Drunkard's Walk Forums

Spacemage goggled. Her overlarge eyes seemed to stretch at
the edges, threatening to overflow her face. She shouldn't stare; she couldn't turn away. With every wet, slurping, sound, the tips of her ears
quivered slightly. With every slight grunt and groan her eyebrows roses, threatening to tear off of her face and go flying off to explore parts unknown without
her.

It was understandable.

It was not everyday you got to see someone drink from a fire
hose.

Successfully.

The average person trying to drink from a fire hose faired
very poorly indeed. Even at the lowest pressure the flow was too great. Lips would be bruised, or at worst, torn completely off, lungs choked by water,
nostrils split like they were stunt noses in Chinatown. None of that was happening.

Thibor Sawchyk had the nozzle of the fire hose tucked into
the corner of his mouth like it was the end of a particularly sadistic hookah. His elongated, lupine jaw clenched to hold it in place, the fur covered lump of
his Adam's apple bobbing up and down like a cork on the waves. With a final gulp he grasped the valve on the hose in one huge, clawed, hand, shutting off
the flow. He tossed the hose aside and cocked his head, as if considering a burp, but thinking better of it.

"MajorSawchyk sir, what are you doing?" Space
babbled in a stream, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Mission preparation." Thibor noted gruffly. Windy
Day was in the process of doing major renovations on the IST base and he was taking advantage of the Legendary's facilities. There were advantages. There
were also disadvantages. He could smell two of them coming down the hall.

"Big dog! Biiig dog!" Two catgirls appeared at the
door of the vehicle bay, did a double take, their fur rising alarming. Once pulled a bow out and aimed an arrow at him, while the other readied long claws. The
bow concerned him. A few dozen arrows in the right places would undo his preparation and turn him into the lupine equivalent of the Trevi fountain. It
wouldn't be more than an inconvenience, but it would put him behind schedule. While his operation plan had several contingencies in place for delay, he was
loathe to use them if it could be avoided. He wanted to be in Striga before sundown.

"NoNoNoNo!" Space Mage said quickly, waving her
hands about in gestures that could be taken as calming if they were not made at breakneck speed. "He's a good dog. Good dog."

She jumped into the air and hovered a few feet above the
ground, allowing her to vigorously pat Thibor's head.

"See. Good dog. Nice dog. Friendly
dog."

She was right on one of four counts, Thibor mused,
suppressing the urge to swat her across the room. Instead he wagged his tail vigorously, swatting Space Mage upside her pointed ears several times, forcing her
away from him.

Purrfect Scrapper and Purrfect archer seemed to take some
comfort from Space Mage's display and relaxed partially. The tension left the bowstring, and claws retracted into pads silently.

O_o

what in the name of all that is holy will a belly full of water do for Thibor in Striga?
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

I'm wondering the same thing. I mean, were it, say, Steel, I could see him using it as his own personal version of the firefighting backpack.

... is he going to add insult to injury and puke all over the Council? How... Vahz-like.

Maybe he's going to go get blessed by a priest before hitting Striga, so all that water becomes Holy Water and he can just spit on the Banished to get rid
of them.

... yeah, I got nuthin'.

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

Quote:Holy Water and he can just spit on the Banished

On further consideration, I can see Holy Water, but I'm not seeing _spit_..

"Major Sawchyk, are you _urinating_ on that Banished totem?"

"Am. Is working, too!"
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Far as I can recall, it wouldn't be the first time he's used that tactic...
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

And it's ... strangely appropriate.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

Marking his territory, even...
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Give the boss-guy a star (and
let him picks the missions... nevermind). Marking Territory indeed.

"Major Sawchyk," Space Mage asked, completely unfazed by the battering by Thibor's tail. "Why were you drinking from the firehose?"



That was an excellent question,
and there was an answer for it. Thibor considered all three for a moment. His
purest military instincts had immediately locked into shut-the-fuck-up mode. He knew that all members of the IST Team
had had operational security beaten into them; or rather Cammy had presented the lecture, and Thibor had conducted the field testing, beating anyone who let
classified information slip. He knew that the Legendary had done some cross training, but could not necessarily count
on operational security being maintained. That was one paw. The other paw noted
that curiosity did have a tendency to kill the cat. It would not necessarily be the cat's fault, but the end
result, felix mortis, was to be avoided. Most of the time. If he didn't
tell them, or distract the catgirls with string and Spacemage with something else shiny, he would likely be followed.



Leadership. You're soaking in it. Life was not fair, fair was where you went on the pony
rides. Thibor considered the trio. Operational briefing. If he was talking, they wouldn't be listening; not talking or tagging after him like he was the pied piper of
Cosplay. It was unlikely that any of the information would be dangerous if released and the residual risk of its
release would be minor.



