Voice-of-Accord snuffles along with Rowan distractedly, contemplating the enigma that is Higami, and wondering if she might have been saner if she were still vegging in her coccoon.

Rowan, in lupus, seems to think he'd certainly be saner if he'd found a coccoon before he got here.

The breeze ripples the reeds and the water, breaking up the occasional clouds of insects that form over warm, humid pockets.

Voice-of-Accord doesn't really pay much attention to the more subtle scents or breezes, except for a certain ease in her gait and the faint sway of her tail. Mama Bear's dinner is going to be so good tonight. Last one home is a Silver Fang mule! She takes off with tail frisking, barrelling towards the trail back towards town.

Rowan's tongue lolls. You got it! he barks, pelting after her. After all, he doesn't want to be an obsolete depressing thing. Given this race, he's not paying excessive amounts of attention to the world around him, either.

Andreas, carrying a large pack, takes a moment to look up at the sky and grunt to himself. This is enough to make him plant his foot badly--it disappears into a puddle up to the ankle with a large SPLOOOSH!

From afar, to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan, Voice-of-Accord . o O (Our characters helpfully all have a brainfart at the same moment)

As Rowan catches up close to Kelsey, their combined weight seems to collapse the trail under them. They both fall, hard, into a pit of mud and spikes. Almost as an afterthought, a silver net drifts down over them.

A very large furry blur takes advantage of Andreas' missed footing and barrels into him like a freight train, taking him over onto his back. It then plants itself menacingly over him: a black, pony-sized wolf with many, many sharp teeth.

Rowan pages to Voice-of-Accord, Weatherwax, and Andreas: Are the /spikes/ silver?

You paged Voice-of-Accord, Andreas, and Rowan with 'How perspicacious of you!'.
You paged Voice-of-Accord, Andreas, and Rowan with 'Yes. Very thin, sturdy spikes tipped with silver.'.

Andreas does his best to be very very very still, except for his darting eyes.

Voice-of-Accord gives a surprised howl that cuts off with a yelp of pain as she crashes down, scrabbling at air trying to catch herself for a brief moment of shock before the jarring and painful impact. Then she is a still bloody mess, gasping for the breath that's been knocked out of her, and barely conscious in a sea of hurt.

You paged Rowan with 'You take about four levels agg.'.
You paged Voice-of-Accord with 'You take about four levels agg.'.

From afar, Voice-of-Accord suspected as much. Spikes ow.

Rowan's snarl, as he falls, turns to a yelp of pain almost as soon as any noise at all erupts from him, and then he's too busy trying to get any breath into his body to make any noise at all. At some point in there, he shifts into homid, reflexively.

The net tightens around the two in the pit, as if it were a living thing. The wolf atop Andreas lets a little drool tip off its tongue onto his face. A smiling man's face appears in the big man's field of vision, next to the wolf's head. The man looks young, with high cheekbones and sleek black hair. "You, my friend," he purrs, "have very, very bad timing."

Rowan, impaled, starts panting, short quick breaths, slightly panicked. If there's any room at all he's searching frantically for his knife -- but that net is tightening fast.

Voice-of-Accord shudders as if trying to shift, but doesn't complete the thought. Black paws reach feebly for a solid surface, something she can brace against and raise her body off of the spikes digging into her chest and belly. Ears twitch against her head, pinned down by the net. The muffled voice from above brings a silent snarl to her jaws. She redoubles her efforts to get free, searing her mouth against the net as she bites down.

A very large, black-haired woman in dark combat pants and a tank top appears at the edge of the pit, looking down at the two Garou. She watches their struggles in silence. Possibly Rowan notices that she is tightening her fist slowly as the net constricts around them. Yes, that net tightened very fast, and between that and the sticky mud, it was impossible for Rowan to find his knife.

Andreas's lips try for a conciliatory smile, and make it halfway before reverting to grimace. "If it's THAT bad, I'd be willing to do it over. Whatsay we start with me back at the edge of the meadow, lad, and take it from there?"

From afar, Rowan presumes recognise?
Rowan pages: Hey, grammar.
Long distance to Rowan: Weatherwax noddles.

