Aleksandra Makarov ❅ Maržanna (![]() ![]() @ 2011-12-01 20:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | jormungandr, marzanna |
Holy Water Cannot Help You Now
Who: Juliet/Marzanna & Adam/Jorgamundr
What: HALLOWEEN PROMPT
When: October 31st, following this.
Where: Parking lot of CASKET, followed by the streets of Newport
Warnings: Descriptive violence and gore.
Notes: The Sluagh were a horde of evil spirits who are after the souls of people on their deathbeds. Sometimes they were seen as sinners, or generally evil people who were welcome in neither heaven nor hell, nor in the Pagan Otherworld, who had also been rejected by the Pagan deities and the earth itself. Whichever the underlying belief, they are almost always depicted as troublesome and destructive. They were seen to fly in groups like flocks of birds, coming from the west, and were known to try to enter the house of a dying person in an effort to carry the soul away with them. West-facing windows were sometimes kept closed to keep them out. Some consider the Sluagh to also carry with them the souls of innocent people who were kidnapped by these destructive spirits.Also, this is a hella late ass GDoc placeholder. That is now complete.
Juliet continued her slow pacing in the parking lot, doing her best to breath deeply but carefully. Fingers probed at her chest, ensuring that bones and organs seemed intact, though only a hypochondriac would be paranoid to think that her sudden influx of phobia had any other physical effect on her body. She had made it all the way to the street, and had turned on her heel to head back into the party to find Nathaniel when she paused, taking a moment to look up at the night sky.
The stars were much more visible in Nevada, out in the desert with such little street lights. Here, she could pick out a few constellations, but for the most part, found herself missing the ones that she and her siblings would discover on family camping trips. Juliet suddenly missed her siblings and her parents, but never did she regret moving to this city. Instead, she gave one last gently heaved sigh and turned to head back through the labyrinth of vehicles to the door leading inside the club.
As she came around the backside of a rather large and unnecessary Humvee, she nearly ran straight into another patron who was either just entering the club, or was on his way out as she had been.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, I, uh, sorry,” was her fervent response to backing away, hands quickly moving to smooth down her errant hair, which surely looked a sight after her sudden rampage to get out of the club.
Adam looked little better. He could not quite recall what had brought him to the club, nor what instinct had urged him to go wandering about its exterior at so questionable an hour. Alex was nowhere to be seen, and for his own part, he was bereft of anything remotely resembling a costume. More, he knew few of the clubgoers, and upon arriving at CASKET, had found himself adrift in a sea of strange faces. It had been an uncomfortable sensation. But all these things had meant nothing against the latent pull he had felt - Jörmungandr, something in him said, though he dismissed this as folly, praying it was not something worse.
“No problem,” he said, hands raised, palms up, as if to ward off her pseudo attack. He blinked, dark lashes batting almost doeishly as he roused himself from his unusual torpor. He regarded her more closely, then. It was clear she was upset; Adam grasped at the chance to act, to put this scenario into a familiar framework. Perhaps he might be of some use to someone tonight after all.
“Are you alright?” he asked. He gestured somewhat vaguely to her dishevelled appearance, meaning more her subtle breathlessness than anything else. Uncertain if the gesture fell flat - or worse, seemed somehow creepy or untoward - he added, “I’m a paramedic, is why I ask... are you okay?”
A tiny smile crossed her face, either a facade to reassure this stranger that she was fine or a true gratefulness for his concern; perhaps both, but she pulled her hands down (no use to her hair now, she’d need a brush) to her sides, her mind immediately going to the stain on her shirt.
“I’m fine, really, thank you, I just...needed some air.” The explanation was as good as any. He looked to be having about as successful an evening as she, so sympathy was immediately adopted. Perhaps it would be better to stay outside a moment longer - the building, yes, that was the explanation, the building itself had such a strange effect on her, after all. Juliet was in no rush to bring her fears back to light, despite her worry about Nathaniel.
“Trouble...breathing, is all. It was...kind of stuffy, in the club. But you would know, since you just came from there...” Her words were slow and misshaped, showing her still erratic thought process despite her calm demeanor (and trashed appearance). “Did you see...I don’t suppose you saw anyone at the door? A man in a suit?” It had felt like Nathaniel was following her, that black cloud he had become - but maybe it had just been another trick of her mind. It never hurt to ask.
Adam let her have her excuses; it would do neither of them good for him to pry. Instead he contented himself with a closer study of her, committing to memory the symptoms she seemed to exhibit. He prayed such knowledge would not prove necessary, now or later. He cast a glance behind him, as if someone might somehow be approaching that his companion would not see. Unsurprisingly, there was no-one in sight.
“I don’t think so,” he said, hedging a bit; he had hardly been the most observant creature as he had exited the club, after all. His brow furrowed, concern casting its shadow across his pale face. “Is someone following you?”
