strangetrip | Exercise in Futility - OTA - Backdated to April 24 Dawn

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Exercise in Futility - OTA - Backdated to April 24 Dawn

He was deep in the jungle when the warm humidity became cool and crisp and the dark earthy smell suddenly held a hint of salt and sea. Midnight became brighter, the sharp sliver of new moon suddenly large and ripe and more than half way to full.

It disoriented him, the wolf immersed in the hunt and the night and the man deep within who registered the shock and then the anger as he shifted back to human form and recognized where he was. The far outskirts of the world of the inn was dry and spare and seemed neverending until you found yourself dumped back where you began and he knew with the awareness of an animal that where he had been was a long way off.

And so were his pants.

He swore viciously, not sure what made him angrier the loss of a pair of pants or that the other world hadn't afforded him a way home. That it had in fact been a sop, from whoever was holding them here, to make them feel less like prisoners. And that for a short while it had worked.

He wandered the emptiness, then the woods as he worked his way back to the inn, the wolf hunting for... what he didn't know. Restless and pacing like a caged animal more than really searching for anything specific.

Then as dawn broke he found his feet on the well manicured lawn of the inn, shifting back to human form as he made his was wearily to his room.

[ooc: When the other world went away at midnight he got dumped back in the little world of the inn and he's annoyed. He also has no pants. He isn't really concerned by his nudity but please feel free to notice.]

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Yasmeen had been in bed with Raleigh when the world-door closed. In fact, she only knew of it now, because she'd risen early intending to go find new work from Sar Peou. When she got to 137, the door was locked and no longer glowing. She could pick the lock of course, but she figured she'd find one of the science types and ask what had happened. Somehow, they always seemed to know.

Kitty, head down over a pile of scrap metal, confirmed for her that access to Songrun had been cut off, and then returned to her work without saying anything else. Yasmeen didn't press; Kitty's reaction to being trapped again was none of her concern. Raleigh's reaction...could wait until she'd processed her own. On the run. As far as she could go, for as long as she could be gone.

She'd barely made it out the door before she found Dyson, buck naked, and looking like she felt. "Songrun steal your pants along with your hope?" she said, a faint growl of fuck-this-place in her tone.

His response was a low, annoyed growl of his own.

"Not usually a hopeful guy, but I did like those pants."

"Bullshit you aren't," Yasmeen snarled back. "The entire time I knew you, you never once stopped believing you'd get back to Bo and Trick and Hale and Kenzi." And every time he'd said it would happen, she'd think about how cruel hope was and focus on her freedom instead.

He resented the fact that this woman who he barely knew, knew him so well. Well enough to strip away any lies he might tell himself anyway.

It was more than a little annoying, not allowing him to preserve his own illusions.

"Well maybe I've stopped this time."

"Sure. That's why you're pacing the walls of your cage. Because you could care less if you get out."

Yasmeen didn't know why it seemed so goddamned important, but somehow it was. Maybe she needed him to hate this as much as she did. Maybe she was taking being trapped out on someone who wasn't going to burst into tears over it. Maybe she wanted to fight someone she knew would give as good as he got. Or maybe part of her just hated him for not being her Dyson.

Whatever it was, the closer she got, the stronger the air of menace around her grew.

His hands flexed into fists and he growled, "Why do you care?"

And what did it matter anyway?

"Maybe I don't."

She did.

Which was why instead of saying anything else, she took a running start and leapt at him, fangs bared and claws out. Better he fight her than someone else. Especially someone else like one of the magic users who would feel perfectly justified in incinerating him.

They could certainly try to incinerate him, the mood he was in at the moment the attempt would be welcome. He met her, fang or fang (so to speak), his eyes flashing yellow and caught her mid leap.

He healed and so did she (if somewhat more slowly), so she didn't retract her claws, but swiped at him with them and snarled. Yet there was something satisfied about the feral, gleaming smile as she bit for his shoulder rather than trying to rip out his throat. She had no intention of killing him. Just fighting.

