fistsofjustice | @makehistoria

Stocke has to wait for night to keep chasing down his target. It's a fact of life, like humans are unable to pass through walls; still, sometimes Stocke thinks he understands how limited the poor things feel. The vengeance he's been sold itches at him, and if he doesn't get to it in time...

Still, the shade must admit: constrained as being solid feels, it has its uses. Say, climbing a height he can't levitate up, even if he needs to make himself thick claws to match up to the rock wall. He looks up, eyes narrowed; nearly there, and the rock ledge above's shielding him from the remnants of light in the sky.

(...yeah, alright, maybe he hadn't been able to wait all the way up to nightfall. It's better than losing a vengeance he's been sold.)

Stocke heaves himself over the edge - and immediately finds himself face-to-face with a human. 'Target' peals in his head; the shade jerks into his true form, looming over the man, and hisses softly. Then he pauses, taking a second look.

Slowly, the tendrils at his back start to lash back and forth. Stocke yanks his static down into the awkward chords of human speech. He's almost incongruously relaxed when he remarks, "Looks like I'm fashionably late," but there's venom hidden in it.

Had he waited another hour or two, Amelia would be fast asleep, but she decides to check on the human one last time, in case he wants to show remorse instead of going through another harsh, cold night. Her nest is a cave almost at the top of the cliff, giving her a fine view of her prisoner, and her feathers fluff up in alarm when she spots the dark form looming against the twilight. Invader! A filthy thief!

The she realizes the thief isn’t just shadowed, they are a shadow, and her scowl deepens. What’s a shade doing here? Amelia had occasionally dealt with monsters trying to steal from her, especially gargoyles on fog days, but never shades.

Well, whatever. This first shade is going to be the last. Amelia screeches - a warning sound - and dives, wings clamping down with the whomp of compressed air.

“Hold it right there!”

Stocke's head jerks up; his top set of eyes narrows, while the larger two remain relaxed. A harpy, huh? He can't say he's had many dealings with them - despite his appearance, he's pretty young for both a shade and for a monster in general. That said, he knows enough of them to not be very surprised this is one's nest.

The shade crosses his arms, impassive, and kicks back to hover just above the ledge; she'll need to pull out light to worry him rather than loud noises. "Yes?"

There's a ticking, irritated noise held silent at the back of his throat: obviously she couldn't have known, probably was just hungry and grabbed what first came to hand. But she's made a dent in a vengeance that was supposed to be his.

Amelia lands on the ledge, right in front of the human. She’d much rather land someplace higher - she has to look up to meet the glowing eyes, and it grates on her nerves - but even if the shade can supposedly go right through her, instinct tells her to guard the prey. Her tail fans behind her and she puffs up, wings spread to their full span.

“Don’t play innocent,” she says, hands on her hips, chin thrust out. “This is my prey and you’re trespassing.”

The shade's tendrils flicker crossly. "I have prior claim. He's been bought and sold already, paid for with a soul."

He.... he doesn't answer the accusation of trespassing, though, just stretches a little taller to keep an eye on the human himself.

Amelia stretches her wings higher to hide the human. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, but while a harpy’s gaze is fierce and threatening in light, but with the last rays of sun disappearing quickly behind the horizon make her look more like a short-sighted chick (darn it, she should have taken a light first, but she was so pissed).

“I don’t know anything about that kind of deals.” Amelia wants to be honorable, but it’s not like the shade can prove it. Even if he has no reason to come all the way out here and lie, even if she only needs the meat, once she caught him it’s her right to make sure justice will be served. “You can’t have him. He hasn’t shown remorse yet.”

The irritated noise in the back of Stocke's throat grows louder in volume. "Trent Ashbane. Victim of assault, blackmail, extortion. His family, meanwhile: Jenna Ashbane, victim of assault, murder. Michael Ashbane..." The shade ticks off a short list, lifting one claw per crime - he's forced to shapeshift a few extra fingers to count them all. Then he leans forward, a jagged white line of light starting to grow where his mouth should be. "Can you say your claim is better than his? It's my duty to make this one show remorse." Not yours.