Voice-of-Accord goes limp and still again, breathing ragged and uneven as her eyes flicker closed.

From afar, Voice-of-Accord plays possum.

"Sorry, t'ain't that easy, I'm afraid," the young man says, cheerfully enough, and tosses a shrug at Andreas. "It's the way the cookie crumbles."

You paged Andreas with 'You glimpse his left arm: silver. Andreas has heard of an apparent youth with a silver arm who has led Corruptor's war bands all over the East Coast. He's been around at least half a century, never looking any older, and has hundreds in his personal body count. The story is that the silver arm was a Fianna fetish of great power, lost in the so-called Last Battle at the beginning of the Long Night.'.

Rowan hisses, "/Shift/" at Kelsey, and then just -glares- upwards, still struggling despite the net tightening more every moment. "Bitch," he spits, as he gets constricted.

Andreas pages: Just how, urm, stable, does the wolf on top of me look?

You paged Andreas with 'Stable. Very stable. Yes indeed.'.

Voice-of-Accord changes after an ominous moment, but only their close quarters tells Rowan the young woman is still breathing. She's not moving at all. Blood begins to soak through her clothes.
The woman either laughs or snorts at Rowan's outburst, it's hard to tell which. She looks over her shoulder and gestures to someone.

Rowan pages: Rowan is a silly sot. I would imagine he can't concentrate enough to do MT right now, yes?

You paged Rowan with 'Nope.'.

Rowan twists around enough in his prisonings to touch Kelsey, but he's far too panicked to be able to do anything whatsoever while he's touching her. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck," he mutters under his breath, while he tries to calm down and, in fact, fails completely to do so.

Andreas sinks his bald head back a little further into the muck, eyes wide with dismay. "I...I'm worth more to you alive."

"All caught up?" says a rough man's voice from beyond the edge of the pit. "Haul 'em up, 'Bane."

In response to this, the big woman gets bigger: an enormous, shaggy, black crinos reaches down into the pit and catches a thin strand of the net that slithers up to her hand. She begins to haul, the mud only grudgingly giving up the two Garou.

The sleek young man grins broadly. "That you are, my friend. If you'd like to remain that way, you will not resist when my closer friend here -" he pats the wolf's shoulder "- moves aside to let you up. I will be binding you. Understood?"

Andreas's voice cracks slightly as he says "Understood."

Kelsey continues to hang limply in the net like a dead body being fished from the bottom of a lake as they are heaved up and over the edge.

Rowan winces as he's hauled upwards, the general unease of being hauled around in a net not being made easier by it being silver, and he himself having spike holes in him. In fact, he's soon completely unable to talk at all, for gritting his teeth so hard.

Kelsey pages: I assume a) the mesh is tight enough to prevent a hand going through and b) it looks tough enough to hold a thrashing crinos?

Long distance to Kelsey: Weatherwax noddles.

One of Kelsey's eyes opens in a tiny slit, cold determination behind the oblique look she gives her fellow prisoner. Then the eye closes again.

<Mindspeak to Rowan> : Rowan gets a fleeting mental image of the net being removed from the pair of them, and Kelsey, apparently as limp as she is now, suddenly rising up and flailing out a hand towards the shadowy female figure holding the net--it's roughly the shape of the woman over them, but not very well-defined. The woman drops like a stone.

The wolf growls low once and then steps aside. The man with the silver arm reaches down and easily hauls Andreas to his feet by the front of his shirt. With a minimum of force, he yanks the pack off Andreas' back and pulls the bigger man's arms behind him. Silvery handcuffs glitter in the late afternoon sun as they snap around his wrists. The younger man mutters something over the cuffs and they snug up even more.

The crinos yanks them off the spikes with one fast movement and slams them onto the solid ground. A one-eyed man with an enormous battle axe watches the muddy and bloody bundle skeptically. "You kill 'em?" The crinos snarls a negative and he nods once in response.

Rowan shoots back a rather intense 'Hell yeah' sort of agreement, with a similar little mental image of Rowan diving for the woman's nether regions.

Rowan then slams into the ground with a whoosh of air, completely unable to formulate more thought after that.

