catch Deacon before he goes. "Deac, you had better not..." she begins, quite clearly ready to harrangue the fellow. But since he's right there, her words die off and she merely nods, slanting him a coy, satisfied smile. "Good."
It seems, one fortunate thing about the time taken for the pair to reconvene - the mists have begun to dissipate. Assuming their target is still in the woods, tracking him will be significantly easier now that contending with the mists won't be an issue.
Waiting is a matter of patience for Deacon, but he shoots Angelique a grin when she is finally ready and he's hurrying her outside, and into his SUV. He's not a particularly crazy driver, but he IS reckless enough to push the speedl limits by nature and without as much mist swirling around that will only make him more confident as he begins to chaufer them out toward the Highway. "Scout said last sighting was out south of Mariner's in the woods. I know Guardian cuts pretty deep out that way, figure we can use that as a way to plot the area. Here's hoping we'll get lucky though .. a grid search could take all night and end us up with fuck all." His tone is serious right now. Not that he seems particularly invested in this particular target but rather that when he's on the job he's ON the JOB.
As Deacon drives, there is no further update that comes from the scouts to suggest a drastically new location. It seems the silence on the other end would only suggest they're still in that general vicinity. The drive there is smooth, Deacon driving reckless enough to go fast but not so much that it draws police attention. Fortunately, the roads were bare, anyway, given the thickness of the mist and the townsfolk learning not to be on the road when that white fog comes through. They're faced with no trouble on their drive towards the highway.
"Wait. What?" Angelique stares at Deacon like he's grown a second head as he keeps right on driving, after having laid that out for her. "Pero... I cannot. No, no." She looks down at her shoes, the best excuse in the world for not tramping through snowy, dirty, muddy, foresty forests. They're Italian calfskin leather. "Mis zapatos." As she grows more upset, the Inigo's Spanish roots come out in full force, clearly, and her English starts to falter.
There's a quiet laugh from Deacon, but he does take his eyes off of the wheel to give her a side-long glance. "I'll buy you new ones" he offers to her, with that grin. "Don't worry. Two of us goin' out there. Two of us' comin' back. Unless you wanna take this guy alive, I'm not cleanin' out my trunk for this asshole."
That pulls her eyes off her feet, and Angelique swings a look to Deacon that's somewhat bemused and perhaps a little startled, but not at all horrified. "They do not want him alive?" she questions, her accent still thick, but at least she's speaking in English to the fellow beside her. "This is fine. Si. Yes," she corrects, relenting slightly. "But I will hold you to that promise. None of the, 'Just don't pay rent this month.' Real shoes," she states, with that familiar note of challenge in her voice. But then, and Deacon must have done something right to earn this softening, she asks, "You know that these cost... a lot, si?"
It isn't long before that journey to the highway comes to a close. Whether or not they get out of the car is their choice. There are only a few street lights that provide lighting on the area, and even then the forest just seems... darker, and it's made bitter by the cold and mud and the snow. The road is quiet, peaceful even, but eyes into the forest provide a different take on that silence. In the forest, that silence is thick and heavy, and feels sentient, as if something in there is waiting to be tested.
The combat instincts of Deacon are on high alert, and even here in these woods he's used to hearing the usual sounds of critters in the underbrush and things like that. That silence is almost a roar to his ears then, and it causes his expression to turn into a frown, now. "Infinitely more than a pair of my Jordans cher ... but worth it I think" his eyes cut sideways at Angelique as a hint of his grin shows itself. "As long as I get to take you shopping for 'em then." Maybe not a fetish-reveal from the man, but certainly he's taking the time to infer some sense of sexuality to the whole thing during what might otherwise be a tense moment! "On my last name, cher. On my last name. All your pretty parts intact, and fresh leather for your toes ..." his words are distracted though, now. His eyes are peering through glass out into the woods but it's not enough. "Alright. Let's go" he finally opines. He's grabbing those things from the back though, passing that spare vest to Angelique and foregoing one himself. It's the rifle that he grabs next though, and then he's clamoring up onto the top ..of his car? Yep. With greater than human strength, it's not hard for him to hoist the large .50 calibur weapon more like a regular rifle but he's using the Scope on the thing to peer into the density of the woods beyond now. "Let's see if we can find anything to point us in the right direction" he murmurs to himself, now lost in his work.