Stocke... doesn't actually wait for her to respond, though, hypocrite that he is. In truth, much of a deal as he may make of it, it's not the reason for the vengeance that matters much to a shade; a revenge for a stolen trinket counts the same as a revenge for murder. It's the vengeance itself that he cares about, and Stocke will remember those names only for as long as it takes to carry it out.

The shade steps straight through Amelia, wisping into shadow, and into the man's body to possess him.

Amelia's scowl deepens the more she listens. Okay, maybe she doesn't know every little detail of the man's crime, but she's the one who actually caught him and stopped him from doing more crimes - how's THAT for a claim, you dumb shade!

"Maybe if you were more concerned with acting rather than memori - ah - "

Cold and static tear through her body when Stocke phases through, enough to momentarily stop her breath. It hurts, too, tingling pain from head to the tips of her fingers, her wings, even the tail. She hardly understands what's going on until something jerks behind her and she turns to see the man's body move like it hasn't moved in days.

Amelia lunges to grab the human. She not see so well in the dark, but let's see how much the shade can do with a blind, starved body.

The answer is... reasonably well, considering. The plucked-out eyes are most of what Stocke's furious about, so of course he remembers to plan for them - and a shade's senses are half based on souls besides. He can aim for Amelia by that, memory, and sound.

Starved, not so much. It wouldn't help even if the man were in peak condition, human as he is; this is an extra handicap, and Stocke doesn't want to push him to breaking point quite yet. Any fighting back will be weak.

Even so: unless Amelia's quick in ducking aside, she's getting punched in the face.

Whether or not Stocke misses, the shade will drawl dryly, "Acting enough for you?" It sounds odd, in the man's voice - there's a low hum in the back of his throat between each word, as if Stocke's trying to imitate his own static. If he did hit, he'll shake off the man's hand and start moving toward the edge of the cliff.

Edited Date: 2016-07-06 05:10 am (UTC)

Weak or not, the punch is shocking enough to stop Amelia. She yelps and brings a hand to shield her face. Harpies have delicate bones, and even a weak blow is enough to make her dizzy, not to mention the tips of her body still tingle with static. By the time she recovers, the possessed human already shuffles past her toward the edge.

"You - "

He wants to run? Then she will help him. Amelia holds a hand out, palm turned toward the human, and a vicious gust of wind throws him into empty air. Maybe that'll get the shade out of his body. She takes off a moment later, hoping her speed and wind magic will help her to catch the prey alive again. Even if she misses in the dark, she'd rather splatter his body on the rocks than let the shade have his soul.

The human's empty sockets snap wide open as he's flung out into thin air. Stocke didn't plan for such an assault - he's forced to peel himself halfway out of the human to see where he's falling.

After a moment, though, his eyes slant as if pleased. No, he can work with this.

The shade yanks the rest of the way free, letting the man fall alone, to slam solid into Amelia in mid-air. It's entirely possible she gets in a good hit or two with her talons, and he doesn't fight back - but he does push off her, throwing himself down and dissolving back into intangibility. His intention was only to shake her flight and slow her momentum.

For a moment it looks like the human will splatter on the rocks - he's probably screaming, if he's in any state to do it - but Stocke's also used his shove off the harpy to speed his own fall. He catches up in time to break back into the physical world, snaring his claws around the man's middle, and slow them with telekinesis. Then he darts off just above the ground's surface.

And yet - there's nothing he can really do about Amelia's wind magic. He may not be expecting the harpy to move as fast as she actually can: if so, she'll be on his tail long before he gets to the patch of forest he's aiming for.

That was unexpected. Amelia swipes at the shade viciously, tearing whatever parts of him she can get her talons on, but there's little satisfaction in that and he breaks free soon enough. She screeches when he latches into the human, a sound of anger and pure frustration – he tricked her again! He's like the shades in stories, a cunning creature who uses underhanded methods to achieve his goals.

She can't allow him to get into the forest. She can fight him on the open, moonlit shore, but he's as good as gone once behind the trees. They're hard to maneuver around at night, she'll never find him in the dark.

Stocke may have gotten himself a head start, but his advantage disappears rapidly. A solid shade toting a half-dead body is no match for a harpy in the sky, with the wind at her command and righteous fury to spur her on. She catches up soon enough, and the wind howls terribly as it blows across the shore, focused mercilessly at Stocke and its cargo. Playing tug-of-war is pointless when the opponent can turn intangible and possess the prey. She'll have to separate them first, then catch the human and take to the sky where the shade can't reach.

