Aero/Claymore/Haven/Tain - Tues, April 1st - 23:25 - Leaving the Squat - Tarislar

Squire takes Tain's weapon belt with something approaching awe, carefully wrapping the weapons in the belt, and wrapping them within a saddle blanket, securing them to her own bike. She short haired elf girl looks a if he wants to say something but cannot ind the words. Instead, she reverently hands Tain her own blade, with a nod and a look that attempt to say the things her mouth cannot manage.

Sting mounts her Mitsuhama Blaze, calling out to the Ancients Ort-am! as she brings her bike to life and roars out into the night. Out riders quickly take the fore, blazing a trail through Tarislar, as Ancients erupt from the Squat like a frenzied pack on the hunt. The yell of elves and roar of bikes fill the rain soaked night, announcing their presence to the streets and people of Tarislar, declaring their rule to all who can hear. They ride through the streets at break neck speeds, sleek elves on machines flying through the rain, daring each other to push it just that much farther. Sting leads the pack, angling towards ST-169, an older freeway that cuts through Puyallup. It gets less traffic than I-5, especially at this time of night, meaning that Lone Star will take longer to respond. The Ancients hold undisputed claim to the 6 laned express way, which become an arena, battle ground, or play yard at the whims of the Ancients every few nights.

As they race through the rain, Ancients in twos and threes pull ahead or try to cut corners, none quite breaking their necks, but a few of the more reckless coming close. Most of the body stays behind Sting however, intent and remembering the serious business at hand. All too soon, the out riders fly up the freeway on ramps, where they begin 'rerouting traffic' away from the arena. Flashes of gunfire can be seen from the streets below as they intimidate the light traffic to the nearest off ramps, late night commuters taking their chances against the predators that might be waiting rather than the gangers that most certainly are on the freeway. Before long, the road is cleared, traffic diverted, as Sting leads the long procession onto the elevated roadway.

Quickly, two riders streak down the freeway, stopping 100 meters down, and holding lights to show they are in position. Another pair take up position not far from Sting, mimicing the same light signal, and the field is set. At Sting's wave, the rest of the Ancients revv their bikes high as they shoot off, most racing for the center, the slower ones spreading out along the 100 meter length the Challenge will traverse. The best seats are always hard to get, and it's usually those with the fastest bikes or the iciest glares that get them.

Sting guns her bike, turning a tight circle, one leg down, until she's gone 180 and is now facing Vixen and Tain, herded next to each other by the escorting Ancients. Her dark hair is everywhere, giing her a wild appearance, as she hasn't bothered with a helmet even in this rain. Her eyes though grab the most attention. Full of green glowing fury, they settle on the Challengers. Green Lucifer slowly settles in next to her.

Tain, you are the Challenger, so you take the far side. Vixen, you will begin here. Perpare your selves, Green wil signal when to begin. She shouts the words so that all may hear, and her words are answered by a resounding shout, Ancients eager to see their brand of justice down. Sting leans in, her voice lower, edged in ice, meant only for those few around her.

Requires Sperethiel 3 to translate accurately
Vixen, tela-nit tech makkanagee colin sersakhan a-sina. Tela omenta cilma e-telene n'daron. Verya zathien.

Tain, tel'aha e-veala selma a-tele atala amuarea-er. Ge-Casta.

I'nessa 'vershakkan-osa' tenna arato-asta nona.


She yells aloud Ozidano teheron, milessaratish. Imo medaron co versakhan!


Then quieter, to the Challengers Heronasta od darnasta, pechet imiriso ozidanastet.

Tain watches water bead and streak off the tinted faceplate of his helmet on the ride over, wondering which of the vanishing droplets might be some portent, some hint about what's coming. His gaze flicks to the small mirrors on his bike, he glances from side to side during the ride; the Ancients, by and large, were either too honorable or too fun loving to interfere with a Challence, but Julius Caesar had once let his guard down, too. Once.

He's comforted -- more than he'd though he'd be, if asked a year ago -- by those he sees hovering in a protective little pack around him. Just as important as picking out the faces of those who trusted Vixen the most, he'd never forget the hunched-over, street biking, forms of those who'd stayed close to him. Keep your friends close came first even in the ancient, cynical, figure of speech. Tain planned to.

He helmet bobs, barely perceptible, as Sting sends him to the far end of the lane. His bike howls as he races past the Ancients lining up to watch him kill or die, and the hundred yards passes in an eyeblink. Liath Macha is eager. So is its rider. He doesn't swing the ass-end around in a dramatic skid -- he'll need all the traction he can get for a good, fast, start -- but instead, anticlimactically, foot-crawls the bike around, lining his front tire up just between the two Ancients and their high-held lights.

Sting starts talking. Tain breaths. Rain falls.

His ork-broad shoulders heave, once, in a why not shrug. He pulls his helmet off, leans almost off his bike to set it carefully on the pavement. Rain falls from Grypon's skies, and Tain tilts his head back and lets it kiss his face even as Sting chastises him for pride.

He stares across a hundred yards at the pink-haired barbarian who's to blame for the whole mess. He doesn't feel the slightest hint of fear, suddenly. A sense of certainty fills his belly; he is meant for greater things than to end here. Vixen had lived her whole life merely acting as a placeholder, waiting for the night he would come along and take what was rightfully his. She'd brought it on herself. He can't lose. He knows who he is. He knows what blood flows in his veins, what totem has marked him for glory. Sting's formal declaration of enemy rolls off his back; he is beyond such petty claims. He will be the champion born this night, and he knows it from his head to his toes.

One hand holds a sword, the other reaches for the zipper of his jacket. Sting keeps talking, Tain ignores her. His mind clears, everything sharpens, and as the pit of righteous indignation in his belly grows and warms him, he unzips his armored jacket and shrugs it from his shoulders. He flings it to one side, his long-sleeved shirt following a heartbeat later. He isn't afraid of the cold any more than he's afraid of Vixen. His magic courses through him, anger welling up inside him, flushing his cheeks red, then his whole face, his whole body.