"Am staging two part
operation against Council." Thibor said calmly. "Is having noticed
large increase in Council War Wolf activities over last two weeks. Is getting bolder and more brazen in
attacks. Is having to stop."



"Firehose…" Purrfect
Scrapper tried to interrupt, but was silenced as Thibor raised a hand.



"Council war wolves is not
werewolves." Thibor continued. "Is similar, but
different. Is combination of genetic experimentation combined with nictus energies.
Is not having vulnerabilities to silver or phases of moon; but genetic code is containing large chunks of wolf DNA, and is inheriting many wolf
characteristics."



"That's why they keep
gnawing on those bones in Striga." Purrfect Scrapper noted, having recently spent a great deal of time on the
island.



"And bay at moon, and
congregate in packs, and occasionally fall off couch." Thibor agreed.
"And mark territory."



"Mark…
Gross!" Space wrinkled up her features and shook her head back and forth.
Thibor leaned away slightly to avoid being smacked by her long ears.



"Firehose." Thibor confirmed her worst fears and then smiled
wolfishly. "War Wolves is military wolves. Recent increase in activity
indicates is having leader that is stronger than before and is urging packs to greater activities. So am going to
Striga to remind that Striga is not belonging to council."



"You mean you're going
to…" Purrfect Archer gaped. "On Striga." The cat on her shoulder looked as disgusted as a cat could, which meant that it had the standard cat expression pasted upon its
face.



"Striga. Mine." Thibor nodded. "Is first step in
pack challenge."

Alice: ... See, this is why I hate dogs. And the fact they smell. And they're messy. And they're dumb... *In the background, Ifrit rolls her eyes.*

Quote: The cat on her shoulder looked as disgusted as a cat could, which meant that it had the standard cat expression pasted upon its face.

And this line for the win.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

My catgirls would like to note that this is a rude and simple stereotype. I note it's also true

There were places that one
should never stand around in the dark, humming 'I am the very model of a modern major general'. In front of an
active jet engine. Busy traffic. Striga after dark. Thibor considered. He had survived all three. Of
course he had not been engaged in an act of micturation during the other two, though many of those who did not survive the process had been; in fear fuelled
reflex. This was not a fear fuelled micturation, it was a deliberate one; delivered with sufficient gusto to dislodge
some of the bark on the tree. It was not the first tree he had micurated upon that night; it would not be the
last. His bladder and his rucksack were lighter than they were on the start of the mission, and would be lighter still
before he could retire for the evening.



"What are you
doing!" It was not a question. It was a statement. It was a statement hissed out. It was a statement hissed out with the hint of a
lisp. That confirmed for Thibor what his senses had informed him of some minutes previous. Council Vampire. A relatively new one at that. It
was one of the few traits that Council Vampires shared with the real thing. Newly created, most of them had no fucking
idea how to talk around their fangs. They all lisped. Thibor turned, not
bothering to check the flow of the stream. It splattered wetly against the vampire's boots. Council vampires were even worse than the real thing. All the pretension; none of the
history. They took the name vampires, but were not. Yes they fed on life
energy; but those that drank blood did so not because they needed to, but rather to foster a particular image. Thibor
wasn't sure why anyone would want to foster the image of a suck-toothed wankstain on the tapestry of life; but that was not his concern. The vampire grimaced; the eyes behind the dark goggles becoming angry slits. Council
vampires did share an aversion to light, but it was due to their altered genetic make-up, not any supernatural cleansing force of daybreak. At worst they got a sunburn, going from pasty white to an ugly pink.



Thibor ceased his micturation,
shook twice and tucked everything away. He didn't bother with the zipper.



"Was taking a
piss." He explained, taking a step closer. The vampire could not pale
further, but clearly some of his confidence was flowing out of him. It was a charmingly human touch as he came into the
fully realized moment that Thibor was seven feet tall with more muscle than a Mr. Universe contest, and he was not.
This moment of clarity was lost and the vampire's Council arrogance reasserted itself. He charged, long, razor
sharp fingernails thrusting towards Thibor with dread intent. Thibor spun away with greater speed than his huge bulk
should normally allow for. A huge hand fastened on the back of the vampire's head and further encouraged the
charge, which ended with the bat-nosed vampire face striking the dark and wetly stained bark of the tree with sufficient force to leave an imprint. Physical imprint of facial features on a solid object was not solely the bailiwick of the cartoons, although the facial imprints
did tend to be of lesser quality, and could be only described as smooshed.



"Striga. Mine." The vampire was barely conscious in Thibor's grip. He shook it twice to reinforce the point.



"Striga….
Yours." Several bloody teeth dribbled out from between the smashed lips and were lost in the
grass.



"Is good." Thibor shifted his grip, took two steps and drop kicked the vampire in the general direction of the Wolf's throat. The vampire spun in lazy circles as he cleared the tops of the trees and continued for some distance before dropping back into the
canopy with a muted, rustling, thud and the squawk of surprised birds. He would either pass on the message or be raped
by squirrels and tucked away for the slow winter months. Thibor didn't particularly care which.