Stocke twists around in mid-air to get a look back - and stiffens. So close already --

The wind jerks at him from all sides, and the shade starts up a quiet, crackling pattern of annoyance. He's shedding smoke on top of everything from where Amelia clawed him; this is exactly why he hates being solid.

He scrapes at the ground with telekinesis, snagging whatever he can - rocks, dirt, loosely-rooted plants, the occasional unfortunate insect. Then he throws the lot at Amelia. "Leave! He's mine." He's already doing the harpy a favor by not going after her for damaging his prey -

Suddenly a shot rings out. By some miracle it passes right between Stocke and Amelia rather than hitting either them or the human.

The shade's eyes go wide, startled; he freezes. He's planning to drop to the ground next, his momentum gone so he can avoid scraping across it, but Amelia's too close. Unless she has the presence of mind and reaction time to dodge aside, she'll bowl into him and the human he's holding.

Ugh, why does he have to be so stubborn (like she has any room to speak)? Amelia fends as many projectiles off as she can, weaving the wind expertly, and she grows angrier the more junk he flings at her.

"I will do no su – " Her yell dissolves into heavy cough. She can't block everything, and she gets sand in her eyes and a small, very confused crab down her throat. Amelia is still wiping dirt off her eyes when the shot rings out. Her heart skips a beat and when realizes the shade is in her path, it's already too late.

She barrels right into Stocke – monster and human roll on the ground, and the impact knocks the wind out of her. Amelia flaps her wings wildly, struggling to sit up. Her talons latch on to something, though she isn't sure whether it's the shade or the human or something else. Another bullets whistle past, and she stares around wild-eyes until she sees their lights, dancing about near the forest and coming closer.

" – hunters!"

It's Stocke. She's latched onto Stocke. Who would very definitely have something to say about this if he weren't worried about other things right now.

He curls over his human, trying to shove both of them to the ground and make them smaller targets, but Amelia's flapping jerks him back upright almost immediately. The shade's crackling goes a bit louder - if he didn't have the human with him, he'd be perfectly fine with vanishing into the shadows and leaving Amelia with the fallout. But right now that's not an option.

So what he does is yank back hard. If Amelia lets go, all for the better - she'll make an excellent decoy. If she doesn't, she'll probably go down with him, where he'll hiss in her ear, "Truce." Hunters first, then back to fighting.

No way is Amelia letting go. Even with the hunters looming by, she won't missed this chance, with her prey so close and the shade locked into solidness for once. She tumbles down when Stocke pulls, one wing pressed against the shade. It's weird and uncomfortable even in his solid state, more like condensed smoke than flesh.

Truce, he says, and her feathers fluff up. Amelia's first instinct is to refuse – the shade stole from her and attacked her, working with him is beneath her honor - but she hates hunters far more than thieves. "Agreed."

She can hear them shout now. Back on the sand, the human stirs and lifts his head, empty eye sockets staring ahead. The hope of rescue sharpens into one last burst of energy in his useless body, and he yells, "They're here, the harpy and another one, help - "

Stocke snaps into the man's body for a second time, cutting him off. Too late to avoid hunter attention, of course.

This leaves Stocke an excellent opportunity, though: stay in the human, pretend to really be him, and throw Amelia to the wolves. He wavers for half a moment -

...no. Much as it annoys him, he already agreed to a truce - what kind of bargain keeper would he be if his word was untrustworthy? No one would commit their vengeances to him, nor should they.

"Over here!" He yells, struggling upright in the man's body. And, more desperately, "Help, help, they're - no, let go of me -" He staggers off to the side. It's too dark for the hunters to see without aiming their flashlights properly, and Stocke pushes the human to his limits in terms of speed - far as they know, the monsters probably are dragging this poor bastard away.

She wishes she had the compelling voice. Her father had the song, and so does her sister, but Amelia wasn't gifted that way. She gets by just fine without it, most of the time, but it could be useful when dealing with hunters. She wouldn't have had to rely on a sneaky shade.