"Very well. We will shop together," Angelique relents with a firm nod. She takes the vest, strapping it on over her expensive clothes with only the slightest of grimaces as she tries to make it fit curves it was clearly not built for. She slides from the car, but when Deacon starts to climb up ONTO it, she freezes. "I will wait down here," she declares assertively, before wrapping her arms around herself and leaning back against the solid vehicle, in order to ensure she's not an easy target, herself.
The darkness of the forest seems suffocating, even despite not yet having crossed the threshold. It's silent and one can't shake the feeling that something is both watching and waiting for them. It feels predatory, and red flags come no redder than this. If there was any indication they might be in the right place, it is the ominous sensation that they both would be able to feel, even if their sense of eyesight might not help penetrate through just yet. But from where they stand at the car, there is safety for them.
There's a grunt of frustration from up on the roof of the car and soon enough, Deacon is climbing down from it and re-joining Angelique. "Alright well .. my gut say we're on point. Let's .. into the breach." He glances down a moment. "Can you walk in those if you break off the heel?" He asks seriously, since he's going to replace them anyway. Hefting the rifle he's turning his attention now onto the woods and with a tilt of his head he sets a steady two-step march toward those woods. "You CAN stay back, but you'll miss out on the fun when we find him!"
Angelique gasps. "I can walk in them -now-," she declares without a second's hesitation, her eyes wide and her expression absolutely horrified. "These are Dolce and Gabbana!" she tells him, with utterly as much intention as if he'd suggested ripping up a Bible. "I will keep up." It's probably the sort of claim that'll see her walking barefoot in the yuck, or giving in and letting him destroy the heels, eventually. "Let's go." With a toss of that long, dark hair and a lift of her chin, she starts off into the forest with far more outward confidence than she could possibly really have. Pique does that.
If from the outside that silence was like death, then breaching the forest and passing that threashold /reeks/ of it. It's assaulting, and it's immediate, and it's still so ominously dark. But there are sounds that can be heard, now. Why they couldn't be from the outside is anyone's guess, but from within the sounds of animal's wailing and screams from deeper in. They aren't the screams that sound human - but they're pained, like something wanting to die but being made not to. Everything points further south into the woods. Unfortunately, the trek isn't the easiest for pointed heels - mud and snow and the sharp heel digging into the ground that make the walk not without it's effort.
Something seems to scream caution in Deacon's mind and he's keeping his voice low. He crouches after making some headway in further south, giving Angelique time to catch up. "Could be a lure .. or he could be on some crazy Voldemort shit" he mutters, piercing green eyes cutting through the trees as he looks for signs of passage, anything beyond merely the sounds of what might be a wounded animal crying out for mercy. Growing more quiet, Deacon gives the woman with him a silent gesture of his hand, pointing at his eyes and then at her, and then southward with a wave of his hand. He motions for them to take a swing around to the west as they move south, so they don't make their way toward the sound simply head on. While not heels, Deacon's own shoes aren't exactly made for trekking through the woods themselves and their going is slow. MOving branches out of their way, ducking under growth or having to climb over it and all while trying to make as little sound as possible. Out here, it's all but impossible.
"Deac," Angelique says, though her voice has dropped to barely a whisper and it quivers. She probably has no idea what those hand signals mean, but she knows enough not to yell, right now. "Deac I do not like this." It's not often the prideful Inigo lets this side of her show, but despite the struggle to walk in her shoes, she moves over to Deacon's side, reaching for his hand. "This man. What is he? Or is it a monster?" She shivers, sliding right up against the burly soldier as he clears their way through the forest.
"Godling" Deacon murmurs quiet, now. "That's what the scout said" he calls, and then frowns. "Should've requested bullets" he complains but it's too late now. Still that doesn't stop him from moving forward and around - and neither does Angelique's warnings and misgivings either. The man is laser-focused and intent now.