Quote: or be raped by squirrels and tucked away for the slow winter months.

Wow, now there's an image for you.

And I'm now reminded of a scene from one of the Castle Perilous novels, in which Lord Incarnadine proceeds to guzzle down several gallons of booze, get
rotten stinking drunk, perform some Voudoun, and in the book's climactic scene, put out the Fires of Hell... in the obvious and heretofore-exemplified
manner.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.

I'm sure I must have told you already, Shayne, but in case I haven't, I love the way you have with words.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

* * *



"This is so
wrong!" Purrfect Scrapper caterwauled. "Werewolves don't eat
asparagus."



"And what data are you
basing this on?" Purrfect Archer asked archly. "Wolves, while
technically carnivores, do have a digestive system that can handle certain vegetables."



"It's just
wrong!" The cat-girl scrapper continued. "Okay, we have one werewolf
eating asparagus, he's probably an exception to the rule. An abomination to the rule."



"Abomination? That's a little rough isn't it." Archer noted, trying to hold back a
laugh.



"Have you been paying
attention?" Scrapper asked. "For the last three days it has been the
same. He rolls into the base like he owns it, boils up a huge batch of asparagus, chomps it down with
relish."



"With garlic butter and a
few pickled onions, but your point is taken."



"And then drinks from the
fire-hose until his back teeth are floating and then heads off to the forests of Striga."



"And?"



"You haven't been to
Striga recently. Have you?" Scrapper screwed up her face in a disgusted
look. I think damn near every war wolf in paragon is there right now. All of
them trying to outdo each other in ensuring that every single tree is marked. I used to think that sewer missions,
Proteans and exploding Vahz corpses were the most disgusting thing in paragon. We have a new champion by
knockout."



"I'll take your word
for it." Purrfect Archer said. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a plan. Aren't you even a bit curious?"



"Drowning Striga in
asparagus tainted wolf widdle is not a plan! It's a fetish." Scrapper said.
"And I don't need to know; if it is really interesting, I'll read it about in the papers after the fact, and with a clothespin
handy."



* * *



Thibor grunted deliberately as
he heaved the last shovel full of earth out of the grave. It was a good place for a grave. Just at the edge of the woods, at the bottom of a slight depression. Almost like being on
the floor of a natural amphitheatre; three of the four quarters covered in thick woods. He jumped out of the grave and
scented the air. They had been assembling for the better part of an hour; the treeline was crawling with war wolves;
with more than a few Council Vampires thrown in four good measure. The air was heavy with the doggy scent, and the
unmistakable tang of urine, fresh and stale. He had been spending a great deal of time in this area, and the others had
added considerably to his own efforts. The splatter of drops of liquids still continued, almost like rain. Well that is if clouds had a mostly carnivorous diet and access to a lot of salt.



"Let me guess. You are digging my grave." The voice was deep, and had the slightest flavor of Italy
to it. It was clear, with the vowels shaped properly. Not the easiest thing to
do with a wolf's muzzle.



"No is for
me." Thibor smiled. The area was rapidly filling with war wolves, but you
couldn't miss the speaker. Thibor was used to having the advantage of height, but that was not the case
here. The War Wolf stood over nine feet tall and was clad in a perfectly tailored Council uniform, rows of decorations
hanging on the broad chest. "Has finally come out to meet territorial challenge?"



"You must think I am an
idiot." The wolf boomed.



"Well is prerequisite for
Council membership." Thibor noted. "Along with fondness for leather,
and feelings of inadequacy."



"My soldiers do not follow
me out of some sick, primitive, pack loyalty." The war wolf continued as if Thibor had not spoken. "We are not simple animals. We are an army.
An army that will tear you to pieces. You are strong, but even you are no match for all of us!"



"Am supposed to be feeling
threatened?" Thibor asked. "Is not surprising to find is just
Chihuahua pretending to be wolf. Is not brave enough to fight own battles."
The war wolves around him clustered even closer.



"Hah!" The bark of laughter was cutting; scorn dripped from every syllable. "You are not
worthy of my claws. Your plan to lure me into single combat was to pee on trees?
Truly IST must be the bailiwick of brilliant tacticians to have produced you. Even if I thought you an equal, I
would not face you in single combat. We do not play games of individuals, it is the mighty force of us combined that
shall crush you."



"Is not thinking pissing
contest was good plan?" Thibor's brow fell. "Am sorry to hear
that. Has taken me hours. Is not easy.
Is hard work getting minions to be obsessed with own personal vintage, so is them keeping pissing on same spot, further hiding scent of buried
explosives."