Her claws linger on the human's arm for a moment, digging in his flesh, before she lets go reluctantly. She'll have to trust Stocke to lure them away and not try anything funny.

Amelia crouches down in the sand, folding her wings close to her body. She has to fight the urge to fly off – as exposed as she feels on the ground, they'll shoot her if she takes off now, a large shadow against the moonlight.

She sinks even flatter when they hunters run closer. For a moment she's blinded by their flashlights, not knowing if they noticed her, but they run past her toward to voice. So far Stocke's plan is succeeding.

"I don't see them," one calls toward what he assumes is the innocent victim.

"Must've run like cowards," says another and spits in disdain. "Couldn't have gone far. Hey, you – which way did they go"

Edited Date: 2016-07-31 02:49 pm (UTC)

Stocke dropped the human's body first to his knees, then to his side as he heard the hunters draw closer - now he curls around some of the man's many scuffs and claw marks. There's heavy bruising where Stocke snatched him out of the sky, the shade notes.

The "human" raises his head as the hunters seem right on top of him. Pained: "I - I'm not sure, I can't -"

Stocke cuts off as one of the hunters turns a flashlight on the man's empty eye sockets. The shade goes still, but all the hunter does is let out a soft, angry snarl. It figures monsters would tear out eye-sockets. After a moment, the shade continues, "I think they went that way after they dropped me -" He motions vaguely away from Amelia.

The hunters confer, very shortly. Most start to spread out in a search pattern - one stays behind with Stocke to keep the human safe.

It's only another few seconds before the man grins oddly - Stocke's just had a thought. A way to keep the hunters busy and turn appropriate vengeance on his prey without Amelia's interference.

The hunter staying behind is looking away, on guard - Stocke reaches his puppet's hands to a corner of his ragged clothes, ripping some strips free and stuffing them in "his" mouth. Then he gathers himself together and leaps at the hunter guarding him.

The man lets out a startled exclamation and fights back, but Stocke is - again - uncaring of how much damage is done to him. It's not his body. It's purely because of that that he manages to bear the hunter to the ground - his opponent has a chance to shout, " - he's one of them! In disguise!" before toppling.

There's an easy to miss dart of shadow as Stocke abandons both his victims. His prey is left to let out muffled exclamations behind a mouthful of cloth, but not to proclaim his innocence to the hunters suddenly attacking him.

Stocke, meanwhile, himself peels out of the ground just behind Amelia and suggests innocently, "Planning to move while they're distracted?"

Amelia puffs up in rage, claws raking the sand. Crouched behind a low mound, she watches the hunters run back to gang up on her prey and barely stops herself from screaming. Her wings twich, muscles aching to take off and snatch him back.

She does squawk when Stocke appears behind her, startling her. Amelia turns around and glares at him. After he went to such lengths to steal the human alive, she hadn't expected him the shade to sacrifice him so readily.

I'm planning to kill them all, she wants to say, but decides to not grace him with a real answer. Instead she grumbles: "Don't act so smug. You just gave up a soul."

"If all I wanted was a soul, I'd have taken it at your nest." You see this shade? This is an incredibly smug shade. This is the best solution that could have come out of this, as far as he's concerned - he didn't break his word, he got to irritate the harpy, and still got his revenge. The man who took any job, uncaring of who he harmed in pursuit of it, is now being killed by a group of hunters, uncaring of who they harm in pursuit of monsters.

It's a twisted representation of circumstances that's probably only satisfying to a shade.

"I suggest you move before they start looking for the other monster. Or realize they haven't slain who they thought they did," the shade offers, just as innocently. Then he turns and starts drifting away.

Argh. If only he had the decency to be solid, she'd rip the words right through his stupid smug throat.

"This isn't over," Amelia hisses after him, needing to say the last word. She then takes off, casting bitter looks at the hunters. Later she would come back to see if they left the body there, but while the meat would sustain her, there'd be no satisfaction in eating.

She will get the shade back for this.

It was difficult to track the shade down, but Amelia didn't waver even once, determined to make things right. She will serve justice to the lowly thief who tricked and robbed her of her rights, no matter how long it takes. She couldn't neglect her other duties, either, and between punishing sinners and finding Stocke Amelia had little time to think about anything else.