Kelsey stifles a moan, perhaps not entirely successfully, as they're hauled out and thrown onto the hard ground. She remains limp, though, steeling herself to move only when and if the net is loosened.

Andreas squelches slightly as he shifts from foot to foot, seeming decidedly uninterested in the contents of the bundle.

Andreas pages: How many are there visible?

You paged Andreas with 'Four.'.

"Nice to see you again, Alder," calls the youth with the silver arm. "Afraid we have to take you and your friend on a little sightseeing tour." He signals the crinos, who slings the bundle over her shoulder with ease. Her fur reeks of gasoline fumes and other, even less pleasant things. Silver Arm pats Andreas on the shoulder companionably. "I think we have to make sure you move quickly too." With a lazy toss, he slings Andreas across the back of the wolf and lashes him there, face-down. "Let's move out, folks." He begins to run to the east, and the other three -- even those burdened with captives -- follow at an equal pace.

You paged Kelsey, Andreas, and Rowan with 'Anyone want to react, try anything, do anything, or shall I fast-forward somewhat? You could try banter with these folks, but the net and the cuffs are rather discouraging to action.'.

From afar, to Kelsey, Weatherwax, and Andreas, Rowan, currently, would just ooof and wince a lot, so go ahead.

Andreas pages to Kelsey, Weatherwax, and Rowan: I'd be sorta muffled, neh? Andreas will try to pull his thoughts together...please feel free to go on.

Kelsey pages to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan: Oh yah, fast forward. Sorry.

From afar, to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan, Kelsey is gonna keep playing possum until she thinks she has a chance to make a break for it, anyhow.

Several hours of uncomfortable galloping eastward and southward finally reaches a truck. The truck is very familiar to Rowan: a delivery van with a faded painting of an insipid cow on the side and "Miller's Dairy" arched over it. They are unceremoniously slung into the rear of the truck, where Andreas ends up on top of a half-devoured, several-days-old corpse. The wolf and the woman -- no longer in crinos -- get into the back as well. The doors close, leaving the lot of you shut into a stinking darkness.

Kelsey's hand finds Rowan's shoulder in the darkness and latches on. With the movement of the vehicle, it's hard to tell she's trembling.

The pounding of the engine and the stink of diesel fumes probably gives some of you a lovely headache. Whatever road you're on is rough, and the four of you -- Rowan, Kelsey, Andreas, and corpse -- roll around a fair amount, although cuffs and net remain tight. The wolf and the woman brace themselves grimly and watch you, their eyes glittering in brief glints of light from the doors.

Andreas pages: Okay, I'm going to try some Blood Magic. Heavens know there's enough blood's summer, and dealing with carrion is one of the things rats do. Do you think Andreas, with muttered chant and appeals to ancestors, could cause the corpse to putrefy even faster, enough that a disgusting trail gets left behind the truck?

You paged Andreas with 'Why yes! Yes he could!'.

Rowan finds some part of Kelsey -- a leg, in fact -- and also latches on. He's not trembling, quite, but there's so much tension there he might as well be. He's quite firmly avoiding any eye contact with anyone.

Andreas mutters to himself in the dark, alternately begging his ancestors for help and cursing them for letting him get in this fix.

Several hours go by. The corpse-reek grows until it at last forces the woman to rise and pop a small hatch open high on one side. No daylight comes through -- it is clearly night.

An hour or more after that, the truck grinds to a halt. A puff of black smoke backwashes through the hatch, and the woman tosses the doors open, hopping out. The wolf leaps out as well, padding a wide semi-circle outside. Silver Arm comes around with a grim smile, accompanied by the one-eyed man with the axe, and a fastidiously clean woman in a white jumpsuit and dark glasses. "I trust your ride was unpleasant?" the youth inquires briefly.

Rowan just smiles -- unpleasantly.

Kelsey makes a strained sort of gasping sound like dryheaves as the fumes briefly get past all her attempts to remain still and quiet. Cover blown, at least partly, her eyes flicker open and stare dazedly and unfocussedly outwards. She makes no attempt to get up, however.

From afar, to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan, Kelsey rolls 3 dice for her Slackjawed And Tharn impersonation.