"What?" The giant war wolf goggled, as Thibor fell forward into the open grave. He could see the
flash of the detonator in the IST werewolf's hand and the wolfish grin that threatened to split his face.



The explosion was magnificent.
He had placed the C4 charges all through the area. Thibor closed his eyes, covered his ears and opened his mouth. Even protected against the
worst of the blast he felt like he had been slapped by Jack in Irons. It was one of the nice things about planning
strategy against Council Warwolves and Vampires; they regenerated, and it did take quite a bit to actually kill them.
It meant that he could take any idea of restraint, ball it up, and casually toss it over his shoulder. He stood up,
taking a moment to shake off the earth and debris that covered his fur. The area was an abattoir of wolves, torn and
ripped by explosions, most were whining helplessly, but some still managed to keep their feet.



"You
bastardo!" The War Wolf commander's uniform was shredded, but he remained upright and
mobile.



"No. That was just mean." Thibor brandished another detonator as he dropped back down out
of the line of fire. "This is work of utter bastard."



Explosives are an art form, and
while many people claim to be masters of that art, most could not easily count to ten without removing their shoes or their pants. Thibor was not a master, but he could count to ten without toes or tadger, and was quite capable of a good show that would, while
not getting genius reviews from critics, be well recommended. The second set of explosives were modified Bouncing Betty
mines, that leapt some sixteen feet into the air before detonation. The first blast had encouraged his foes to hit the
ground. The second blast rained down into the concave area, a combination of steel ball bearings and splinters from the
shattered upper branches of trees. Thibor was up and moving before the last thunderous peal of the blast was
finished. The only one still standing was the War Wolf commander, and he was not making a particularly good show up
it. Thibor slammed into him with a waist level tackle, driving him back into the ground. Straddling him, Thibor rained a series of punches down onto the war wolf's head, driving it into the torn up turf until the
neck was in danger of snapping. He flipped to his feet grabbed an ankle and yanked hard, ripping the commander from the
ground and then slamming him face down again and again. Right to left then left to right.



"Say it!" Thibor roared. He contemptuously tossed the commander at his feet. The huge wolf cowed, whimpering deep in his chest. He rolled onto his back and displayed
his throat.



"Striga
yours." The commander managed.



"No shit. Is having the
right to remain silent. If is giving any more trouble, is going to throw you to Bob Barker." Thibor flipped the Commander over, cuffed him efficiently and heaved him onto his shoulder.
Is Longbow coming for rest of them."

now THAT's a Showcase Showdown!

you quotes are munged in the last paragraph..

I applauded, I laughed, I winced. Good Stuff!
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

O.o

Quote:

"You bastardo!"
The War Wolf commander's uniform was shredded, but he remained upright and mobile.

"No. That was just
mean." Thibor brandished another detonator as he dropped back down out of the line of fire. "This is work of utter bastard."

Truth in advertising, that. Wow. I mean - dude, that's almost "Joker's Disappearing Pencil Trick" level of mean! The saving grace is that he
knew ahead of time that they could most likely take the punishment.

Yeek...

Bow down, people, the master is at work.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Quote:The explosion was magnificent.

Alexis Morgan was later heard to say that she liked Thibor's style.

-Morgan.

* * *



"It's over."
Purrfect Scrapper jumped up and down. "Striga is back to normal."



"Well it is back to Striga
anyway. Normal might be stretching it just a little." Purrfect Archer
noted. "There was even a refreshing rainfall last night that dealt with the worst of the runoff. Did you see the papers?"



"What is it with dogs and
papers?" Scrapper said sourly. "At least it is over. Their base renovation is over. We can remain happily werewolf free for the foreseeable
future." Her face fell as Thibor sauntered past them, a shipping pallette of kitty litter supported easily on one shoulder. He smiled, his tail wagging in a terrible pantomime of a friendly greeting.



"Bobcat causing trouble in
Peregrine." He explained, heading towards the entrance without waiting for a response.



"He wouldn't….
No. That's just wrong." Scrapper spluttered.



* * *



"Thank you
Major." Cammy said. "I am sure that the shelter will deeply
appreciated the litter. I am just unsure as to why you felt the need to take it on tour to the Legendary
base.



"No
reason." Thibor grinned. "Now, is going to get Bobcat."

Scrapper: "That... that... DOG! OOOH!"

Wonderful stuff, Rev; kudos. And thanks!

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

I finally got round to reading this - been away from regular 'net access and all.

And jeeeeez damn. That was perfect. Both in terms of drama and comedy. Setup, puzzle, then payoff. Didn't see it coming, at first...got an inkling with Thibor's line about the grave being for him...that was inspired. Just enough of a clue to sweeten the payoff.

I also think I'm with Sofaspud, at least, in being amazed at how you write our characters better than us. =)
-- Acyl

I think I said the same thing months ago. He's deeper inside their heads than we are sometimes.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.