tria 38th, 81381. as a side note, there's a massive pile-up preventing cars from coming into watani. the road (the R25) which crosses a body of water, broke in the middle. In a few hundred yards, he’d be on R40; a fairly clear run to Watani. There was one snag: between the Adder and the open road was the R25. A screaming, glowing ribbon of pain and dark light. It was the color past ultra-violet. The technical term for it was infra-black. It could be seen quite easily under experimental conditions. To perform the experiment, all one had to do was to find a healthy brick wall with a ramp, and lowering their head, charge. The color that burst behind your eyes, behind the pain, just before you die, in infra-black. Nothing could cross it and survive. Northing normal, at least. There was a police roadblock in front of the flyover before him. Burnt-out wrecks – some still burning – testified the fate of previous cars that had to drive across the flyover above the dark road. The police did not look happy. The Adder shifted into second gear, and gunned the accelerator. He went through the roadblock at 60. That was the easy part. The leather seatcovers had begun to smoke. Then the flames engulfed the car. On the other side of the flyover was a further police roadblock, to prevent the passage of cars trying to come into Watani. They were laughing about a story on some crazy, octopus-like creature driving a car that had just combusted. Some police forces would believe anything. Not the Metropolitan police, though. The Met was the hardest, most cynically pragmatic, most stubbornly down-to-earth police force in this part of the world. It would take a lot to faze a cop from the Met. It would take, for instance, a huge, battered car that was nothing more nor less than a fireball, a blazing, roaring, twisted metal lemon from Hell, driven by a grinning killer in sunglasses, sitting amid the flames, trailing thick black smoke, coming straight at them through the lashing rain and the wind at 80 miles per hour. That would do it every time. --- Look at Aiden, doing 110 mph on the R40 heading towards Watani. Even the most remotely casual observer would notice a number of strange things about him. The clenched teeth, for example, or the bright glow coming from behind his sunglasses. And the car. The car was a definite hit. It should have fallen apart miles back. It was the effort of holding it together that was causing the Adder to grit his teeth, and the biospatial feedback that was causing his eyes to glow so brightly. He hadn’t felt like this for years. -- It was a dark and stormy night. It should’ve been, but that was the weather for you. But don’t let that wind and fog (with rain, temperatures dropping to around forty-five degrees) give you a false sense of security. Just because it’s a mild night doesn’t mean dark forces are abroad. They’re abroad all the time. They’re everywhere. They always are. That’s the whole point. One of them lurked in the ruined street. A shadowy, flowing figure, lean and menacing. An Olympic-grade lurker. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded “Born to Lurk", the Adder would have been on the front album cover. Aiden had umbra-colored hair, day-glo green fur and good cheekbones, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss. He also didn’t blink much. A figure rose from the blazing wreckage in the manner of a demon king in a pantomime, but if this one was ever in a pantomime, it was one where no one walked out alive and they had to get a priest to burn the place down afterwards. The orange flames flickering behind the Adder gave him an almost infernal appearance. A tongue of flame licked across the dashboard. His burning blank gaze settled on the car, and he smiled wickedly. “That… was fucking… amazing…" he said between teeth like beautiful bullets.
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class='ooc'><tr><td>Hahahahaha >< Ever read Good Omens? Sheesh that whole post just made me want to write like Terry Pratchett.</td></tr></table> A slumped figure with a silhouette like a hook walked along the road heading out of Watani. Ragged brown pant legs dragged across the ground, the long ends so tattered it looked as if this pendragon constantly had to fight off rabid guard dogs with his feet. There were no shoes under those tatters, one could tell simply by the sounds of his gait. Swish, silence, swish, silence. Swish as the hems dragged across the ground and silence as a six toed paw alighted the ground. Over those baggy brown cargo pants hung an XXL sized shirt that reached down below his waist, and looked like it could have been home to a tribe of pygmies. The shirt was also brown, but a more vibrant brown, a brown proud to be brown. Over the proud brown shirt was a dark faded navy blue hoody, a cul-de-sac in the pygmy community. From within the folds two six-fingered hands had found their way out, and were now studiously shoved into the pants pockets. However tattered and baggy his clothes were, his hair was twice as slick. Dark black hair so shiny that it looked like it developed grease of its own was slicked back on his head, behind his ears and pulled into a tight tail that hung against his neck. His eyes were black pools with dark mug-stain rings under them. Ekslik had traveled to Watani under the pretence of meeting some old friends. This was where they rolled and operated, and he had decided he had had enough of school, and was heading back just to pick up his things. He had taken a bus there, he didn’t own or particularly want a car. But for some reason the busses back hadn’t been coming. He had waited patiently at the bus stop for hours. When four busses had missed their scheduled times, he began to walk the road. It wasn’t so bad, he liked exercise. Besides, in this chill it was good to get the blood pumping. He lifted his nose and sniffed, he smelled cooking. He could tell it was barbeque because there was the odor of burning metal as well. As he walked, the smell grew stronger, and he realized it wasn’t barbeque, there was no meat…unless the meat had long ago burned up and the ashes blown far away. And then there was the light. Ekslik stopped on the sidewalk and watched it as it approached. That was definitely where the smell was coming from, put two and two together, light and burning smell only meant fire. Fire and fast motion, only meant flaming transportation. This would be interesting. The ball of metal and flame came with a sound like a teakettle dying of hyperventilation. Ekslik stood motionless, only turning his head to watch as the flaming mass passed screeching by him. It came to a deafening stop not ten yards back the way he had come. Ekslik eyed it a moment, his only sign of surprise a slight rise of the eyebrow. He snuffed, a small burst of air out of his nose, a sound which would have been along the lines of ‘Hm’ had the vocal cords accompanied it, and which would have possessed a tone of ‘Well would you look at that.’ He began to shuffle in that direction. Never hurt to check out a unidentified wrecked ball of metal on fire. A neon sign in the shape of a pendragon appeared out of the flaming wreckage. It moved. Ekslik adjusted his mental process a bit. A pendragon with neon green fur appeared out of the flaming wreckage. Ekslik approached the scene in time to hear the exclamation of awe and excitement from the pendragon’s mouth. Ekslik stood and watched him a moment, hoping to be noticed. It wasn’t very easy to get ‘dragon’s attention when you were mute. Nothing short of jumping up and down in front of others had much effect. Usually Ekslik didn’t very much try, if they didn’t notice him he didn’t care. Ekslik was already envisioning the wonderful conversation the two would have if the neon sign noticed him, it would involve lots of hand gestures and maybe even charades at some point. Ekslik mentally groaned in anticipation but kept his face stoic. A flaming ball of what looked like car, and a 'dragon emerging out alive and burning out eye-sockets with his pelt. This was something to suffer through a confrontation for.
The arden Aiden was statuesque before the inferno, cloaked in the most impermeable of blacks and greens, white eyes fixed upon the brown male near him. Other ‘dragons might have challenged him with such a steady gaze; Aiden simply looked at his face, though not into his eyes, his relaxed posture and complete lack of aggression and dominance relaying a completely different signal. The growl that slipped unbidden from his supple throat warned him not to get too close. He seemed to be completely relaxed, but his muscles were taut with readiness should the boy try to harm him. Aiden didn't think that likely, but there was always the chance. To be a submissive creature was not his way, not by nature or corruption or motives, but he was in no way pompous or arrogant. He simply gave respect where it was due, and expected it to be bestowed upon himself. And then he blinked slowly, his head dipped in respect, and still he did not take his piercing gaze away. It was much like the first time he'd met Zamfir Grader; he'd looked and looked as if memorizing every dip and plane and curve of his face, every glitter of his eyes. “You looking at me," he said in his monotone, rough-hewn baritone, "or the car?"
Though Ekslik's face was still, he was releived that he had been noticed. Being forced to leave this scene without any more information as to what had happened would be very disapointing. He lowered his head (not very difficult as he was already hunched over) in a humbled gesture of responce to show that he did not intend to intrude, but kept his swimming eyes on the strange pendragon before him. He would have approached, but from the manner of the other, he did not think this wise. He was not up for a confrontation, he did not honestly think he could hold his own against many pendragons, and this one was certainly no exception. As far as pendragons go, Ekslik would admit this one was one of the more outragious he had ever seen. Had Ekslik not learned long before that such trivial thoughts were nearly useless to him, he would have commented on his appearance and his comment would have most likely been unintentionally insulting, due to his inherent bluntness. This was one of the many benefits of silence. Instead, Ekslik raised his head from its short bow and fixed his eyes on the 'dragon again. In responce to the question, he jerked his head towards the car and turned to look at the smouldering mess outlining the menacing silhouette of the neon sign. He looked back to the arden before him questioningly, taking a hand out of the folds of his pants and pointing vaguely to the wreck and raising his eyebrows in mild confusion, before stuffing the paw back into the confining layers. He looked back at the menacing arden with a stoic gaze, a hint of expectancy in his stance.
The ghost had come after he left. When he saw the white form, he believed it first to be fog. However, as it neared, he saw instead the gleam of piss-yellow eyes. Mother. The words she said were not her voice, they were Azathoth. The translucent, shadowy god danced behind her like a lover. He watched them dance, watched her shudder for him. Azathoth, the male, the figure who had come to her with the promise of eternal love for revenge. Find her. Go to the Church. Aiden had been determined to wind past Watani and to the ruined black building before he'd stumbled upon the arden and his car had blown up. He was infested with worms. Maggots, worms, lice: all sorts of little creatures were crawling all over his chest, infecting Aiden with their dirt and filth. He could feel them scurrying across his chest, all heading towards his wounds to drink his blood and steal his vitality. They were going to really kill him, kill someone who could not be killed. Aiden coughed, rubbing his chest with his one hand again, trying to relieve the itch made by the millions of pattering feet. It did not help in the least. He rubbed harder, frowning as he noticed his hands beginning to tremble slightly. His frown deepened as he realized he could not feel his hands, could not feel the contact between his fingers to his chest. He could feel something touching his chest through the fabric of his shirt, but his fingers, his hands, had gone numb. "You're not talking," he said bluntly.