“No, I...I don’t think so. I just. I lost my date, that’s all. I should probably go look for him,” she quickly explained, unsure about describing what exactly she’d seen within the club itself. The man in front of her might have been suited to remedy physical ailments, but there would be no explanation for her imagined ‘black cloud’; in the end, Juliet had no desire to cause this man to think strangely of her. Instead she gave him another smile, and began to walk around him. Adam proceeded in the opposing direction, giving a slight goodbye as though he was unsure of what else to say.
Just as she’d gotten parallel to where he was standing, on his right side, another woman appeared behind him. Long blond locks tumbled around her shoulders, pale skin vivid under the little light offered by street lamps; her head was bowed, hiding her face in shadow. Her clothes, in contrast to her skin and hair, were nearly in tatters, perhaps speaking of some kind of zombie costume lacking the makeup. Behind her was a man, and suddenly to Juliet’s left another man stepped forward, both dressed similarly to the first. The most disconcerting thing that Little Red Riding Hood noticed, though, was that none of their feet touched the ground. Her eyes widened in fear, unconsciously taking a step toward the man she’d only briefly met, as though he would continue his offer of help, now that it was most certainly wanted.
Adam soon closed the distance between them, noting as she had the appearance of the strange newcomers. He’d had no alcohol at the party, and no drugs of any kind, and knew that even if he had they’d have had no effect; there was, therefore, no natural or reasonable explanation for what he saw before them. His black eyes widened, seeking wires or lifts or any other source for the apparent illusion. Finding none, he found himself more disconcerted than before. He brushed close against Juliet, seeking the comfort of touch, familiar or otherwise.
“He’s not your date, I assume.” There was a hopeful, teasing note to his tone, though Adam felt no hint of either; Juliet shook her head slowly, eyes flicking between the barriers that kept her from moving back inside of the club. A cold and feral sort of fear had coiled in his belly, telling him to flee, to seek shelter, preferably well within view of witnesses. But he could not bear the thought of leaving this woman, stranger though she was, to the mercy of these odd revenants. For a fleeting instant he wished he were one of those storied, ever-prepared kinds of men, eternal Boy Scouts with ready weapons and ingrained ingenuity always close at hand. Instead he had only a cell phone - his pale thumb sliding over its face, ready to make a likely useless call. Who would even begin to respond to such an unusual - and thus far, not overtly dangerous - scenario?
Lacking any reasonable course of action, Adam slid his hands away from his phone, hands up, palms out, in a clearly placating gesture. It somewhat hid his more languid motion, a small step that put him just in front of Juliet, standing between her and their uninvited guests. “Sorry if we interrupted anything,” he said, feeling patently ridiculous the moment the words passed his lips. “We’ll just get out of your way...”
She tried to stay within a fingers’ breadth of where the man was, instantly expecting him to offer some sort of shield between her and these...whatever they were. No sounds, no movements, nothing especially threatening had occurred and already Juliet felt as though she were being stalked - it was only a matter of time before the attack would occur. Her heart sped up, no where near the acceleration it surpassed while fighting for air inside of the club, but enough to make it nearly climb her throat in an escape attempt. Slowly, she put a hand out to brush the man’s shoulder, trying to draw him back and away from the confrontational people around them.
The blond woman’s head rose, strands of hair falling aside to reveal a face contorted with vitriol. Mimicking her decision, the men looked up, the one closest to Juliet moving forward in a quick, jerked motion. She gave a little yelp, jumping away from him and toward the man, her eyes going dinner-plate wide in her skull.
“Maybe...maybe we should just run?” The words were hurried and whispered, meant for her assumed protector’s ears alone, but perhaps the hearing of the others was sharper, for the man nearest to her jerked forward again, gliding across the ground with little effort. His hand (Were those talons instead of nails? Surely it was the lack of light, a Halloween costume) curled around Juliet’s bicep to pull her backward, another grabbing a fistful of her hair to lead her head into exposing her throat. She screamed, hands flying upward to grab at the hand pulling at her sensitive scalp, feet kicking up gravel. While she contended with that stranger, the blond woman flew forward at Adam.
He acted on instinct, sidestepping to attempt to evade her attack. His reflexes, honed as much by years of bullying as by the nature of his work, served him well; he did not catch the worst of the blow, but he felt well enough the razor talons that clawed their way down his twisting arm. It was madness that his first thought was of his tattoos, fearing their damage, their unseemly scarring, even as he watched his shirtsleeve unzipped by that touch. He offered up a prayer, foolish and unheard though it must have been, and again moved back toward the girl. It occurred to Adam, then, that he did not even know her name, and so had nothing to shout as he rushed to free her from that violent grip. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but no sound came. In an instant the woman had fallen upon him, her hand clawing at the back of his shirt, tearing it to tatters. All that issued forth from his lips was a serpentine hiss, pain and fear and an uncharacteristic anger pulsing through him like venom through a wound. Beneath the rapidly shredding material of his clothes he felt his skin begin to harden, growing warm and dry with a sensation he knew should not feel so familiar. He looked to Juliet, as if she might have an answer to the question left unasked.