Taking on the form of an innocuous songbird, she ventured to the cities to gather information. She delved deeper into the darkest pits of the human world (metaphorically and literally – Amelia often had to stay up to the wee hours) but as revolting as it was, her resolve was made of iron. Dead ends, sleepless nights, the unfathomable viciousness of humans, she endured it all until after a month, she finally found him: a shade from Vandare, with four eyes and flicking tendrils, who avenged humans in exchange for souls.

He was part of a group, congregating at a seedy bar ran by a demon. Amelia wasn't surprised - everyone knew demons had no honor to speak of. However his vengeance business seemed independent, and anyway she wasn't going to let a gang stop her from getting justice. If he was getting paid in souls, she'd make him go bankrupt.

Slow but steady, she began to whittle away at his clientele. Amelia's price was family treasures, fingers, ears, eyes – anything she could decorate her nest with. The humans always paled when they heard, but it was much cheaper than offering a soul.

It's unlikely that Stocke would be able to ignore it for long – especially after Amelia succeeds in making one human change her mind and break off her deal with him.

Edited Date: 2016-08-05 09:07 pm (UTC)

It takes Stocke a while to notice, in truth. Though he doesn't always take souls, especially when dealing with monsters, there's very little else humans can offer him - his business is thorough, vicious, arguably quality work (if that's the kind of thing you want to praise...) but doesn't often lead to repeat customers. And he has slow and fast periods as anyone else does.

Breaking an arranged deal off is another thing altogether. To do it Amelia would've had to interrupt a human already on the way, and Stocke in a slow time of business grows quickly curious about any delays.

Which means the shade's just in time to overhear Amelia bargaining.

For a moment Stocke's frozen in place; if he expected to ever hear from the harpy again, it wasn't something like this. His impression of Amelia was of someone far more likely to be direct in her anger. But then - then he's furious in return.

He can respect someone's urge to balance out a grudge, shade or not. But here's the second thing about vengeance, the reason he gets people selling to him: you have to be strong enough to carry the retribution out and get away with it. The shade's confident (cocky) enough to believe that Amelia isn't.

There's a rattling static snarl from the dark of the street. It's the only warning Amelia will get before she's interrupted mid-sentence by a roiling shadowy mass - a shade on the warpath shifts new limb after new limb as fast as a panicked heartbeat.

Amelia sales pitch is rather convincing. The human won't have to give her life, and the harpy will show her proof that justice was served – she's even willing to let the woman participate if she wishes. Stocke makes his appearance just before the woman's trembling hands bring the knife to her ear.

The sound of static makes Amelia's feathers stand, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance. She wanted him to notice, wanted to confront him eventually, but not at this moment.

The woman shrieks, grip tightening on the knife's hilt like it can help her, and stumbles until her back hits a wall. Amelia holds up a hand as if to calm her down and steps in front of her. It's a useless gesture if the shade decides to just run through her, but she doesn't intend to let him get so close. She knew they'd confront at night, and this time she came prepared.

"Step back! There's nothing for you here now."

Amelia pulls out the flashlight hidden in her belt, aims it right at Stocke and flicks it on. It's a quality flashlight, producing bright white light.

The shade flinches back immediately, several extra limbs puffing into smoke - then his snarl takes on a different edge. He stalks forward again, against the light.

He's moving slower, and he's obviously not enjoying himself. The flashlight pales in comparison to sunlight or fire, isn't enough to damage him quickly, but it's plenty bright enough to hurt. On the other hand: Stocke's nothing if not stubborn.

"You're here." Stocke's beyond playing fair - Amelia will feel a sharp jerk on her hand, the flashlight being yanked to the side with telekinesis. At the same moment the shade springs at her, shifting claws to tear and rend like the harpy's talons; if he's lucky the light will be out of play, whether flung out of Amelia's fingers or twisted to point away, but he's not picky.

(He pays no attention to the human woman - they never finished their deal. What she's done is annoying, but she's not Amelia.)

Amelia gasps and clamps her other hand on the flashlight before it slips out of her grasp, but it does move away from the shade. She shouldn't be surprised – of course he has no honor.

