MV: Lying in Wait

It took a bit of practice with bits of trash for targets, and a recitation of the basic rules of gun safety: all guns are always loaded, trigger discipline is foremost, and you only aim a gun if you intend to shoot something. Veronica nodded along, and once Steve was satisfied they handed off a pair of weapons: a .38 revolver, and a pump shotgun with an under-barrel attachment that seemed to be a diving light or something similar.  

"Listen, kid-- Andy--" said Rodney, as he handed over the weapons. "Don't waste your time plotting against us. If you want us to cut you loose, we will. Of course, if you misbehave we might end up hunting you and I think we'd all regret that, but you're not a prisoner."

Andy gave him the most withering look he could manage. "I have three targets," he said quietly. "As disappointed as you might be to hear it, none of you qualify." He hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out and squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "And I keep my word."

Rodney managed a grin. "We won't have to make a hunter out of you," he predicted. "You've got the drive already."

Andy considered that. "You're just saying that because I know what I want and I have ideas about how to get there."

"Hunting can be done reluctantly, or joyously, but it should always have respect for the prey," Veronica said firmly. "Even Rodney acknowledges that."

Andy nodded. He had guns now. His maker did too, or his allies did. A wight, a werewolf, and a nightbringer. In theory, the strike team should be able to take care of them -- but they'd dodged the team once before, and rescued the werewolf from Andy and his rescuers. He didn't intend to underestimate them. He'd never expected to find himself in a gang war between monsters and monster-cops, but apparently that was where he was. 

It didn't matter if he lived or died. That made everything easier.  

MV: Retreating Further West

Andy wasn't sure where they ended up, only that it was still short of midnight when they arrived. "Nearest town's Lawton," was the best he'd been able to get out of any of his three guardians. Steve had taken the mattress that ran down the side of the van, and promptly passed out, leaving Veronica to do the driving; Rodney was pacing them on his motorcycle. 

Andy had never seen the appeal of motorcycles. They were too loud, too risky, too vulnerable. But sitting in the passenger seat of the converted van, he found he was starting to find the sound of Rodney moving around them reassuring. 

"Steve told me you asked for a gun," Veronica had said once they were on the highway. 

Andy had nodded. "I'd rather have it on record."

Veronica thought about that for a long moment. "The woman we report to is Margaret Hamilton. She's completely human, and very much by-the-book. The odds of her approving something like that officially are... not good."

Andy had considered that. "Is there any way I can contact her directly?"

Veronica had hesitated. "Maybe. If you want to convince her, it should be during daylight -- but you don't seem to pass out the way Rodney does, so that should be doable."

They'd fallen mostly silent after that, and when they pulled onto the small property in the brush-land just outside the Wichita Wildlife Refuge Andy had done his part to bring their things inside. He was strong, but strong wasn't enough to give him a life. Not outside of the current business of running, hiding, and hoping to ambush the monsters who'd killed him. 

This new place was a single-story farmhouse with an attached barn, mostly empty; Andy didn't get much chance to look around before Rodney bustled him inside. The interior was more of a surprise; the central section was built of thick concrete walls and ceiling, heavy doors, and carefully-isolated electronics. The outer areas -- kitchen, living room, study -- were ordinary enough. The small complex of bedrooms and bathrooms were a subtle fortress. 

"You still awake?" asked Steve, mid-morning. 

Andy nodded. "Nerves," he said simply. 

"Well, Veronica briefed me and I'm about to phone in to Margaret. You ready to make your case?"

Andy nodded. He was. 

Steve tapped his phone, and waited while it rang: once, twice... "Sign in," said a woman's voice. 

"Watch Team Barn Owl, reporting, verification Zero-One-Alpha."

There was a momentary pause. "Proceed." 

"At target's request, we've relocated to strike zone outside of Lawton. Our team is in place; Strike Team should be right behind us and digging in."

"Understood," said the woman's voice. "There have been developments. Volunteer Lorraine Duchamp is dead, and feeder John White is missing. We found their car just before noon."

Andy felt a surge of dread go through him. Titus, again. He knew next to nothing about the wight that had made him, but in that moment he was ready to kill him. 

"Understood," Steve returned. "Target has a request."

"Does he?" asked Margaret. "Put him on."

Andy leaned towards the phone, which was set on speaker. "I'd like a gun," he said simply. "I need to be able to defend myself. I know how to shoot, I will pass any readiness or safety check you want to give me, but I want to do this right. What do I need to do to make that possible?"

There was a long pause, and then the woman's voice said: "You've been cooperative, and you are in active danger. If your guardians judge that they can trust you with silver ammunition, I'll back their call."

Steve leaned forward. "Andrew, here, is the most reliable candidate I've seen in a decade. I'd trust him not to shoot me in the back."

"All right. I'll trust you on this one. Run him through basic safety. If he know it, give the kid a gun. And kid? Be responsible with it."

Andy nodded, even knowing that Margaret couldn't see him. "Only the three who destroyed my life," he said firmly. "And Steve gets the gun back as soon as they're down."