The warp spasm rises within him. The huge gryphon tattooed -- wings spread wide, claws and talons slashing, beak open and screaming -- from shoulderblade to shoulderblade, from nape of his neck to small of his back on his torso stays its inked color, the perfectly round, laser-precise, stylized black sun over his heart stays pitch black. Every other inch of his skin tints red, his old Irish blood and his older Elven attuned to such internal magic. In the cold, rain turns to steam and rises from his lean form. He adjusts his grip on his sword, flexes his hand on the throttle of his bike. He waits.

Sting shouts her last proclamation. Tain barely hears it, interprets it as he wills. He'd live. Vixen would die. And in five years, not even memories of her would remain.

He tosses his head, once, to flip his rain-slicked hair out of his eyes. All that's left is for the order to be given. He'll go through the motions, complete the Challenge -- preordained as the ending is -- and then get to work holding on to what tonight had thrust upon him to grasp. Fate had decided, despite his blood, he wouldn't be a Prince in Tir Tairngire. So be it. He'd settle, for now, for being a lieutenant in Seattle.

As the gang assaults the freeway, Claymore lets his bike roll slowly to a stop near those of the the leaders, ignoring the other Ancients as they race for the best positions near the center of the 'playing field'.

The challenge itself is long familiar to the elf, as it was to all Ancients, but Sting's hushed words add a whole new element to the affair. Claymore has no trouble understanding the leader's words, Sperethiel being the language his mother taught him from birth, as do most parents in the slums of Tarislar. But the way she had uttered them, low and ritual-like, sends a small chill up his spine. He gets the impression that they contain a whole different meaning, one that is hidden to him, and most of the others within earshot.

Yet another unknown quantity! The blond elf grits his teeth in frustration, his rage at not being privy to what was really going on once again boiling dangerously close to the surface. Somebody was going to pay dearly before this night was over. At the moment Claymore wasn't quite sure who that person would be, but he was absolute positive that he was going to kill someone.

Aero/Claymore/Haven/Tain - Tues, April 1st - 23:36 - State Rtoute 169 - The Challenge[/b]

Vixen nods solemnly as Sting finishes, puts her sunglasses back on to protect her eyes from the rain, and turns to her starting position, waiting for Tain slide into place. The Ancients quiet down as Tain assumes his position, then cheer again as he strips to the waist, roaring their approval and his apparent machismo and bravado. On the other side, Vixen, helmetless, keeps her jacket, calmly preparing herself mentally. Those closest to her see her withdraw something from within her sleeve, holding it as she leans over her bike.

Perception test, except for Tain unless he has 100M+ vision mag. Threshold (2) -3 modifier assuming actively looking for those who [said they were watching Vixen for cheating. Otherwise -5 as 'Not Paying Attention'


Green Lucifer, now at the center where the two bikes will likely meet, calmly walks out in the downpour. He eyes both Challengers, first looking down towards Tain, then up at Vixen, to make sure they are prepared and in position. Seeing Tain's smoking, tense form, and Vixen's calm hunched silhouette against the freeway lights, he holds his arm out perpendicular to his body, signaling them to prepare. Vixen throttles her bike slowly, holding in the clutch, letting the engine rev a few times. An expectant hush falls over the crowd, all bet making past as the Ancients prepare for the very serious business of the Challenge. Lucifer holds his arm for a steady, agonizing five count, then shoots it up to the air, quickly stepping back.

At the signal, the bikes roar, and the Ancients roar with them.

Tain - Opposed Vehicle Test - Bike + Reaction + Handling - Threshold (3), -2 for Road Conditions


Initiative - As Character Init.

As Vixen finishes her speech Haven stands, dusting off his leathers, and tries to sort out things in his head. He wanders off to his bike, shaking his head trying to settle his mind. So, Vixen is a traitor, and she says Tain is a traitor too, so she should be lying... but she sounded like she really knew what she was talking about. No... no... she must be lying. I saw what she can do with her voice. She must be lying. But, it is possible. Then again, she does have a lot to gain from him being proven a traitor if she wins and if she loses well... nothing to lose then. So, she must be lying. There... now that that is settled... then again I'll keep an eye on them both just in case. That settled, he starts up his bike- checking to make sure the monitoring software is functioning- and sets off after Sting. Still reeling from the betrayal earlier and the possible betrayal now, Haven sets off for their destination with little regard for laws or other Ancients. Lost in his own head and emotions, fighting down rage and depression and confusion, he is completely lost. Flying dangerously fast down the rain-slicked roads, Haven buzzes past several Ancients close enough to touch and weaves in between cars as he pulls ahead of the forerunners. Waiting on the edge of the freeway, he is witness to the random violence and jokes that clear the space for the tourney. As they clear out the track for the contest, Haven positions himself dead center on the as close to the edge as possible. Directly across from Sting, he refuses to budge irregardless of who attempts to move him or how as he listens to her speech, understanding the words, but knowing he is missing something nonetheless. Keeping as close a watch as he can on both participants, Haven starts as he sees Tain strip to the waist and a thought bursts to the forefront of his mind. " Oh, I really hope that is some obscure rule of the Challenge I don't know of." Staring hard at Vixen as she starts to move, Haven sighs in frustation as she leaves her clothing on.


Seeing she is just pulling her weapon, Haven winces for Tain as he sees that Vixen's definition of "bikes and blades" apparently includes a freaking monofilament whip. Haven tenses up, thoughts suddenly whirling again, as he sees Lucifer ready the match. As the Greeenie's arm drops and the riders take off he is confused to find himself participating in the accompanying roar and finds his heart thudding wildly in his chest as though he was actually the one on the bike out there.

By the time Green Lucifer steps forward, Tain's vision is tinted red, darkening around the edges in a blood-soaked tunnel that's focused only on his opponent. He sees the man lift his arm, listens to his own heart pound -- faster and faster -- for the seconds the gang leader stands motionless, then as the arm lifts Tain flashes a feral grin and opens Liath Macha up. His bike -- his chariot -- howls and rubber smokes behind him as he lurches forward.