As his eyes and nose adjusted, Ekslik noticed that there was definately something very different about this pendragon. He seemed to be filled with holes and tears, not so much cuts, like a walking corpse. A walking neon sign corpse. And the smell. Ekslik wondered if he was just imagining the rot, his nose was not that great as a result of a few experiements with chemicals that more or less seemed to really dislike each other. None the less he was sure this pendragon was not on the normal scale of life. That explained the exit from the car in one piece, though he did wonder why the walking neon sign corpse hadnt caught on fire. Ekslik shrugged it off as some special paranormal perk. And it didnt explain how the car had gotten on fire. Ekslik was a fan of the paranormal, the unexplained, though he didnt try to let anyone he came in contact with on a daily basis know. They usually misconstrued his interest as actual belief and fandom worship. Ekslik just liked the idea, he wasnt a fanatic. Now, it seemed he had found something interesting. However much proof a neon sign corpse could be to the existence of the paranormal, ask him a year from now and he would still say he didnt believe it, he just liked the idea. Ekslik was still a moment in what might have been mild shock, but when applied to Ekslik translated to severe anoyance. He rolled his eyes, though the effect was lost through his oily pools for eyes. He gritted his teeth. He haded charades. He lifted a six fingered paw to his throat and tapped it a couple times with his longest finger, raising his chin slightly. He lowered his hand and, with an expression that said he had done this a million times and had not been happy about a single one, moved his mouth as if he were talking, but no sound came out.
Aiden glimpsed his mother in him – an extremely rare peaceful moment of hers – when she actually approved of his playing with his brother Jazz in the way she herself had always laughed and played when she was younger, surrendering to its ease, especially when Aiden read. Great updrafts of light from books, burning off distant plateaus of bistre and sage, throwing him up like an angel, high above the red earth, deep into the sprawling blank of the sky. How blissful, eclipsed by his darker memories of the jack-knifed building he and his family had once called home, oily smoke billowing into the night and hardy deterred by pinprick drizzles. They’d set it to fire after they’d though the Vyjtucam’s were dead, and Aiden had watched crouched on a rooftop. The fire had crawled up from a punctured fuel tank, stripping and curling the paint into cyanide, melting the rubber and blackening the shattered glass – every jagged line telling the story of a broken heart which no fifteen-year-old boy should ever have to recollect let alone see. He nodded stoically at the boy’s signal. "I’m sorry," he said softly. "Can you telapathize?"
Ekslik noticed that the neon sign's demeanor had softened. That was a good sign. Ekslik had rather enjoyed the corpse arden’s personality thus far. It was incite-full and stoic, the type of personality that incited many a fight and argument from others, daring the world in general to give him a challenge, or distraction. That was what Ekslik saw, be it true or not, he tended to see what he wanted to see. Ekslik had always wanted to be like that, but he wasn’t strong, nor was he outgoing enough to ‘convince’ others to start fights. Why was it that he could only ever see his dreams in others? Maybe he just imagined it. He controlled his thoughts, got himself back on track. The only remaining trouble was the communication barrier, for it seemed the neon sign was not willing to simply let Ekslik tag along without talking. His sister had tried vigorously to teach him various ways of communication for the mute. First had been sign language. That had been a nightmare. Telepathy was second, and only slightly more productive. Kilske would create the connection and tell Ekslik to follow her back on the bridge to her mind. It hadn’t worked as well as she had hoped, Ekslik’s mind was like a compressed ball, and it was hard to let any part of himself out. Whenever he did succeed, his whole self seemed to go with his thoughts. It was terrifying. From what he could see of Kilske’s mind, hers was similar, though he had never been able to figure out how she let parts of herself out without giving the whole thing. He tried anyway. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Every part of him concentrated on letting just one thing out, and nothing more. He waited, and concentrated, but nothing that he could tell happened. He sighed and opened his eyes. Great, he thought to himself, I could have just shaken my head for all the good that did me. Why did I even bother trying? I look like an idiot now. Stupid. These thoughts passed without making a mark on his face. He shook his head in reply. His ears twitched at a sound. He turned his head in its direction, it was a siren. He looked from the burning car to the neon sign. What would authorities think? Was it a crime to have a car on fire? Maybe they were going somewhere else.