Andreas moans softly, and tries to roll away from the corpse. "Least no one...sang. Hate that."

"I'll remember the 'Ninety-nine bottles o' beer' for the next trip," the one-eyed man says with a guffaw.

The woman in the white jumpsuit seems distracted. She pulls off her dark glasses, revealing smooth flesh underneath, and she says, distressed, "My truck! My beautiful truck! You slovens let the thing *rot* in *my* *truck*!"

The dark woman pats the other woman on the shoulder comfortingly. "It'll get cleaned up, Driver."

The man that Rowan knows as Argent grunts. "All right, let's get them out of there. I'm tired of hauling baggage. I want to get to the fun part."

Rowan just keeps smiling. It's just a bit not-quite-all-there.

Kelsey waits like a ragdoll, horrors bottled behind her eyes as she continues to pray for a chance, just one small chance, to lash out at them.

The woman snags her net -- and, coincidentally, the prisoners inside it -- and drags it out through a line of decayed ooze from the corpse. Argent grabs Andreas by the back of the shirt this time, and Andreas has one last close encounter with the dead man, close enough to see that the man's left eye has been plucked out, before he is pulled out onto the ground.

Rowan growls slightly, in his pain. "Not... /baggage/."

Andreas shudders all over, eyes scrunched tight, taking deep breaths in the slightly-cleaner air.

Andreas pages: How's the air smell? Are we still inland, or close enough to the coast to have that sea-tang?

You paged Andreas with 'You must've turned further inland, although you can smell swamp.'.

Argent barks a harsh laugh. "No, no, you're right. Not baggage. Too much information in there to be baggage." He glances over at Andreas and jerks a silver thumb his direction. "*He's* baggage."

The woman and the axe-wielder pick up Rowan and Kelsey and half-drag them toward, then through, a dripping cave opening. Argent hauls Andreas to his feet. "Follow," he orders, briefly. The wolf growls. The woman in the jumpsuit curses under her breath and replaces her dark glasses.

Andreas, looking very dubious about his status, ducks his head and enters the cave.

Rowan pages to Kelsey, Weatherwax, and Andreas: Er, logistics -- net etc still there? I'm assuming we can't really walk?

Kelsey pages to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan: Looks like it.

The cave tunnel is very dark, although the floor seems smooth -- so Andreas doesn't trip. The sounds of dripping are everywhere, and it's an unsavory sort of drip that ends in a vegetable-hitting-the-ground sort of sound. The scent of mildew is chokingly thick, and periodically, some miasmic breeze oozes outward from the depths of the cave. It is a lengthy walk -- or drag, for the Garou in the net -- and finally you are propelled into a torchlit room that is dry, smoky, and a little crowded.
"We've brought some," Argent announces. "Those're Garou. This one's not. Probably Kin. Maybe a Warper."

A very thin wisp of an elderly man steps out of the shadows and hands something to the woman. "Very good. Put these on their necks. It will keep their options... minimal."

The big woman seizes Rowan's hair through the net and barks a command in a nauseous language. The net releases and opens up, just around Rowan's neck, and with her free hand, she clamps a cold, metallic collar there. She repeats this operation with Kelsey.

Kelsey suddenly activates at the touch of cold metal, coherence returning to her eyes along with a sudden fire. "You -idiots," she spits into the woman's face. "You Gaia-fucking, asshole-backward, Quayle-brained -idiots-!" Her voice cracks against the pain of her injuries, then steadies again, all her anger channelled into scorn and disdainful outrage. "What stupid fuck is in charge of this operation?"

Rowan, perhaps as something resembling a respose, slumps as entire dead-weight in the woman's arms -- evidently trying, with all the 180-or-so pounds of himself he can muster, to overbalance her.

Andreas pages: What do the collars look like?

You paged Andreas with 'Silver, and they seem to forge themselves together as they clasp. Pop their heads clean off if they shift, quite possibly.'.

Andreas pages: Damn hard to chew through, too, I'd bet.

Long distance to Andreas: Weatherwax nodsnods. :)

From afar, Rowan presumes any knives etc Rowan had would have been taken away?