He leans forward, lowering his profile, cutting down on wind shear, making himself a smaller target; all on accident or by coincidence. He simply wants to be leaning forward, urging his bike on, putting himself those scant few inches closer to Vixen. It's blood-tinged eagerness, not tactics, at that moment. His sword arm is out and low, tip of the blade almost scraping the ground to his right, sword held straight like an extension of his arm and angled towards the pavement at a forty five degree angle.

Claymore is wrapped up in trying to puzzle out all that has happened tonight up till this moment. So wrapped up that he doesn't even notice the screaming of the crowd as it rises and falls, or Tain's strange pre-challenge preparations, or even Green Lucifer take his place at the center of the freeway. It is the growling of the bikes that finally cuts deep enough through the elf's thoughts to bring him back to the present. Just in time to watch the two combatants begin their battle.

Heading out with the other Ancients, weaving through the streets Aero's mind is almost elsewhere as he hangs back from the racing juves and thrillseekers, other things are holding his mind at the moment.

A spy within the three she ambushed? It sounds like more lying drek that slitch would throw.... but it rings like it's true.... If so who? I know it's not me. I mean the 'high and mighty princes of all they surveil' picking a disowned son of a prostitue as a spy? Drek, I'd shoot myself if I tried hiring me to spy, heh.

Claymore? He's native to the sprawl, not that that's any indiction.... Guess you'd want someone who fitted in, right? But he's stuck his head out for all of us a bunch of times, and always felt loyal.... Was it an act.... Is he really stabbing us in the back?

Tain? Well he's certainly open about coming from the Tir.... and being a nob(*) with ties to higher ups.... He could be sending info back on us, but why? What would the Tir be interested in us for? Sure there's rumours but drek when aren't there? But then again he has said he'd still be there if it was only elves on the council.... or princes.... or whatever

Grrr, gotta stop thinking like that, it was the slitch who screwed us, probably is the spy too, but still....

It was almost a shock when he realised he was at the Road Rage site and that somehow he'd managed to stay near Claymore. Damn my body musta been on auto.... Lucky I didn't crash and burn. Putting the kick stand down and carefully balancing his ride he peers through the rain and gloom to watch the proceeding. Realising he was just straining, and that any cheating would probably be magical in nature his eyes glaze over slightly as the auras of the city and it's denizens appear before his gaze. And scanning his view around, he nods slightly to the couple of others perceiving and watches through the now slightly glowing rain drops....

Rolls

Initiative 13 - Tain goes first

Handling Test 7 hits - Superior Position at farther range with her weapon, -2 Modifier to Tain's Melee Attack Roll

Tain - Attack (Modifiers -7)


The twin bikes roar, Tain's tires screeching adding to the sense of a swooping raptor as he tears across the asphalt at Vixen. She stays low, her whip in tight as her black Diablo angles at Tain's sleek Mirage. The Champions charge in a suicidal fury, the neither wavering as Tain grins maniaclly. His hair streaks black, his brows angling down, looking all the world like a swooping gryphon as his totem embraces him in his exalted fury. At the last moment, Vixen shifts to the side, her whipe flying up and around in a wide circle that scythes throug the rain. Shebrings it down and around, but Tain is there first, sword coming in for the kill.
[/spoiler]

The berserker growls low in his throat, rage-narrowed vision staying locked on his prey even as she tries her elusive manuevers, swooping and veering at the last instant. He leans towards her, bike following, and even as tires slip on rain-slick streets it's enough to bring Liath Macha around and get him into striking distance. He doesn't try to follow the slashing line of the monowhip above his head and out of his field of vision, just stays focused on Vixen; all pink hair and silly horns, he brings Squire's monosword up and around in a simple, brutal, upswing.

Melee Parry 6 + Edge ReRoll = 10 - Parried

Tain's blade comes up hard and fast while Vixen slides her bike wider. The near invisible mono line slides down, wrapping it's leading weight around the tip of the blade, dragging the killing strike wide, missing her neck by a mere foot. Vixen smakes the blade up with a quick jerk, sending it's cutting edgeup and towards Tain's arm like a striking snake as they race past each other.

Vixen's Melee Attack 4 hits
Roll Melee Parry or Melee Dodge (As Melee Attack, but with Reaction, and no modifier negative modifiers)

A roll of Tain's wrist sends the borrowed blade arcing in a lightning-fast circle, as effortless a stroke as twirling a pen between fingers. The length of the blade re-tangles itself in the snapping coils of the monowhip, more than enough interference to spoil the blow and send the whip's weighted end spinning away from him.

The moment passes, the bikes are out of each other's range. Tain seems determined not to let that stop him from killing her, though; his head turns, his gaze stays locked on Vixen, and he wrenches his bike around by force of arm as much as anything else. Water flies, rubber burns, stinking and leaving black streaks on the pavement, but Liath Macha and it's rider gun towards Vixen without missing a beat.

Vixen whips her bike back around as fast as she can, but to the spectators, it's clear that though she's a very skilled rider, she doesn't have Tain's speed and reaction time. He's back around and racing at her at full speed as she's accelerating, getting her whip ready to defend against a blade she simply isn't in position for.

Initiative 14
Tain +2 Iniative for already being in position.

Handling Test - Vixen 4
Tain applies +2 modifier to Melee Attack for positioning.

He comes in straight at her, leaning eagerly forward at her again, Gryphon urging him forward. Tain swoops at her, bike angling at her in what would be a murder-suicide T-bone if Vixen weren't doing her best to accelerate. He throws his bike to the left as her tires finally find traction, cutting her off and passing in front of her as she's still getting up to speed and aiming her machine down the straightaway.

His borrowed monosword lashes out as he cuts across her bike's nose, teeth still bared in a feral grin, skin still flushed red with righteous fury and the air around him still boiling with steam.