Those inhuman wailings, likely from some animal, begin to turn into low groans, similar to a cat when it's trying to be threatening. It hangs in the air. It is impossible for Deacon and Angelique to move silently, though. Twigs break under their feet, snow crunches, and mud squelches beneath Angelique's heel. The foliage rustles with every gesture. As they continue to move, the smell of death worsens. There's something approaching, now, as evident by the steps of branches crunching and foliage rustling and this time the noises aren't coming from either Deacon or Angelique. That low groan has ceased, now, but the sounds of the forest in this little bubble continue. Birds which would usually be sleeping, are flying off in caws and chirps, and still something approaches.
"What? You brought that big gun and no bullets?" Angelique asks Deacon, looking entirely lost. Perhaps she eventually tacks it up to a language miscommunication, for she doesn't continue to nag at him the whole time. Much of her effort goes into just lifting her feet and setting them back down without losing a shoe or losing her balance. Still, she sticks right by Deacon's side, clearly not willing to step out of his shadow for even a moment. And then, as she looks down at the mist starting to swirl around her feet and noises suggest that it's -them- being stalked, there's a low whimper. "Deac..." she whispers again. But she sticks with him.
To make matters worse, that creeping fog begins to roll in, and it starts to obscure the ground beneath their feet, and it slowly rises. Soon, whatever is awaits them in this forest, be it the Godling or otherwise, won't be seen coming.
Like two predators sniffing each other, Deacon and this other godling seem to be of similar mind. They circle and approach but the noises come around and from behind? It's hard to tell, and the birds fleeing only confirm that this area is definitely the right (or wrong) place to be in. And now the mists come swirling around and rising up from the ground once more there's a soft curse. "Fine" he whispers, and then crouches low. He sets the rifle down, wincing at the thought. That blade comes out of sheath and now the soldier comes silent. No noise, no movement in fact. He tugs on Angelique's hand to get her to crouch down with him with a mildy apologetic look that lasts only long enough for the next sound of twig or snap to come. His lips are pursed, and there's a certain ... gleam to Deacon's eye. Something that says that he's more aware than he lets on of how dangerous this may be for them, now and that seems to excite him. He puts a finger to his lips trying to keep Angelique quiet as well.
What steps through the clearing, the source of those footsteps as if carried by the fog, now, is a simple animal. A Stag. Not a Godling. Majestic in its silhouette - likely harmless. At least, it would be described as such until it steps a bit closer to reveal itself in the light. Deacon's eyes would possibly be able to see it clearly, but less so for Angelique. The stench that rolls off of this Stag though would be more than enough to fill her imagination with a visual. It's missing an antler. It's missing half of its head, that portion caved in, and with it, goes one eye. The other is a murky white. Lacerations and decorate its belly which see bowels trailing beneath it. Though they've crouched, the one good eye on this walking anomaly stares at them. It does not approach. It does not move. It merely stares with an emptiness in those murky, dead eyes.
At least she's wearing jeans and not something absolutely absurd, like she does on most days. When Deacon tugs at her hand, there's an odd wince on her face, but immediately she ducks down to crouch beside him. Hide? Yes please. It doesn't take more than that to get her into a much less obvious position beside him. Her hand reaches for the gun, but she doesn't pick it up, even though Deacon has put it down. She's clueless about them. Instead, she turns her attention entirely to their surroundings, trying to pick out in the mash of grey and black that is her vision, this interloper, the man they're hunting who might well be hunting them. Other than her breathing, Angelique is silent, and as still as those shivers let her be.
And then she sees that... that thing. Her nose curls and the Inigo woman ducks her head, clamping hands over her mouth and nose as her body rebels against the scent. She gags, violently, though thankfully not to the point of actually vomitting on Deacon. It is a struggle though. A real struggle.
The gagging that leaves Angelique sees that death-ridden Stag tilting its head to one side. It still does not approach. It is still silent. It's dead eye continuing to peer.