There was a momentary pause, and then Margaret said, "You have yourself a bargain, young man." 

MV: Decision Point

It was just after dark, and Steve led him over to the kitchen table. The lingering scent of food was a minor torment, a reminder that Andy couldn't -- or shouldn't -- eat regular food anymore. Veronica was there as well, and... Lorraine? Yes, that was her name. Sitting beside her was another young man, this one a sandy blond... maybe in his twenties? And sitting between Steve and Veronica was a woman in a sort of Hijab, wearing glasses so dark that Andy couldn't see her eyes. 

They looked like a council of war. 

Cautiously, Andy took a seat and looked around the table again. 

Steve nodded back to him. "You remember Lorraine, I trust," he said, and Andy nodded. 

Lorraine leaned forward. The gray in her hair and the lines in her face were both fading; he could see that clearly, and was relieved by it. "This is John," she said, tilting her head to the sandy-haired young man beside her. 

"Um," he said. "Hi. I'll be your victim tonight, I guess." He grinned, then. "Sorry, I haven't ever been drained by a wight before. Forgive me for being a bit shocked?"

Andy shrugged. "I certainly was," he offered. 

Lorraine chuckled, and Steve moved on. "Our companion in the glasses is Eleni Livingstone. She's in charge of the strike team." 

Andy nodded carefully to her. "Thank you."

She offered a brief, professional smile. "Pleasure to help. I'm here to ask you to make a decision."

Andy considered that, but only briefly. "What kind of decision?"

"What to do next," she answered him easily. "The strike team is in position here, but we can't stay here -- not without the risk of shooting up the neighborhood. I am confident--" She glanced at Steve. "--that we can get you safely to one of the schools, and also that this would be the safest choice for you." She hesitated as Andy waited. "The alternative would be to pull out, let your team take you to someplace more remote, and see if your presence lures in the three rogues so we can trap them."

Andy studied her for a long moment, but couldn't discern anything through the sunglasses. Rodney reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, then extracted a twenty-dollar bill and set it neatly on the table. Eleni turned slightly in his direction, then shook her head at him. Her expression, as much of it as Andy could make out, might have been exasperated.

"Kill them," Andy said, keeping his voice quiet but firm. Eleni turned her attention-apparent back to him. "Otherwise I'm just waiting around wondering if they're going to find me again. I'd rather take the immediate risk."

Steve nodded, and Rodney put the bill away again. "Could have been an easy twenty for me," he remarked in a tone of idle regret. "Too bad." 

"You get paid plenty," said Eleni. "All right. We're agreed. Lorraine, you and John take care of the kid while we pull things together. The moment you're clear, we're off."

Most of the table rose, monsters scattering to their duties. Andy sat there, watching as Lorraine brought John around to him. 

"You could turn me, right?" asked John.

"Into this?" asked Andy, more shocked than he cared to admit. 

Lorraine said, "John," but he shook his head. 

"I was just asking," he said. "I mean, look at him. He's ugly, but he's strong -- and if I'm dead, this bullshit sentence is up and I'm free."

"That's not how it--" Lorraine sounded as if she was doing her best to be patient. 

John scowled for just a heartbeat -- long enough for Andy to see how much he wanted the change, wanted to run loose as a monster. How much he wanted to do violence, even as a mortal man.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scooting away behind him and toppling over, and slapped his palm down over John's face. "You want to be food for us? A victim? Okay."

Lorraine started to reach for him, but Andy brushed her aside and kept his hand in place for that critical few seconds. When he loosed it, John, staggered and dropped: brittle, elderly, and weak. "Don't tempt me," he said, and turned away. "This is your sentence, not your salvation."

Lorraine dropped to her knees, checked John over, then sighed. "Andy..." 

He sighed. "Sorry," he said, with only a token attempt at sincerity. "I'm still new at this. I'll keep better control next time."

"If there is a next time," Lorraine said quietly. "At least you didn't kill him."

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Andy said quietly, then sighed. "Sorry," he repeated. "This guy should be kept far away from anybody who actually might turn him, though."

"I know," said Lorraine. "Look, I know this is part of your new nature, but try to keep a handle on it, okay? I'll have to write it up, but I can note it as a one-time thing. Don't make it a habit." 

Andy nodded and stepped out of the room. Behind him, on the floor, John gasped out, "Fuck. You." 

Wargs Revisited

"Got the perfect one for you, Bonethorn." 

"Seriously? I mean, okay, I'll ride a warg into battle, but don't expect me to-- hey! Get off! Stopping licking my ears-- that tickles!"

"See?"

"Grimstick, did you pick out the absolute least murder-y warg in the whole pack?"

"Not sayin'. But Willrender here isn't goin' to be a good companion for just any goblin. He wants scratches -- under the chin and behind the ears are best, but he'll take what he can get. You get wounded in battle, he'll probably just cuddle up beside you." 

"Well then, who's a good boy? Is it you? Is it?" 

"He seems to like you. Goregrim had cracked him over the head with a mace by this point."