Eyes were floundering for some kind of escape, the hope of the man coming to her rescue destroyed the moment the other creature attacked. She struggled with the grip on her hair, feet trying to rise up on tip toe in order to soothe the pain caused therein. It was a different sort of pain than the one she was used to - this was sharp and hot, not the dull, creeping pain of freezing to death. The slow, careful ache that spread, starting in her feet and then moving up through her legs. The sensation was starting now, sliding through her form, calming all other feelings. The tugging of her hair ceased to cause her any discomfort, and a thin sheet of frost covered her arms, spread through her hair. Fat evaporated from under her skin, shifting limbs to sticks that barely seemed to convey any strength at all. That was the deception.
Dead eyes looked up to meet the man’s, feeling his fear. Teeth gritting beneath chapped lips, Marzanna’s skeletal fingers released the hold they’d had on the creature’s grip in her hair, instead sinking her nails into its hand on her bicep; the creature howled in pain, and released. She jerked forward, letting a large clump of hair be ripped from her scalp; shambling forward, she seemed awkward in her movements, as though her joints weren’t bending correctly.
“Release him,” she hissed at the blonde woman, who seemed taken aback at the shift in character (not to mention appearance) of the previously mousy woman.
The vision of her partner’s flesh rent beneath her nails was clearly an effective one to the blonde wraith. Her grip grew lax beneath Marzanna’s burning gaze, and soon there was nothing for her to clasp at all. As the danger they faced waxed Adam had receded; in Marzanna’s wake, Jörmungandr had appeared. The serpent collapsed to the ground, coiling upon himself in a tangle of thick and leafy scales. By slow degrees he began to grow, his hooded eyes never leaving his would-be protector’s.
Thank you.
Larger he grew, his smiling jaw hinging open, revealing the curved ivory fangs within. He slithered backward, toward Marzanna, his body raising from the ground. Get away, he sent, a warning to their attackers, the only vocalized warning a low and threatening hiss. But the blonde, difficult to dissuade overlong, began to step closer; his jaw swung wider still, a drop of venom clear as glass dripping from fang to pavement. The ground steamed beneath that poison, black asphalt melting to a pool where it had fallen.
A cant of her head would have to suffice in acknowledgement of his gratitude, as Marzanna turned her focus on the scavenger in question. Her face, once lovely in its mortal form, was a sunken thing of frozen flesh, and it curled in loathing for these creatures. They would steal what did not rightfully belong to them, trapping poor souls and keeping them away from their well-earned rest in her husband’s kingdom. For so long Marzanna had been collecting souls and taking them home, thus she had no pity to spare for these sinners. Shrivelled lips curled back from blackened teeth, and she advanced toward the woman just as she moved forward as well.
“This is not your place,” her voice crackled in the air, the sound of ice breaking, her breath (what little there was left of it) spewing out in a cumulus that weaved through the air. The blonde was unheeding, giving out a loud shriek before flying at the corpse, intent on destroying the threat before it could destroy her. The blonde’s companions watched from the sidelines, the injured one clutching his hand like a child who’d been struck. The other, however, was less shy, and turned his attention on the serpent, his face shifting into a mask of hate.
Jörmungandr met this searing wrath with an impassive expression, green eyes open and glinting in the face of destruction. This was not how it was meant to be; this was not his end. And so it would not be. He felt that certainty to the very core of his being, resonant and pure, a knowledge these creatures could not take from him. He rose up, higher now, his thick body sliding on the pavement with a sound like dried leaves in the wind. In a single, quick motion he struck out, clearly lower than the creature had expected. His fangs sank wetly into the man’s leg, eight inches of hard bone piercing through flesh, through muscle, through thick artery. The taste of blood filled his mouth, surprisingly more pleasant than he recalled. Not trusting to the weaknesses of mortals alone, Jörmungandr let his poison spill into the wound, pouring from fangs digging ever deeper into his would-be killer’s shape. Blows rained down upon him from above. His victim began at his spine, working steadily, frantically upward in an effort to shatter the serpent’s skull, to put out his eyes. So Jörmungandr closed them, twisting his head, deepening the wounds he had made, and rode out the punishing strikes.