He fairly roared when she bit him, once upon a time he might have had some scruples about hitting a female, but those days were long past and he backhanded her to get some space.

He followed her momentum though with a growl.

Her vision blurred for a heartbeat, head ringing from the slap, but it cleared as she flew back, and she flipped and twisted cat-like to land on her feet square. She slashed with her claws for his chest once and then again, quite obviously avoiding swiping any lower. That would be unfair.

Very unfair.

He could shift and bring claws and teeth to bear, but he didn't. Maybe he was enjoying the brawl, the physicality of taking and giving as good as he got. Maybe the bloody lip and bite marks helped.

Maybe he was just angry.

And when she slashed at him again he grabbed a wrist, pulled and twisted, and they both went sprawling.

Mid-air, she shifted and landed on hands and knees over him. Fangs stained with his blood flashed in her snarling-hiss. The last time she'd been in this position with him, he'd clawed her out of her clothes and she him out of his and the rolling and biting had gone a good four hours after this.

Her body remembered and for the space of several heartbeats it probably looked to anyone watching like she would kiss him. Instead, she hauled off with her free hand and punched him in the face.

There was in fact a beat where he didn't know what she was going to do, and the blow when it came was a surprise.

He swore, he'd feel that one tomorrow, and his nails (not as sharp as her raked over her shoulder as he flipped her over his head so she hit the ground behind him.

Hopefully hard enough to take her breath as he got back to his feet in one lithe movement and faced her again.

Hard enough. Just. And it left Yasmeen a little slower than he'd been getting to her feet, but she did it in style, rolling back over her shoulders and then springing forward. She faced him, feinted with a lunge and swipe of her claws that intentionally came nowhere near him and then followed with a kick to the muscle of the thigh.

It wasn't the practiced dance of sparring with Raleigh, but there was still a grace and intimate beauty to the way she moved with him. Evidence, if he'd been wanting it, that she'd told him no lies.

He hadn't been, but he noticed it anyway as she kicked him.

He went down on one knee, moving to knock her off her feet once more, his shoulder in her gut.

She laughed as she twisted aside, catching his shoulder to the point of her hip. It would bruise, but it was worth it to be able to go airborne and flip over his head. Intentionally over-rotating, she made a three-point landing facing away from him and quickly spun around, ready for the next flurry of moves.

He shifted, keeping sparring distance for the moment.

"Why am I the only the bleeding?" He growled, but he was less angry, more amused now, even if his frustration simmered there beneath the surface.

"Because I'm not trying to kill you and you'd rather take the beating than pound the stuffing out of me," she offered with another feral smile. "Doesn't hurt that I'm hot."

Hot. His word. They didn't use it that way in her world and Raleigh preferred sweeter words.

She fanned her claws and showed off her fangs again. "You want some more?"

"You are pretty hot," he shifted though, almost as if about to leap. "Would be a shame to mar that."

He left the rest unanswered, and flexed his shoulders. "I could go another round - if you promise not to bite."

"I heal." Her voice dropped, then, husky with a hint of a purr. This time when she sprang across the space at him, she did so with claws retracted and fangs covered. No biting, no clawing--just good old-fashioned fists to the torso and gut.

"Good to know," he grunted as she came at him, and this time his resistance to hitting her was less marked and he did as much swinging for her kidneys as he was trying to block her blows.

Yasmeen grunted as the blows connected. "Rabbit punching from a wolf?" she snarked and broke the hold that would probably have her pissing blood in a few more blows. Truth was, she didn't like fist fighting near as much as hunting and stalking, but it didn't stop her from circling and looking for another opening.

"If it works," he was a brawler when fighting hand to hand if he wasn't going to go straight to the throat for the kill. As she broke the hold his fingers slid across the fabric of her shirt and it tore across.

"Hope that wasn't a favorite."

Growling softly at the loss of one of the few blouses that worked with her bustier, Yasmeen leapt at him again and unleashed a flurry of blows. And when she bounced out again, she said, "I'll find another."

Or not. Raleigh would probably be glad to see her dressing in more modern tops (but he'd never complained about the leather pants).

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