The close quarters have Vixen pinned as Tain shoots straight at her, only missing her bike by a narrow margin. His blade comes for her head, only missing as she kisses the steering column. Vixen shoots under Tain's blade, the monoedge nearly sheering hair as cleaves at her. Her own monoedge snakes up again, a whip crack barely perceptable in the driving rain as Tain races by.

Vixen Melee Parry 5 hits

Vixen Melee Attack 5 hits

Vixen slides under, her bike shooting past, and quickly prepares to come back at him as Tain tries to cheat death pass the trailing mono line.

Tain snaps the monosword up, blade whirling to swat at the buzzing-bee of the monowhip's weighted end. Somewhere beyond the speed of a wired neural system, somewhere just past the edges of magic-fuelled reaction times, lies the nebulous realm of muscle memory and luck. The small weight pings off the flat of the sword, and the rest of the whip's near-weightless length loses momentum, snarling and coiling in the air harmlessly as their bikes streak past one another's.

He swings his sword at nothing a heartbeat later, simply leaning and slashing with it to bring his center of balance low and to the right as he drags Liath Macha around for another pass. Down the length of interstate he sees Vixen has done the same, and once again engines howl as the pair accelerate wildly towards one another. Tain's cycle cuts through the rain towards the other Ancient's, Squire's blade spinning in his hand in an overhand chop.

Sitting astride the green and black Harley, Claymore holds his breath, spellbound as he watches the two gangers slash and spin through their deadly ballet on wheels.

Tain snaps the bike around yet again, well ahead of Vixen. His rear wheel slides out wide, threatening to spill him from the bike. He manages to keep the bike up and in control, one leg dragging on the gorund as he manages to throttle it and get it up with sheer force. Vixen however, has used the time to come back at him, meeting him again in the middle by the time he recovers, the deadly whip striking in again.

Vixen's Handling Test 7 hits +1 for position
Tain loses is extra IP getting the bike turned around as he missed the threshold for the turn.


Initative 15 Round 3

Tain isn't about to let niggling little details like "speed" and "positioning" stop him from taking a swing if Vixen wanders close enough. His arm provides all the speed he'll need, and positioning has more to do with the accuracy of a strike, to him, than with just the angles of their motorcycles in relation to one another. It's all shoulder, bicep, forearm, and wrist again, the well-balanced monoblade whipping out in another arcing strike.

Melee Defense 7 hits

Again they cross, and again, both pull away unscathed. The spectators cheer them on, their shouts roaring over the pouring rain and the screaming tires. They call for blood as the challengers come back around again, knowing that this dance can only go on for so long.

Go at the same time
Positioning Roll 5

Attack roll - Assuming no modifiers 9 (8 if Tain wins the positioning)

Vixen Defense 9 w/ Edge
Vixen Dmg Soak 2 (Tain's DVstr 9/2=5+3=8+2 Net hits = 10DV-2=8boxes Dmg

Still checking around for possible magic cheats happening, Aero nearly misses the flare of the combatants' auras as they clash yet again, this time flaring brighter as they both connect with their attacks and he winces as they struggle to control the bikes while dealing with the impact.

"Drek that's gotta hurt like a mother. Come on Tain ya big lug."

Time seems to stand still as Claymore watches the two bikes come together yet again on the now-abandoned freeway. The green and black clad riders are each intent on bringing about the other's demise, and this time around both attacks strike home. The battling elven gangers both seem to hang in the air for a moment at the point of impact, the crowd collectively holding their breaths in anticipation.

Tain doesn't bother slashing this time. He doesn't dance with her, doesn't dart in, swing his swordarm at her, flick it away as quickly as he can to avoid the swirling, half-visible, coils of her whip. He doesn't lean his bike at her at the last instant and away again a heartbeat later. He doesn't bother. Not this time. Gryphon howls, Liath Macha screams, and Tain grows weary of the game. He throws his bike, his sword, himself straight at the pink-haired barbarian, bike missing hers by centimeters only because she was sane enough to swerve at the last instant.

He'd broken her will back in the room where they'd clashed for the first time. He'd counted on that break still stinging, and it had paid off. He had all the speed, all the momentum, all the rage and anger, and she had broken again -- veering at the last split-second -- and his blade hit, point first.

Tain drives the borrowed monosword home, cutting through Vixen's ribs as easily as he armored jacket. He stabs with it rather than slashing, and the blade sinks into her with ridiculous ease. Tain sees her eyes widen in pain during that split-second that was stretched to last for days, gives a snarl, and doesn't withdraw his arm. He gives the hilt a little twist as bikes pull alongside one another. He sees the snarls of shining monofilament line all around him, but doesn't flinch away. Doesn't bother. He leans out of his saddle to drive the blade home yet more.

The moment passes. Momentum takes over again, time speeds back up. Vixen is pulled and twisted nearly out of her seat as she's impaled on Tain's monoblade, he feels only a gentle tug as he jerks it free with all the brutal, glorious, might of his warp spasm. Then he feels a second gentle tug, a plucking at the skin, followed a heartbeat later by a screaming-hot line of pain; a cut, sharp and painless for a heartbeat like a papercut. It starts all up and down his swordarm, where he'd thrust himself willfully into the coiling, spiraling, monowhip. The angry red line flows all up that right arm, across the very top of his shoulderblades -- a few scant centimeters higher, he'd have lost his head -- and the cut ends almost at the elbow of his left arm, where the weighted tip of the graceful weapon bounced off his skin.

The two bikes part amidst a spray of crimson. Vixen spills elven blood onto pavement. Tain does the same. Liath Macha wobbles, skids, sprays up rainwater as it loses traction and almost falls...but it stays upright, and so does its rider.

There's a collective sharp intake of breath as everyone sees at the last moment that this pass isn't like the rest. Tain doesn't maneuver, Vixen doesn't go wide, both lean in. Pure fury is on Tain's face as he whips by, Vixen's an icy calm behind her shades. Half the gathered Ancients almost flinch as they expect the bikes to collide in a wrenching wreck. Vixen side slips at the last moment, her monowhip trailing in behind her, leaving Tain no place to go. He doesn't bother.