"Go – " She manages to order the human before Stocke leaps at her (though the woman is already starting to run before Amelia speaks, which is just rude if you ask her). She takes off with the explosive sound of magic and compressed air, aiming for the sky where she has advantage, but the shade collides into her before she can gain altitude.

Amelia shrieks in pain and anger when the shadow claws rip into her. Still airborne, she flaps her wings wildly, determined to keep ascending, angry shade or not. He may be stubborn, but so is she. Her hand still grips the flashlight tightly, Amelia uses her legs to swipe at him. If he's solid enough to hurt her, hopefully she can return the favor.

Stocke clings even as Amelia's legs rip into him, leaving long, gaping gashes down his arms and sides - they spout dark smoke in billows. The shade ignores them to start dragging his way up Amelia's body, using three or four arms instead of two where it suits. He's fallen eerily silent even while his tendrils lash wildly.

One of the arms gets high enough to reach Amelia's hand, holding the flashlight; it shifts a jagged mouth on the end and chomps, trying to clamp down on the harpy's wrist. Stocke hasn't bothered shifting extra arms on the end, though - that makes things far too complicated - and he's aiming half-blind. The magic-tossed wind snaps in his face.

The teeth sink into her forearm, and Amelia is forced to drop the flashlight. She tucked another one in her belt for backup, safely hidden in the feathers just above her tail, but for now she can't reach it. She yanks her trapped arm wildly and swipes with her other hand at the shade's face, claws aiming for his eyes, trying to push it down before he reaches higher, to her wings.

"Get off, don't touch me!"

Whirlwinds lashes out at Stocke, cold and merciless. Amelia dives and soars, flies around in quick circles and unstable zigzags, all in an attempt to shake him off. But it's hard to maneuver between buildings in the dark with him clawing at her – with Stocke attached or without him, she ends up crash landing on a roof.

Stocke continues to hold on, grimly. Shades are known for their tenacity in going after grudges; the only difference in Stocke is that he's more impatient, willing to risk more damage rather than following until the perfect opportunity presents itself. Perhaps it comes of being one of the youngest shades around.

He doesn't make a noise even when Amelia scores across his eyes, though the immediate reaction is a flinch. What's not clawed across snaps shut; the shade grits the teeth holding Amelia's arm in retaliation.

Then they slam into the roof and his grip finally loosens. Stocke dissolves into shadows and rolls away, righting himself. The winds blow him further as he tries to reform - he ends up crouching on the roof, claws on hands and feet digging into the tile.

Amelia lands in a feathery heap. It's a relief to escape the shade's clutches. Beyond the pain, the weight of his solid form was almost suffocating, and she can see more clearly without his shadows filling her vision.

The smartest thing is to take off to find her human while he's still recovering. She'll fly her somewhere safe to complete their deal and Stocke will never find her before morning. Even if he comes to her nest again, Amelia will have ample time to prepare. She just has to fly away.

But much like shades, harpies are known for their stubbornness and for their almost compulsive need to have the last word. Not just be right, but have others acknowledge their rightness, rub their victory in. Crouched on the ledge with her good hand around the backup flashlight, ready for takeoff, Amelia snaps:

"Lash out all you want, that deal is still mine. You lost."

"Perhaps." A chilly tone, impersonal as a machine. "So I'm making sure you aren't around to divert any more."

He's... genuinely trying to kill the harpy now, isn't he?

The shade's getting nowhere staying solid, with the harpy's magic beating at him. He melts away more deliberately this time, springing forward as soon as the wind's whistling through him instead of against. Aiming for Amelia's soul.

Uh oh. Amelia wouldn't grasp the shade's intentions if it wasn't for the change in the wind pattern - an incorporeal attack can only mean one thing. She adjusts the wind and leaps off the ledge in a weird backwards glide, too afraid to take her eyes off the shade. Like before, she whips the flashlight out and lights it in Stocke's face. Just a moment to stall, that's all she needs...

Amelia's in luck. With the shade incorporeal, the flashlight has a far greater effect on him; he snarls and falls back, dropping to the roof again.

After a moment he ducks around the flashlight's beam, springing off the edge to hover after the harpy from another direction - but he can't go any higher, can only lose ground. As long as Amelia's quick to circle up she'll be out of reach.