Soon his prey began to slow, each pounding fist coming slightly softer, more languid than before. He risked opening one emerald eye, looking over to see how fared his companion. The corpse and the scavenger wasted little time in becoming entangled, Marzanna’s clawed fingers hooked into the flesh of the blonde’s face, while the blonde struggled to pull away. Perhaps in their mortal forms, the deities had proved to be less trouble than they were worth now, but the pack of Sluagh would quickly be torn to ribbons if they persisted in their folly. The third of the party realized this, and quickly turned on his heel to disappear into the shadows from where they’d come. Marzanna was unwilling to let the woman go, and her nails dug into the soft flesh of the blonde’s cheeks, tearing them away to reveal the cavity of her mouth beneath.
Nothing but a hiss escaped from the dead woman’s mouth, though whether it was of dislike or pleasure at the other’s destruction was anyone’s guess. Wrapping her hand in the woman’s hair, holding fast as the blonde continued to seek escape, her hand moved to what had been blue eyes in a rather beautiful face. Her fingers dug into the eye hole; blood gushed down the white skin, coating Marzanna’s frozen hand.
Emboldened by his partner’s progress, Jörmungandr redoubled his attack. His victim struggled, only to entangle himself all the deeper in the serpent’s thick coils. As his body had wrapped around the roots of Yggdrasil, so now it twisted around the Sluagh’s legs, tightening until he could feel, could hear, the creaking of joints giving way beneath the immense pressure. Something broke, tearing through skin; distantly Adam stirred, unused to causing such pain rather than alleviating it. Jörmungandr twisted, forcing his host’s spirit further down. Slowly he withdrew his fangs from the creature, but only for so long as it took to raise his head. In a moment he struck at the being’s throat, fresh venom pulsing into a new, ropelike vein.
An eye popped, viscous liquid running down to join the gouts of blood as the blonde screamed in agony. She attempted to beat at Marzanna, but the corpse had the scavenger kneeling on the ground, nearly crumpled to the pavement of the parking lot. Her thumb dug deeper, seeking a killing blow for the creature she so loathed. The other hand released from the blonde’s curly locks, fingers twisting into the mouth, finding an easy handle between the jaw and the now rent open cheeks. With a quick jerk, she dislocated the jaw from the mouth, and another movement ripped it away entirely - Marzanna threw it behind her like the garbage she considered it to be, unconcerned by the carnage she was currently performing. Juliet would be shocked to know what her form was being used for, but the goddess gave no mind to what her mortal form would care; the blonde slid down entirely the floor, any sort of life entirely extinguished.
Finally she took in the gore on her hands, wrinkling her nose and face in distaste. As much as she disliked water, the deity knew it would be necessary to clean herself. It was bad enough that she suffered from difficult joints due to her freezing, she had no desire to become caked with filth as well. Undoubtedly her husband would dislike such a turn as well. Hands held palm up in the air as though to preserve them from further blemishes, her gaze moved to the serpent wrapped around their last attacker, who looked to be near finished with this plane of existence as well. Marzanna waited, politely, until her companion was finished.
Jörmungandr approved of her patience. It had been too long since he had felt death in his grasp; too long since he had felt a beating heart slow, then stop, in his unyielding embrace. He flexed bodily around the corpse, lowering it almost lovingly to the ground. Hard scales caressed every inch of flesh as he released the body, stealing away its warmth. His tongue flicked out, catching the scent of bodies and blood, and the unmistakable stench of fear.
They will come soon.
He looked back to the club, his eyes gleaming like jewels as they caught the light. Someone will leave, and find the corpses. We should be gone.
“Yes, I agree. And I need to wash - I do not wish my mortal to discover this...part of her, at least not like this. I suspect it would harm more than help.” Her eyes scanned the area around them, finding all of it to be confusing, not at all like the winter forests she was so used to. A long time ago, she cursed those frozen trees, and now she wished for nothing more but to have them back. But now was not the time to linger on past desires, not with such pressing matters to attend to. Not meaning to be rude, but Marzanna walked around the building, though venturing no closer than necessary - the bright lights and noise proved disquieting, but she was seeking a well or stream or some other source of water that would allow her to cleanse herself of the filth caking her hands.
Into an alleyway, the space between the club from where her mortal had come and the next building over, she found a long, green-colored tube that dripped the liquid she was looking for. Picking up the mouth end gingerly, she up-ended it, but no further water emerged; after a moment of thought, she turned the facet handle and water came gushing out, washing away the blood. Putting things back to rights, as she had found them (she never liked to leave a trail), she looked for her companion.
“Shall we?” She motioned to the sidewalk, assuming that they would take their leave on foot.
Jörmungandr availed himself of the water pooling at her feet, splashing the bulk of the evidence from his scales. As in his last transformation, there was no way of knowing when his human host would push back through, or in what condition his consciousness would arrive. It would behoove him, Jörmungandr knew, to be well away from the scene of the crime when the time came. So he fell into step, such as it was, behind his partner in crime, and together they left under cover of dark.