You paged Rowan with 'Not yet, but probably shortly.'.

Rowan pages: Oh AH. This should be entertaining, then.

The whip-like old man turns a thin, vaguely amused smile upon Kelsey. "Why, my dear, that would be me." The venom drips from every word.

The woman not-very-surreptitiously kicks Rowan for his passive resistance.

Rowan pages: Mind a knife into the works? It's theoretically up his sleeve.

You paged Rowan with 'Go ahead.'.

A small (but sharp!) knife slips into Rowan's hand from down his sleeve somewhere, and he stabs, rather gleefully all things considered, at the woman's stomach.

Kelsey starts to respond to the leader of the operation, fire in her eyes, but is distracted by the scuffle beside her. She gives Rowan an ungentle shove with her shoulder.

Andreas pages: Yow! Hello, fan blades...who's closest to me?

You paged Andreas with 'Argent is closest, standing slightly behind you and to your right.'.

The woman makes a small grunting noise as the knife punctures her belly. Hot blood spills out onto Rowan's hand, and the knife is wrenched from his grip as she spins abruptly away. She hisses and growls, plucking the blade out. Her fist lashes out, catching Rowan across the jaw and drawing a cinematic trace of blood from the corner of his mouth.

The old man watches with narrowed eyes.

The Dancer, shoved and roundhoused /and/ still stuck in the net, lurches sideways, not helping Kelsey's balance at all, and then just plain falls on the woman, trying, at the least, to make a virtue out of necessity and get some kind of a grip on her.

Andreas flinches, instinctively moving away from the tangle of net and bodies.

Andreas pages: Watching reactions--how are the old man and Argent feeling about this?

You paged Andreas with 'Argent is vaguely concerned. The old man doesn't think much of the show.'.

Kelsey stumbles and falls to one knee, failing to assist Rowan in his endeavor in the slightest. Snarling, she reaches around and fishes for the edge of one of Rowan's wounds, digging in with fingernails. "Hold still," she hisses through her teeth, "or I open you up -now-, little Dancer."

Rowan freezes completely, a slightly wildeyed look coming into his eyes as he stares at Kelsey.

The old man watches for a long, long moment. Then he snaps something in a language that sounds Slavic or Russian or something, and the woman pushes Rowan off her and steps away, slipping into Glabro to regenerate. She mutters something that sounds like she has a mouthful of marbles, and the net slithers off the pair into her hands. Shadowy people make their presence known, even if they do not emerge into the full light. Argent's hand closes on Andreas' shoulder.

Long distance to Andreas: Weatherwax |Argent leans close. "Cute. Very cute. Wonder how long she'll last." He whispers so that only Andreas can hear.

Kelsey looks down at Rowan with a grim smile. 'That's better," she says coolly. Then she tosses her head and turns to face the others, chin raised and voice mocking enough to curdle water. All pretense at shellshock is gone. It's hard to even remember the passive, limp figure of just a few moments ago. She fixes a chilling gaze on the old man as if he were a busboy who'd just banged her suitcase against the elevator door, somehow managing an intimidating presence in spite of the collar and net. "I've been trying to contact you for weeks. You could've simply -asked-, you know."

Kelsey pages to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan: Persuasion, Aura of Confidence, Pure Breed... Kel's strutting everything she's got.

Rowan, any plan he had entirely forgotten, just lets his jaw drop slightly.

The left corner of the old man's mouth curls upward, briefly. There might even have been a glint of fang there. "Have you indeed?" he inquires. His right hand makes a gesture, and two muscular types come forward and strip Rowan's shirt off, then pat down his legs to make sure there aren't any other "surprises." Argent takes this opportunity to treat Andreas similarly. The old man watches Kelsey.

Kelsey storms on, "But now you've blown my cover, and taken my best informant to boot." Rowan receives a scornful glance. "Knight in shining armor, that one. Do you have any fucking clue who I am? No, of course not. Maim first, think after." She continues glaring daggers at the old man.

Rowan, in fact, has another knife strapped to his leg, and watches it leave mournfully.