There's a chorus of "Ewww!"s as Tain's sword slams into Vixen's waist, the smaller elf being lifted from the seat of her bike, the mono-thin blade easily sliding out of her skin. She hits the ground, already in a spin, doing something like a cartwheel followed by another half dozen rolls before sliding to a stop some more thirty feet later, lying broken on the wet asphalt, raining pouring down on her face. Tain drve sdirectly into the monoline, the deadly coil wrapping around his arm and torso, slicing deep lacerations into his body. Everyone expects him to go down, possibly in pieces. The only thing that keeps his torso in two is Vixen losing her grip on the haft as Tain's blade slams home into her. The whip clatters to the ground, sliding out of Tain's body. His bike wobbles, the slicing of his muscles enough to break through even his berserk insanity and ruin his control of the bike. Somehow however, he manages to wobble a bit further, before slowing and coming to a stop, pouring blood as the rain washes it to the streets. All eyes go from him, to her, and back.

Everyone is silent for a moment, until Sting rides into the center, coming to a stop some ten meters from Vixen's broken form. She pauses only a moment.
Tain has completed the Challenge. Let no one speak again on this matter without more than their word, or face me.

Sting throttles up, riding to Tain, sliding to a stop in the rain next to the still steaming elf, still holding his bloody sword. She speaks quietly to him.
When you get back, we will speak.

E túre mára meraerth Tain. Mai-telya

As the riders approach each other for what will be their final time, Haven is still watching for tricks and it takes him almost a full second to realize that instead of maneuvering out at the last second the elves almost rammed each other and both slammed their weapons home. Seeing blood fly, Haven winces as he realized that two really nice bikes are about to be wrecked.

Uhg... what a waste of machinery.

As he flinches away from the ruin of her bike and watches Vixen tumble and skid in a limp heap, it takes Haven until Sting rides over to Tain to realize that he managed to retain control and not splatter himself on the asphalt as well.

Heh, serves that bitch right for fucking with her brothers, and apparently her better. I knew Tain was ok all along, Vixen was just setting things up for herself to be a hero or at least salvage her reputation after killing Tain since everyone found out about the Spike attack.... I hope.

Waiting till Sting finishes talking, Haven opens an AR window on his commlink through his skinlink and finds Tain's contact information.

Nice job, brother. The traitorous bitch got what she deserved and with that bit of theatrics and your display of skill both oratory and martial I would say you increased your standing considerably besides. Anyway, that gash across your shoulders looks nasty, if you can spare a few minutes to hit Farhaven on the way back to the Squat I can patch you up really nice. I mean, I've got my medkit so I can do it here, but the facilities at my shop are both more advanced as well as a hell of a lot cleaner. Up to you, just let me at it before some mage comes along and half-assed heals it fucked up so I can't mess with it.

Spinning the message off, Haven waits for a response, observes the crowd and hopes Tain reads his message before some mage gets his claws in him.
Stupid magic, healing from the outside in. What good is sealing up a cut if the inside is still broken and infected? Bah!

"Spilling...ngh..." Tain grits his teeth, tosses his head to toss rain-slick hair out of his eyes. He looks past Sting to Vixen's shattered, punctured, form. His skin's normal hue returns, the red fading from it as the ball of rage -- pure, clean, in a way, rage -- dissolves in his stomach. His voice is just loud enough for Sting to hear over the rain. "Spilling elven blood brings me no pleasure. Know that."

On his back, Gryphon soaks in watery blood. Over his heart, the Black Sun is a dark shadow. His rage gone, his enhanced strength rushes from him, as well. His shoulders slump over Liath Macha's handlebars, the tip of Squire's sword clicks softly against pavement as he almost leans upon it to stay upright. He looks...tired. Hurt, yes, but weary from it all, as well. "And yes. When I get back."

He remembers who's watching -- his entire world, very nearly -- and straightens in the saddle. His broad shoulders square off again, the sword rises. His bike starts moving, wheeling him back to his starting line, where soaking wet (but warmer than nothing) clothes wait for him.

As the dramatic scene comes to its conclusion, Claymore feels the rage and tension that have been fueling his body for the last few hours drain away along with his long-held breath. The whole scene feels slightly anti-climactic to the elven gunslinger, and he runs his hand through his blond hair as he looks around trying to guage the reactions of the other Ancients gathered along the freeway.

It's not that he isn't happy for Tain or anything like that. He is quite pleased that the Tir ex-pat has emerged triumphant from the duel. It was just that he didn't actually expect him to win at all. Claymore was fully expecting to have to personally follow up on all that had happened tonight, and now with Vixen's defeat, although he knows full well that this doesn't put an end to the matter, he isn't quite sure at the moment just where to go from here.

The bikes slam almost into each, the elves certainly do, or at least that's what it looks like in the split second of impact, and then it's whirl of spraying blood, water and flying bike parts. It takes a moment for the scene to resolve completely and his brain to register the results of the challenge. Tain sitting proud on his bike, blooded but proud.

The moment breaks and Aero reaching to a saddle bag to check for his med kit seeing that Tain wasn't bleeding badly enough to pass out here.

Might be best at the Squat if he can make it.... Well can only check with him how bad it is.... Guess this proves Vixen was talking drek, at least I guess the bosses want this ended here.... Shame she had ta push it so far, she used to be a great asset, power musta gotten to her.... or started fraggin' a trog and he shudders for no readily apparent reason.

Seeing Sting finishing up with Tain he starts to move over to him to check his wounds out.

He'd told Sting they'd talk once he got back to the Squat, and he'd meant it. He just hadn't said he'd be limping up there bleeding like a stuck pig, exposed and half-naked and begging for one of Vixen's favorites to shoot him while he was exhausted and they were still drunk on the anger that came with seeing her dead. He'd go elsewhere, get cleaned up and patched up first, talk to those he could still -- he hoped -- call friend. Then he'd approach her, and they'd speak.