The soldier himself isn't certain what to make of it. He's never seen a shifter turn into something like this, and so the thought doesn't even really cross his mind. What does cross his mind, is the absolute unnatrualness of that thing in front of them. "Oh that can't be good" he says, blissfully ignorant at least for the moment of Angelique's impending gastronomical problems. It's hesitation, which is also unusual for the man too. He's not a philosopher, or a philanthropist. He's not a thinking man's man and it's clear that even with his self-assurance and confidence that he's really not used to this kind of situation without someone there to give the -order-. Making the choice that seems the most logical on the surface, Deacon is moving fast then. Pushing forward with everything he can to bring a heavy swinging slice toward the Stag's neck. Closing the distance will be the real problem before it can run away or even worse ... attack in kind? But the Army boy can't help but stick to what he knows: Killing, whoever that happens to be in the name of.
When Deacon leaps forward, Angelique squeaks. It was originally a scream, but as with the first round of gagging, she manages to contain -most- of it. But she's not entirely still, while she waits there. Finally, the spoiled woman reaches down and unfastens her little red shoes, letting the straps fall loose. She's preparing to run, should worst come to worst. She's utterly and entirely unprepared to fight this thing and, if Deacon can't manage it? She's utterly and entirely incapable of doing what he couldn't.
That Stag tensed the moment Deacon began to speak, murky eyes picking up on the slightest shifting of his body. Nose perhaps picking up on the change of hormones that saw Deacon's adrenaline spike. It responds. It responds as quickly as Deacon does with his charge. It's dead head is tilting back, nose up to the sky, and it howls. Not like a wolf. Not... like a roaring grunt that is native to the Stag. No, it's that same, low groan that was heard before, like a cat trying to intimidate... Or worse. Warn. That noise is silenced though, immediately, as Deacon slices at its neck, and it crumbles, seemingly returning to that state of death it was in before it was... whatever it is now. There are no birds to make noise, now. There is no howling of forest creatures to fill the air. This siren silenced leaves an absence of sound, now, and it with carries a sense of dread.
Whirling, Deacon almost doesn't expect for his blade to land, and that sound it draws a crawling, shivering, shudder down his spine even as he manages to put the dead thing back into the state of being that it was most likely found it. "Fuckin' .. goddamn I HATE magic!" He growls it out, loud now into that dreadful silence as his patience wears thin and his Pride cometh before other things. "COME ON!" The man who speaks with who sees the spirits of the dead and speaks across the veil of life and death roars out his denial of all of the things that lie within -him- with those same words. Anger and irritation feed Pride the way the cold and dark feed Fear, and the all-but challenge sees the man turning about as if expecting his enemy to simply take him up on it and make things easy! Does he have the werewithal to continue to pay attention more astutely to the other small cues of his surroundings? Perhaps in theory, but less than likely in his current place of aggrivation.
If that Stag's dying howl was a siren meant to warn, than Deacon's challenging words are a beacon. Whispering can be heard, now. It can be heard from all around them... they are not in sync, and it confuses the senses to cause one to think multiple entities are near. The foliage from deeper within the forest ahead of them begins to move in the process. Or rather, something moves through it, but... it's dark. Nebulous, and whatever it is seems to suck in the light from the moon, already difficult to see due to the stormclouds, and makes it darker. All signs point to an approaching sorcerer. While whatever it is has not approached fully enough to be seen, a male's voice can be heard. "Is this what The Hand brings to hunt me down?" Is the question asked. It's spoken so closely behind Angelique, though.
This is where the severeity of the situation really comes to kind of settle onto Deacon as that nebulous darkness comes kind of surrounding them with ominous ease. His teeth grit but he's also not backing down, now. Not when his back's been riled up, not when it's his Pride on the line. "For now" he calls out, trying to keep the sound of confidence and authority in his voice as he tries to measure up with what he's about to face. Whipping about his eyes are shifting toward Angelique as he tries to make any sense of where this man might be coming from or already there? He's tense, rigid with the need to act, and no target to act upon.