Back to the harpy's nest Stocke goes, as soon as he's had a chance to clear up business for at least a week. This isn't a matter of simple revenge anymore - if she's determined enough to track him back to where he's based, then she's got almost the tenacity of a shade. She'll be back, and he needs her out of the way.

This time he waits until it's dark, a careful shadow in among the trees. Followed by a careful shadow up the cliff, and then flat against the wall, with eyes slit thin and dimmed to the faintest possible glow -

The first thing to check is if her nest is still inhabited. Or has she taken the precaution of moving lairs?

The nest is still there. Amelia knows the shade will come after her and she won't hide like a coward. Justice is on her side, she won't let a lowly creature like him to scare her off. Let him come.

The cave looks lived in, almost tauntingly so: the remains of a dinner, still warm coals. In the very center, on a neatly folded blanket, rest a shriveled human ear and a note. It says ELENA FLYNN, the woman whose revenge Amelia took, and under it: COME AND GET ME.

Amelia is still around, but just because she won't run doesn't mean she'll make things easy for him.

It's tempting to do something to the note, the ear. Stocke doesn't move from the shadows yet, though there's a very soft hiss. He circles the edges of the cave, one full round, before treading cautiously toward the center.

His first step is to snuff the flow of air to the remaining coals with the blanket, tugging it over with telekinesis. Any still glowing should die down. And by all rights the smart thing to do, assuming she's intending to return again, is to wait and ambush her here...

But Stocke wants to get this over with. He returns to the mouth of the cave, staring into the night sky.

The trouble, of course, is it's hard to track someone flying. Still, the shade searches the ledge for indications of the way Amelia went.

Nothing in the sky, but there are blue feathers stuck in the rocks above the cave. If Stocke keeps climbing, he'll see more of them, almost like a trail leading to the very top of the cliffs. Amelia has decided to wait for him there. Open space, easy to take off from, and if she's lucky enough to have a bright night, with less shadows from him to hide in.

Stocke tracks the feathers nearly all the way up - it's only when he sees Amelia's silhouette that he stops trailing them and sinks down, blending into the dark of the ground. He peers up, tendrils bristling quietly.

Then he darts into the rock of the cliffs.

Amelia's about to experience an unceremonious, unannounced attack from below. She'll have a burst of cold as a warning - he has to emerge at least in part before he materializes - but it'll be slashing claws moments afterward.

Amelia's been on high alert since sunset. She whips around when the cold burst brushed her back, ready to jump away, but she can't avoid those first swipes. The shade's claws rake her left arm from shoulder to elbow. She screeches in pain and flaps her wings. Too shocked and hurt to muster up wind magic, but flapping alone is enough to create gusts.

She didn't consider an attack from behind, but she's not unprepared. Still flapping, Amelia reaches for a lighter in her back, flicks it on and shoves it at Stocke's body.

The gusts tosses up by Amelia's wings aren't too bad without magic to back them up; her feathers batter Stocke as they flap, stinging impacts, but that's also easily fixed. He mists back into incorporeality -

Unfortunately, that doesn't do anything against fire, shoved through his core. The snarl Stocke lets out is half broken television, half sizzle like water dropped onto a blazingly-hot skillet - he jumps back almost immediately, in a motion that doesn't like natural so much as... a glitching image, breaking up and reforming a short distance away. There's still a gap steaming black where the fire curved through him - it's not reforming.

If you don't have sunlight... against a shade, fire really is the next-best thing.

The shade settles into a menacing, curved-over position, claws upraised (and blocking the line of sight to his wound) -

Which is about when fog swirls up from the ground in a whirlwind, turning the small gap between them completely murky.

The shade's shriek is like music to her ears. Amelia smiles in dark satisfaction when he jumps back, bleeding out a trail of smoke. But before she can burn him again, the fog rises and surrounds her. Tendrils snake around her legs, her wings, her eyes, silence her when she opens her mouth to yell in surprise. The fog is cold and so think she can almost taste it. For a few moments she can't feel anything, as if suspended in void.

When it finally eases up Amelia stumbles forward, gasping. The for hasn't cleared completely, still swirling in gentle waves at her feet, but now she can notice some blurred details of her surroundings. She's no longer on the cliff, or anywhere near the sea, but in a town she doesn't recognize. The buildings have long been abandoned, and several large black stones were set in their center. They were strangely smooth, free of the vines that covered everything else.