Liath Macha wheels him, Tain's feet walking alongside providing as much momentum as the bike's engine, to his jacket, his shirt, and his Squire. He ignores his shirt, lets her help him into his jacket as he winces; soaked in blood inside and out, tossed in a puddle, left in the rain, all in one night? The leathers might actually start to look like they belonged to a go-ganger. His commlink buzzes against his side, but he's a little busy at the moment and ignores it.

He keeps her sword in his hand as Ancients disperse, catches Aero's eye as the mage comes over. He gives the mage a nod, scans the crowd for Claymore and Haven, Jake and Curly, gives a little 'come here' toss of his head.

"Haven, would you mind leading the way? Someplace private, where I might get cleaned up without leaking all over the Squat's pretty floors."

Haven watches Tain, making sure no one gets any magic in before he can be patched up. He doesn't seem to have gotten the message, but a toss of his head seems to indicate that he wants Haven to come over. Gunning his bike gently he coasts over and listens to Tain's request.

"No problem, brother. I've got just the place." Nodding to those around him, Haven then says "Looks like we are heading to the Farhaven Garage, gents. If you know the way, I'll meet you there, if not follow me and try not to get lost."

Haven waits for assent from those around him and then buzzes off, heading home by the most direct route possible.

Catching Tain's unspoken message, the elven gunslinger eases his bike over to the side of the wounded Ancient. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it with a snap, eyes widening in complete surprise as the Tir ex-pat so casually entrusts his safety and health to Vixen's lapdog. Claymore's eyes narrow dangerously as he watches Haven nod self-importantly, and he grinds his teeth at the elf's easy, off-handed tone of voice.

He keeps his words of doubt to himself though, but makes sure to keep his senses attuned for any sign of an ambush as he rides right at Tain's side all the way to the garage in the wake of the dead slitch's lackey.

Aero/Claymore/Haven/Tain - Tues, April 2nd - 00:15 - FarHaven Garage Musci - MC 900 Foot Jesus - "While the City Sleeps"
Squire stays neatly at Tain's side, still keeping his goods close until he is ready for them. It takes someone with as much hero worship as her by his side to keep Tain high in the saddle, or even in the saddle at all. He loses blood as they ride, the rain cascading down his body now a definite crimson, mingling with the rest of the blood on the Tarislar streets. Reaching Farhaven is a goal he sets in his mind, this new and unfamiliar crew around him.

For Claymore, it's a juxtapose, a group he's been tossed in with, unsure of what his role is, or that of the others for that matter. Vixen's actions put him here. The only question now is, what wil that mean, and who wil he have to kill to change it?

Aero, still out of place, and trying to find himself, seems to have at least found comrades in arms, fate dealing another cruel hand, but leaving a window for him to jump through. As always, the window is freshly broken, with long shards still jutting out, and is two stories up. Fucking Fate. What a bitch.

For Haven however, the night's events have given him a better turn. Long in the shadows of the Squat and other more prominent Ancients, he moves in to take a more immediate role in the lives of his brothers.

As they pull into Haven's garage however, few can forget the looks and murmered words of the other Ancients. The Challenge may have been won, but Vixen's words still cut as deep as a monowhip. Is there a traitor? Is it Tain? Is there still someone else out there? Why would Vixen of all people, jsut short of the top, turn like that? Is it really over? In the end, will her words prove as deadly as Tain's sword?

As no one has actually applied medical care, and Tain seems good to go, Tain takes 2 more boxes of physical damage from heavy bleeding.

Their bikes cut through the streets, Tain's not at the front where he can normally be found. He paces the pack, lags behind a bit, here and there, as dizziness and darkness dim his vision whenever a corner gets taken too fast. No, no, out front is Haven, where he'd been placed quite purposefully; if he proved loyal, the honor of leading the pack would be a pleasant surprise. If he proved otherwise, Tain and his few friends -- friends? Allies? Comrades? All three? -- would all have open shots at Haven's unguarded back if things got ugly. If they pulled into Farhaven to find the place full of Vixen loyalist's waiting in ambush, the mechanic would die first for his treachery.

Liath Macha's engine whines as the other bikes idle around him, and Tain blinks, drunkenly like a half-hibernating bear, as he realizes the rest of them are parking and clambering off their rides. He straightens in his saddle, hands the borrowed blade over to Squire now that he doubts it will be immediately needed. The elf is just able to swing a leg off his bike, before a hand that had been reaching out to pat Squire on the shoulder affectionately turns, instead, to him putting his augmented weight almost entirely on her. Another wave of dizziness washes over him.

"Aero...if you think one pass will handle it, by all means, cast away." He knows how it works. How could one serve in the Peace Force, nevermind ride the border as a Paladin, without understanding just that very basic principle of healing? He doesn't know a damned thing else about how to patch anyone together, but he knows it's got to be mundane first, then magic. Once the Power flies, band-aids and gauze don't matter worth a damn. "If not...someone do whatever stitching needs done, or washing, or what-have-you."

"Just..." If he wasn't who he was, he'd snort, laugh, or shake his head. His hands were made for killing, not healing. He doesn't even know what to ask them to do. "...do it soon, hmm?"

Haven pulls up at home a surrepticiously disarms his security, first wireless, then biometric, and finally he sticks an old fashioned key in a lock on the warehouse door and keys it to open. Smiling as the double wide door raises slowly to reveal a place with so many fond memories that one night- no matter how stressful and confusing- cannot dampen his joy at arriving home. Business being slow lately, there are no vehicles here now except for one Roadmaster parked in a corner looking like a real Road Warrior. Haven turns and smiles and says "Pull yourselves in out of the rain, gents, no need to leave man or machine out on a night like this. Welcome to Farhaven Garage- your port in any storm." Haven finishes his many speech with an overly dramatic flourish to indicate the drab concrete and corrugated steel like he was leading you to a paradise.

Keeping a good eye on Tain's wobbling and blood loss, Aero tries to stay clear enough not to imped his wounded chummer but close enough he could help if it all goes south.