Angelique jumps to her feet. Suddenly, the fear she's been feeling has triggered enough that she's gone from potential flight to full-on fight. But without weapons, she can only reach down and grab a shoe, turning it in her hand so the stiletto heel is out. Then, she throws it! In the right circumstances, it could probably be dangerous, but this is anything but the right circumstance. "Hijo de puta," she snaps, her eyes narrowing as she stares toward where the voice came from, and where her shoe went to. Of course, her senses are muted, can she even really tell where that voice came from? She takes a step backward, grasping up the one, lone shoe left, in the process.
"I don't think we can, now" Deacon says, and for once he sounds like he agrees whole-heartedly with Angelique here.
Angelique clearly agrees with Deacon, though she still scrambles backward toward him, that last shoe in her hands.
There is no sense of where this man might be save for that nebulous energy approaching them in the distance, despite his voice being heard somehow behind Angelique. There is nothing behind her... except her shoe which disappears into the darkness. The surround sound whisperings continue, as they do, that dead stag on the floor begins to twitch. "For now." The voice echoes, this time near Deacon. That nebulous darkness continues to approach - for the more flighty, there is time to flee. "...Your bodies will join my army. The more of you they send, the more of you they lose." He says, and the threat is heard clearly in his voice. This supernatural 'criminal' by Hand standards might not be a simple Godling as they were told. That Stag continues to twitch, limbs kicking slightly as life spurts back into it.
A showing of actual fear comes to Deacon's face with a shuddered breath. "Death magic .." he whispers, and his eyes cut toward Angelique. "We're not getting paid enough for this" he says plain, and there does seem to be SOME clarity in his eyes. Risk is one thing ... staring down death on the garuntee is whole other thing. He's shifting his chin, waiting for Angelique to move so he can cover her and his potential retreat. "Na-uh, cher. Not near enough."
"No, no, no." It's not English, though only Angelique's accent makes that clear. "Madre de Dios," she murmurs again, though when Deacon also looks to have seen the light, she nods firmly, and then slips behind him, backing quickly toward the distant car. In bare feet, in the dark and gloomy woods, while watching more over her shoulder than the path at her feet, her progress is slow going, but she mutters beneath her breath, "I am too pretty to end up that kind of dead."
Through the darkness comes a roiling ball of writhing, black energy towards both Deacon and Angelique. It doesn't strike their person - instead, it hits the ground near their feet and sprays up mud and dirt and snow. That energy, though - little flecks of it that can be felt? It burns. That Stag begins to sit up, now, a low groaning bleat leaving its cut throat in ways that sound like death gurgles. Sorcerous necromancy brought it back to its feet just as those whispers have finally ceased, and the mention of an army suggests he can likely create an endless amount on top of the sorcery he flings. That Stag does not chase, though, but it watches as they make their retreat, almost studiously.
And with that, Deacon will beat that retreat but he does it with an angry eye out into the south woods. "Ain't done with you" he mutters to himself as he forces himself to put the safety of his companion over his urge to throw caution to the wind.
Angelique doesn't need to be told twice, though she might need Deacon's help to make any sort of speed through the forest. Muttering curses in Spanish beneath her breath as they race for the road and the car, she does NOT seem to have the same opinion as Deacon about any sort of round two with the sorceror.
There is nothing that stops Deacon and Angelique from making their retreat, but should they glance back, they would see this man standing near that once-dead Stag. He's tall. Handsome, even despite the grime that cake his features. His hair is greasy, but brown, like his photos, and his skin is pale like death. His eyes though, are his striking features. They're not so hazel they're almost gold, no -- they're /just/ gold. He watches them leave, fingertips writhing with that dark energy he could fling if he wanted, but he does not. As Deacon and Angelique retreat, so too does he. He steps back, and it's one step before he's gone. Only the stag remains, that siren of a warning to go off at the next sign of intrusion. It appears this criminal will still be at large until the next attempt.
Deacon bows!
When they get to that car, and there's no sign that they're being further followed, Angelique relaxes quite a bit, though her pride has undeniably been stung and, as one might expect, she takes that out on Deacon. "My feet are -frozen-," she grumps at him, as she slinks toward the car. Is that his fault? "That was..." But no, she's not going to admit it, and instead she demands, "Worth two pairs of shoes..."