"Goregrim is a sad excuse for a goblin. Great warchief, but he's just so angry all the time. Can't be good for his blood pressure. Not like you, Willrender, you sweet, sweet puppy."

"Keep your voice down!" 

"All right, I'm sold. I'm riding a warg into battle, and it's Willrender."

"Good. Now, whatever you do, don't expect him to bite anybody. You just ride him, keep him line with the others, and do your thing."

"Which is what?"

"Eh? Shoot arrows at the elves, Bonethorn. Willrender won't mind that, he just doesn't want to bite anybody himself."

"Right. Yes. Violence. I forgot about that part. Who's a cute giant murder puppy? Is it you?"

"Stop talking to the warg and focus. You're going to need to learn to ride him..." 

"Like this?" 

"...Like that. M'kay, I'll just leave you two to get acquainted. Remember, battle's in three days." 

MV: Elusive Sleep

By noon, Andy was about ready to climb the walls. He'd retreated to the ground-floor bedroom and made sure the blackout curtains were fully closed, but no amount of lying on the bed was enough to let him relax. He wasn't sure whether that was because he didn't feel entirely safe, or whether he'd simply had too much sleep -- or whatever passed for it -- already.

He pulled a book off the shelves almost at random, and found himself reading about naval warfare in World War I. Naval-gazing, he thought to himself, and chuckled quietly. Likely there was a whole hidden history here, spirits and monsters and sorceries all contributing to the outcome of the battles and the course of the war; he'd have to ask about that later. 

The book did its job, at least: after half an hour or so, he was settled enough to lie back and let himself drift. He didn't dream this time, and wouldn't have sworn that he slept except that when Steve came to get him it took a minute or so to wake back up. 

"Are they--?" Andy cut himself off, reaching out and realizing that his maker wasn't close enough to sense. 

Steve studied him for a moment, and Andy shook his head. "I can't feel him."

"Good," said Steve. "The strike team got here just after noon, but this is a safehouse -- not the best place to stage an ambush or even an arrest. Don't want to put the neighbors in danger, after all."

"Tulsa," said Andy, remembering. "Yeah, let's not get anybody else killed." He hesitated, then asked, "Is there any chance I could have a gun? I actually do know how to shoot."

Steve hesitated. "Let me think that over. Officially, no -- too big a risk. But this whole situation is dangerous."

Andy nodded and didn't say anything else. He was still dressed, and when Steve wandered back out of the room he slipped back into his shoes and followed.  

A Conversation 'Twixt Goblins

"Grimstick,these are wargs." 

"Yes! The traditional mounts of our people! ...Is that a problem, Bonethorn?" 

"You want me to ride into battle on the back of a warg?" 

"Keep your voice down, boy! Why is that a problem? Goblins have been riding wargs for a thousand years! It's a great honor!" 

"It just seems kind of dangerous." 

"Dangerous? 'Course they're dangerous! That's why we ride 'em! Strike fear into the hearts of humans and elves!" 

"I mean, dangerous to us." 

"Nonsense, boy! Gryphons is dangerous. 

You fall off one of those, and splat -- yer dead. Y'fall off a warg, you just get laughed at. Wargs is how goblins fight the Bigs. Well, wargs and ambushes." 

"I just feel like maybe I should be riding something that won't eat me if I get wounded in battle." 

"Like what?" 

"Like a pony, maybe?" 

"You know what happens if you show up to battle on the back of a pony when everybody else is ridin' wargs?" 

"...Wargs eat me?" 

"There you go." 

"...Okay, fair point. Put me on a warg." 

"I knew you'd come round. Too smart fer yer own good, but yer still a goblin at heart."

New Nightmares

Lot of weird dreams over recent weeks. Notable among them:

1. A thing like a deformed baby roughly the size of a squirrel, but with adult-sized hands on short wrists growing out of its sides. It was trying to pull me into a very small (like, 5") hole in the wall, and if I hadn't pulled harder it would have... absorbed and consumed me. 

2. A completely separate dream. I liked the part where I was camping with my friend. I enjoyed the part where we were LARPing with a bunch of other campers. I was less pleased with the weird rival family throwing rocks at my head. The tarot-ish reading that passed for the post-funeral reading of the will was weird. Having a random toddler get caught between the inner and outer doors of the elevator and fall down the shaft was horrible. 

There was a lot of "trying to find my sword again" in there, which I think is usually a sign of my brain trying to gear up to Get Things Done.  

Most recently, I had a -- slightly broken-up -- sort of Addams Family wedding scenario, except that the various parties involved were actually trying to kill each other. There was a river, which varied in width in various areas, where people would swim -- but there were also eels in there, carnivorous and about fourteen feet long, maybe eight inches across. The one I threw off was only eight feet long, but hit had been cut short. There was a point where I was walking on the pipes just under the water, and then back to the main areas where I needed to be; and then a lot of dastardly dealings, including the intrusion of the Shadow Tooth, which turned out to be a projection controlled by a yoga instructor whose controller I took away. 

It was all very weird, and I loved the strangeness of the settings.