Could get an air spirit to help support him.... or in his condition it'll probably make it worse, frag it.... where's the fecking garage

Sighing slightly as the garage hoves into view he goes back on the defensive, looing for threats and waiting lackeys.

It's possible I could get it all in one go chummer, but better if we go the tech route first. Can always fallback on magic to fix it but if I don't get it all in one spell you'll have to take some rack time. Heard good things about Haven's patching, almost as good as his bikes and dropping his voice he continues hopefully quietly enough only for Tain to hear



And dismounting he helps Squire help Tain inside, as he looks around.

Rolls, Paranoid and Fisty-goodness

Claymore breaths a small sigh of relief as he finally steers the big Scorpion out of the rain and into Farhaven Garage. He'd been here a few times in the past, but this time the ride took much longer than normal with both the weather and Tain's condition being what they were.

Shaking the excess water from his short blond hair, he makes his way directly to Tain's side, but once again the wounded Ancients' words cut him off before he has a chance to speak his mind. Gritting his teeth in frustration, the gunslinger silently stares daggers at Haven as he helps the others move Tain through to the clinic.

Tain doesn't push them away, doesn't slap the hands off. His disdain for assistance is a publicity affair, not genuinely a matter of pride. He wasn't going to let every Ancient in the 'plex see him have this much trouble, but he'd been cut -- and badly -- enough times before to know that here, amongst this half-dozen or so, it would do more harm than good to try and shrug off the helpful hands.

Not least of which, of course, to morale. Squire would act like nothing short of a kicked hound, if he batted her off him instead of -- teeth gritting at the pain it brings his shoulders -- reaching up to tousle her hair affectionately while she ducks under his arm to help support his weight.

He lets them help him, well aware of how badly he needs it. Somewhere during the exchange -- his head's getting a bit fuzzy -- he gives Aero a meaningful nod, half 'understood' and half 'thank you.'

Haven starts, feeling slightly foolish at his theatrics as he sees how injured Tain truly is.
Bah, letting a brother bleed while you indulge in petty theatrical gesture. You truly are a worthless bastard, Haven. "This way and down the stairs, brothers. Haven says as he indicates a staircase leading down on the left side of the building. "While I pride myself on my handiwork both medical and mechanical, if any of you have training I would appreciate the help and I'm sure Tain wouldn't mind a couple extra eyes to make sure I don't miss anything." Noticing Claymore being even more hostile than normal he spins a message off to him
Seeing Tain has all the support he needs Haven quick steps to the stairs and unlocks and opens the door. "Careful now fellows, these stairs are steep and I seriously doubt Tain relishes the prospect of tumbling down the stairs at this point." That said, Haven heads over and shuts the door and rearms his security.

"Whatever's the fastest way to get down them..." Tain is feeling bad. That was almost a joke.

With Squire holding Tain up on one side and Aero propping him up on the other, there was not really a lot that Claymore could do to help with moving the wounded elf. Especially when the group gets to the cramped confines of the stairway. He trails slightly behind the trio, keeping his eyes on Haven as the techie keeps up his string of inane chatter.

When Haven's message pops up on his image link, Claymore almost loses it. He rounds on the other elf as the tech is returning from the door, his face bright red with anger. The only thing keeping his hand from a weapon right at the moment was the fact that Haven also wears the Ancients colors.

"Damn right we'll deal with it. Later, if yer actually gonna do more 'n jus' talk. Otherwise ..."

He lets the sentence hang dangerously, his emerald eyes sparkling as he stares at Vixen's watchdog.

Startled that Claymore's anger is directed at him specifically, Haven glares right back "What the hell is your problem, Claymore? Tain is freaking bleeding everywhere and I have been nothing but fucking helpful from step one and for some damn reason you are wandering around glaring at me and looking like you wish to hell you I wasn't family so you could stick a blade in me and forget about it. I understand you've had a hard fuckin' day, but I faced down Vixen for you guys in that conference room. I put my rep and my future in the Ancients on your side of the line that got drawn and I wasn't even fuckin' involved in the damn ambush! What cause have you to question my loyalty?! Mine! I put the families welfare before my own every time I let someone stay here when they need to lay low, every time I fix a bike for free, every time I patch up someones' hurt with naught a thought for cost or who I might irritate by keeping them alive. Who are you to question what I do here? Haven swells with anger and the venom of old wounds as he speaks. Once finished he realizes that by the end of his statement he was screaming and a conversation he had intended to deal with quietly after a while had been aired to all and sundry.

Claymore spits on the floor in front of Haven.

"More fuckin' talk! You go on and on about helpin', but you ain't actually doin' shit.'

The elven gunslinger pauses, staring at Haven for a moment before shaking his head dismissively and turning back toward the stairway, continuing without looking back.

"I don't have time t' deal with your theatrics right now. Yer traitor mistress is road pizza, yer babysittin' job is over, an' we'll deal with the rest later. So if you ain't gonna help, shut the fuck up an' stay outta the way."

Following Claymore down the stairs and seething on the inside, Haven tries to stuff it all in so he can concentrate on helping Tain. Walking downstairs Haven looks around and realizes that the others probably just see clutter. Auto parts in the back right corner, an armorer's station and table full of gun parts on the right and front walls, a curtained off corner with the slim forms of cots just visible behind the cloth, and a beaten up examination table that is surprisingly clean surrounded by relatively new looking and well maintained medical equipment. "Well, if anyone can help best speak up now, if not looks like it is time to get down to business. Tain, if you would sit in the table, please, I'll see to you presently." Now in his element, Haven puts all other thoughts aside and concentrates on just fixing what is broken and making whole again what is rent.

Through it all, the painful entry to the garage, and the exchange between Claymore and Haven, Squire stays at Tain's side, silent and loyal, doing what little she can to help. She seems to be beaming with pride, although the emotion wars with concern on her young features. Once inside, it's clear that the moisture on her face is not only from the rain. But she girl carries Tain, his weapons, and hers, with a stoic hardness one comes to expect of a life time Ancient.