Stocke's not quite as affected, incorporeal as he is, but he's still hurt: his first reaction is to drawn in on himself. His tendrils snarl close to his back, and his claws flex out as he spins around, trying to find the source -

He's gone and somewhere else in a swirl of mist and cold.

The fog spits him out unceremoniously, flinging him into the air - Stocke's tossed head-over-heels a moment before stabilizing. He spins in place again, trying to figure out what's going on, tendrils bristling and pose tense. He notes the abandoned buildings, the stones; where is this?

At the same moment Amelia staggers free, louder than the echoing silence around them. Stocke glares at her, but decides near-immediately that she's not the cause of this. What -

"My children," the fog whispers.

It doesn't sound entirely pleased.

Amelia's heart skips a beat. She knows this voice. She only heard it once or twice in her life, and only in her dreams, but no monster will ever mistake it –

"Yes," the fog continues before Amelia can even complete the thought, and she folds her wings at the disapproval in Her voice, "Your games are no longer amusing Over humans, no less. You disappoint me, children."

Amelia wants to say something, argue, tell Her that it's totally this awful shade's thought, but She is much not interested in whatever they have to say in their defense.

"I did not give my children this land so they can fight among themselves. Shall I remind you?"

The starts to recede along with Her presence, though some of it still swirls gently at ground level. She is always watching, of course, but at the same time there's a distinct feeling of being watched by something else. Something uncomfortable.

Stocke doesn't shrink back quite so much, his tendrils staying jagged out. A shade caught in the bouts of a grudge isn't easily deterred, even by the Fog God. And though he knows, instantly - he's young enough he's never heard Her voice before.

He stays mute, but he's definitely thinking: if She didn't want him doing this, why would She have made shades with the gift of vengeance?

The fog snaps at him like a whipcrack as it drifts away, in rebuke. It takes that much for the shade to finally flinch.

There's something left behind on the ground as the fog mists away - in spidery handwriting, 'No more schemes. Do your duty for me.' And a pair of gemstones on thin leather cords - they look blue-white, like unmelting ice, and shaped as sharp as icicles. You could easily cut yourself on the point.

Stocke scoops one up wordlessly, tendrils lashing in a way that's decidedly displeased. Before he can truly start inspecting it, his head turns, eyes flickering - is there someone else here, besides him and the harpy? It feels...

Amelia's crest of feathered hair perks when the fog lashes at the shade. It doesn't help her current situation one bit, but harpies are awfully petty sometimes and now she feels like an unruly child watching another get a worse punishment for misbehaving,

The satisfaction fades the moment she reads the message. I will, I promise, she vows wordlessly, but can no longer feel Her presence. Amelia glances at Stocke – she's just as unhappy to be here with him, but how dare he look anything less than eager to obey their god – and picks up the other gemstone. Despite the different color, something about it makes her look back to the black stone and she realizes the town isn't as abandoned as she thought.

Some are covered with vines like the buildings the pour out of. Some of them wear robes, others armor (didn't humans stop wearing that centuries ago, not that Amelia's sure they are really human?). Some talk but she can't make out the words – compared to other monsters, a harpy's ears aren't all that keen. And they all look like no one's told them they should be long dead.

"I – I don't understand," she says, tail fanning behind her in alarm. "What are we supposed to do?"

If Amelia was expecting the shade to be helpful she's going to be let down. Stocke's just about as clueless as she is, though he's moved his pendant to floating in between his shadow-black ribs.

"Eat them?" he suggests, eyes flickering like a broken bulb. It's not as though the Fog God expects that much more out of them most of the time, with regards to humans.

But even he's sure enough that's not right. She wouldn't give them additional warning for something that simple. The shade raises his claws again, eyes slit.

Edited Date: 2016-12-22 10:27 am (UTC)

"I'm not eating any of them," she says. "They look disgusting."

Amelia uses the leather cord to tie the gemstone around her neck. She feels nervous on the ground with the figures advancing on them but doesn't take off, not yet. Instead the wind starts to rise around them.

"Can you even eat them?" Are they alive?

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