Andreas takes the searching stoically, only sighing once as the fifth and final knife is found and discarded. His eyes are watching a spot on the wall about halfway between Kelsey and the entrance.

"This is my domain," the old man snaps. He has it too: Pure Breed, Rank, a mess of hidden power... did I mention Rank?

Argent pats Andreas on the shoulder with what might be construed as affection. "Nice blades," he murmurs.

Andreas gives Argent a little grunt. "Some people collect coins..."

Kelsey rises smoothly to her feet, still staring at the fellow for a moment before her gaze falters and drops. Reluctantly, still with a certain eloquence, she flashes throat to him. "In that case, rhya," she says in a tone now barely respectful, edged with sullenness, "Kelsey Eisenmann. Galliard. Shadow Lord. I've been out of service for a few years." Again that alarming little laugh she's prone to spills out.

Rowan snaps his mouth closed, a hard, angry gleam moving to his eyes.

The old man raises an eyebrow, then breaks into a broad smile. The smile warms his whole face in a wholly unnatural, entirely unpleasant way. A murmur breaks out among the people lurking in the shadows.

You paged Andreas with 'Argent's hand tightens painfully on your shoulder. "The prophecy," he spits under his breath.'.

You paged Rowan with 'You overhear at least one mention of "the prophecy!" among the whispers and murmurs.'.

Kelsey mirrors the grin faintly with a certain prideful set to her shoulders, ignoring her wounds. But now she waits in silence, back straight, posture sure, presenting herself for visual inspection by the shadowy host gathered around.

Rowan pages: HS on, cap'n. Wanna hear more.

You paged Rowan with 'The prophecy!" "Did she really say that?" "It's all ours now." "We can lose that lousy screamer now. New screaming for us, yesyes." "Restore Grandfather?" "Feed us all."'.

Andreas looks back over his shoulder at the man with the silver arm and mumbles something.

Rowan's eyes narrow slightly, turning his head a bit.

From afar, Andreas murmurs just loud enough for Argent to hear, "You aren't going to tell me that my situation's gotten WORSE, are you?"

Rowan pages: Dominant smell/exits/sensory foo?

You paged Rowan with 'There's a lot of people here, and the exits seem to be blocked off. The scent among the people/Garou seems to be excitement.'.

You paged Andreas with 'Argent leans forward slightly, and Andreas can hear the smile. "Oh, no, no worries there. It might even have gotten a little better. We'll be awfully busy with her. You might even get a clean death."'.

The mob circles, prowling, inspecting Kelsey like a slab of meat. The old man stands there, his face lit up and his eyes dancing. Several older men and women move more into sight. After a long moment of careful study, several of them nod, and the old man makes another gesture with his right hand. The woman, still in Glabro, hovers directly behind Rowan. The wolf shifts upward toward Crinos and joins another Crinos in stepping forward to seize Kelsey by the arms and legs.

A terrible howling starts up, ear-piercing and bone-shaking. The mob closes, surges, and the two Crinos, holding tightly to the Shadow Lord, begin to run around the cavern at the head of the mob, shrieking and shouting. Kelsey is washed over after a few seconds of nearly smashing into stone walls by the mob. She surfaces, still gripped firmly, and submerges again. They're screaming and tearing at her.

Rowan and his guard, Andreas and Argent, and the old man remain where they were. The room is far larger than it first appeared.

Kelsey struggles a little and shifts into crinos, as she's hurled along the river of madness. Howling along with them--despair and delirium and delight sound so similar--she thrashes, occasionally attempting a swing at any head or chest that gets into range.

You paged Kelsey with 'You may want to change that pose slightly. As you attempt to shift up, the collar around your neck resists any attempt on your neck's part to grow. Go all the way to crinos and you may pop your head clean off.'.

Kelsey fails the shift, yes, but she still wrestles with the monsters boiling around her.

Kelsey pages to Weatherwax, Andreas, and Rowan: It's not entirely clear whether she's trying to escape, or just sort of trying to show she's got balls. Or maybe it's just flailing because one can't help but flail in those circumstances.

Rowan pages: Mrrrr. Glabro hurts a lot, one assumes?

Long distance to Rowan: Weatherwax nods.