Trailing behind the group, another of Tain's 'retinue', Jake trails them, watching and listening in uncharacteristic silence. As things heat between Clay and Haven, Jake twitches as well, eyeing the two of them carefully, not wanting to provoke further, and not quite sure where the lines are any more. While the two argue, Jake watching them, Squire helps Tain to sit on the exam table, then begins rifling through nearby sheles, looking for patches or pill bottles.

Gah, isn't one challenge enough for a night.... damn I need some kip and a beetle

Helping Squire maneuver Tain down the stairs and to the indicated cot whilst minimising the jolts as best he can, Aero can only wonder at the bickering, sure Haven could be a watchdog or lackey, but at the moment his medical skills where more important, well unless he "slips" but from his rep that was unlikely.... Then again this has been a real shitty day....

Guys, calm the frak down and deal with it later. I'll help if you need me, Haven.

And settling Tain down and getting his medkit out in case it's needed he quickly types out two messages and sends them off.

To Claymore


To Haven

Ignoring the text message from Aero, and not even bothering to give a response to Haven's latest remark, Claymore heads straight to the small sink. Shedding the long leather jacket and throwing it over one of the machines, the elf washes the night's dirt from his hands. Grabbing a clean towel, he steps over to the table where Tain is now seated.

Haven reads the message from Aero and nods at him. "I would much appreciate it if you could stabilize the exit side of the wound while I work on the entry side. Claymore, I'm assuming you are helping and not just cleaning up, so if you could pull the wound together before the stitches and hand me what I need when I need it, it would be much appreciated. Squire, please come out of there and I'll get started. Just help Tain keep still, we wouldn't want anything to get hurt more while this goes on."

Haven scrubs down and slaps on a pair of surgical gloves, and quickly lines up Clot-Aid, local anesthetic, a chemical catalyst, Tissue Filler, a needle, butterfly tape, and some stitch thread on a surgical tray. Grabbing the Clot-Aid himself and perching on his chair behind Tain with Clot-Aid in hand Haven slowly adds a small layer all along the massive and surprisingly clean and simple slash. While the Clot-Aid is setting, Haven motions for the next instrument from the tray. Receiving it from Claymore with a nod of thanks, Haven moves along the slash rubbing anesthetic gently into the skin and easing the pain he feels radiating off of the broad man's back. "I would just give you something to knock you out, but I somehow doubt you are quite done for the night yet. This will kill the pain long enough for me to get you fixed up. Given time to do it's work, the Clot-Aid would stop all bleeding at the injury site and sit till the body scarred around it and broke it down. But being as I am too proud of my handiwork, and too conscientious of my brothers as I assume you don't want to be stiff along the shoulders for the rest of your life I am adding a catalyst to break the Clot-Aid down after it stops the bleeding but long before the scarring." Finishing his gentle rubdown of the slash, Haven says "Speaking of which, it looks like it is time for the catalyst now. Claymore, if you don't mind, please sprinkle a small layer of that next compound into the wound, and Aero, wait about 15 seconds and wash out the resultant liquid. I need to roll out this Tissue Filler." Trusting the others to do their jobs well, Tain removes a large amount of a strange pale putty substance from a box marked Tissue Filler(Elven) and begins to gently roll it out into the general shape of the wound. As Aero and Claymore finish cleaning the wound, he says "Gentlemen, since you are done, if you would assist me by stabilizing the wound sides a I fill it in with this, please." After the men clamp down on their portions of the wound Haven begins to gently fill in the gaping wound with the oddly cold putty-like substance. "This is Tissue Filler, a place holder and nutrient source for your body while it is rebuilding all the tissue destroyed by this wound. Your body will degrade it for nutrients at approximately the same rate it manages to rebuild the tissue underneath. Not only will this minimize scarring, but you won't be plagued with voracious hunger like most who are recovering from such a wound." Finishing his gentle ministrations, he finally motions for the needle, stitch thread, and butterfly tape on the bench. "Aero, if you could stay where you are and make sure nothing shifts that side open anymore and that none of the filler comes out, that would be great. Claymore, if you could pull the skin flaps closed ahead of my stitching and then tape the stitches in place at an interval of about 5 centimeters." With everything co-ordinated he begins stitching the wound shut and rambles on "Of course, now I'm stitching shut the wound. I have a feeling you are going to want to be able to move your shoulders without fear of ripping things so I'm going to leave a little play in this thread and then Claymore will tape the wound together and we will seal it afterwards. The stitches will degrade on their own, but if you rip the tape in the next few days come see me and I will reseal the wound. This doesn't look too bad, with luck you will just have a razor-thin whipcord- literally- scar along your back and shoulders with no unsightly scarring or stiffness." Speech done, and patient comforted (or in this case more probably annoyed) Haven gets a look of blank concentration on his face and really gets moving stitching with a rate and sureness touch unlike any you have never seen before.



Satisfied with his handiwork, Haven smiles as Claymore places the last piece of tape and he seals the wound against bacterial intrusion by spraying the wound down with Faux Skin.

After this treatment is over Haven settles back into his chair, looks around, and says Wonderful job, fellows, Tain- Are you good, does it feel ok? Stiffness? Tightness? Any pain left at all? Don't be afraid to let me know."

"I'm fine." It was amazing. At every point throughout the process that the broad-shouldered elf had been about to tell Haven to stop chattering like a jaybird, shut up, and just get to stitching...he'd finished whatever he'd been doing, and moved on to the next step. The medic'd timed it perfectly. Every time he'd been about to look over his shoulder and tell the mechanic-turned-street-doc to just put a sock in it and grab a stapler, there'd been a few moments of silence during which Tain would have seemed ridiculous for voicing such irritation. The timing was phenomenal. He'd been stuck just gritting his teeth -- in annoyance, rather than pain -- and waiting for the other elf to finish up.

He rolls his shoulders experimentally, grimace softening -- just a hair -- as no new pain rips across his back, as no new rush of blood dribbles from the wound. He gives a curt nod, forces a bit of a smile for Squire, and holds a hand out for his sopping wet shirt.