The mob boils around the room, swamping Kelsey and letting her resurface periodically. The old man steeples his fingers and smiles, even less pleasantly than before.

Andreas wriggles against his cuffs, tunic stiffening with drying blood and ichor, as he tensely watches the gibbering horde.

Rowan bulges up into glabro, without any conscious control, glaring at the mob heatedly -- and then he starts choking. But he can't, yet, force himself back down.

Finally, Kelsey is brought back to the old man and dumped at his feet. Her clothing is in tatters and blood is streaming from dozens of thin scratches. He bends swiftly and catches Kelsey's hair, drawing her head up. "We have immediate need of information and these," he gestures at Andreas and Rowan, "will provide that. You will help draw the information, or you will join them."

Kelsey bares her teeth, panting hard with a wild look in her eyes made wilder by the blood streaked across her face and her fine clothes torn to rags now. But she only bows her head and turns back towards the unlucky pair, a grim set to her jaw.

Andreas pages: Here's another effect you'll never see in a Harry Potter you think it would be possible for me to alter my blood so that it's a narcotic?

You paged Andreas with 'Mayyyybe. Somewhat. Mild, very mild.'.

Andreas pages: Yeah, it'd never beat Nyquil. Anything to slow them down, though.

Rowan is busily choking still, so he doesn't get to glare at her quite as intently as he might have before.

Kelsey stalks towards Rowan first, arms folded, face cold. "Well. Perhaps some introductions are in order first, -Spiral Dancer-." She touches the unicorn pendant at her throat and caresses it absently with a finger. The crystal is stained now with her own blood.

Rowan bares his teeth and just barely keeps a hold of himself. Barely. From the way he's grinding his teeth, it's a close thing. He doesn't bother to answer -- or maybe he's just still choking.

Kelsey closes within range of Rowan's arms with a lunge and cranks back for a sideswing, aiming for his jaw with her fist. "Your -name-!"

From afar, to Weatherwax and Rowan, Kelsey attempts Falling Touch.

Andreas's eyebrow arches up, in unconscious reflection of the old man's expression a while before.

When Kelsey clocks Rowan, he flies a good eight feet backward off his knees. The big woman sidesteps the flight, and then steps in quickly to grab Rowan by the front of his pants at the waistband and haul him upright. He's still conscious, with a bruise on his jaw and on the back of his head.

You paged Andreas with 'Argent laughs in a very low, disturbing way that sets the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.'.

Andreas pages: It's a strange and bad feeling to be the sanest person in a room. Rowan's close, but look who he hangs out with!

Long distance to Andreas: Weatherwax snickers! :)

Rowan, hauled upright, is in glabro and getting even less coherent by the moment. ~Fuck /you/,~ he snarls, ~That's my name!~ It's several long breaths before he can even think, let alone do anything, and then he glares at the woman. By that glare, somehow, he manages to gain some semblance of calm. ~Alder. Ain't you heard that before?~

The old man gestures to Argent. "Okay, boys and girls," the silver-armed youth says cheerfully, "it's time we're off to the real torture chamber. They've got business with *this* room!"

Kelsey smiles tightly at Rowan and starts to reply, but Argent's words cut short her response. Her hands clench into fists instinctively. Then she flexes her fingers. "Good. I can't fucking get anything out of him without claws," she mutters.

Argent's words snap Andreas out of what looks like a state of shock. He nods, pale, and waits to be steered to the next room.

"Oh," Argent says, almost singing, "we've got *much* more interesting things than *claws* to play with." He casually pats Andreas on the behind to get him moving in the right direction, even while his other hand remains locked on his shoulder. The woman yanks Rowan to his feet by an iron grip on his upper arm and shoves him ahead of her. The wolf, back in its pony-sized lupus form, moves up behind Kelsey and growls to move her in the right direction as well, toward a small, dark doorway hung with what looks like a human skin.

Rowan can't help but snarl at the woman, but he does move -- slowly.

Kelsey makes a theatrical "lead the way" gesture at the humungous wolf, then sets a hand on its back and starts in the direction indicated.

Andreas casts one last look over his shoulder at the way out, and is propelled down into the darkness.