nWoD: That Savage Coast

This place was nice once upon a time. You can kind of see it at the edges, in the blurry space of your peripheral vision, out of the corners of a dozen slitted snake eyes in that sphere of dim impression that surrounds you. Flick out your tongue, lick your lips and taste it. The faded grandeur, the neglected beauty. It's like stale chocolates, pretty little iced things. Their cherry cores and cream centers long since gone bad, turned fermented and sour. The soft blue carpet underfoot is laced with dust and grit, nobody's bothered to vacuum in ages. Scalloped seashells curving around the corners of corridors, their bone white plaster turned the color of a smoker's teeth. A water stain drips down the far wall, a shadow beneath the surface reaching for the floor.

This place was nice once upon a time but at this point you're pretty sure that's the fucking motto of Sparker's Bay. And if not maybe it should be, like...just slap that shit on the big green sign out on the mountain-bound highway. Make it so that the first thing anyone sees as they drive in is that big aluminum board: rising out of the foggy forest, five foot high cartoon letters telling you to lower your expectations. "Welcome to Sparker's Bay, It Used To Be Better We Swear".

Heh.

...Fuck, it's been five minutes. He's either asleep or out shopping and you can't hear his phone through the door so your money's on the latter. Serves you right for showing up so early.

With a sigh you lean your weight against the patch of rough plaster by Sebastian's door and slowly sink down until you're in a crouch. Tip your head back until the points of your horns are tapping against the flaking paint. Your tail twitches as you let it rest in a loose arc around your feet, finned membranes gleaming wetly in the light. You grimace to have it even touch the ground.

Movement, beneath your two toned shirt (black sleeves, white chest, it's soft and clings to you and is just your style), beneath your hoodie (still that thin shit that's almost like sackcloth on your skin). A tension, a tugging against the muscles that frame your spine. The rest of the heads are coming out now, tired of being cooped up under your clothes. How many are there today? You don't actually know. They're as hard to count as always.

A snake curls itself over your throat like a muscular scarf, resting its jaw on your shoulder as it stares, fascinated at the wall behind you. Another tries to slither farther down the hall, grinding its belly on the gross carpet. You catch it, black nails clicking on its sides, it's ribs pressing against your palm. It leans forward earnestly, trying to work its way out of your grip as you drape it across your knees. It gives you a vaguely betrayed look from your lap as it hisses, giving up and going boneless over your thighs.

"Idiot," you mutter, "do you have any idea how hard you are to clean?"

Its tongue flickers like a strip of purple black paper. Clear membranes shutter over its eyes and it gradually, deliberately curves itself away from you, sullenly staring in the direction of the staircase. On your shoulder the scarf-serpent gently bonks its snout into the wall and you feel second-hand confusion creep its way up the back of your brain. It pushes itself up until it's parallel to the expanse of probably-lead-based-pretty-colors and starts working its way towards the ceiling. Long body flowing over your collarbone. You sigh again, deeper this time, the kind of exhale where you can all but hear your soul leaving your body. Man, if they're fundamentally you maybe you just are an idiot. Shake the magic eight ball in your brain and consult: odds are good.

You're camping out here aren't you? Alone. Waiting for a guy you met a couple days ago to come home so you can talk him into taking a walk through this concrete hulk of a city. And then get him back to this pile so you can work him raw. Or he can work you raw. Whichever. It's kind of impressive huh? That kind of thought doesn't even make you blush, you guess you lost your sense of shame along with your gag reflex.

Something rattles, groaning and heaving in the guts of the building. A low dust-laden wheeze trickling out of the vents by your foot along with a rush of air. You tuck your hands into your armpits, and halfheartedly scuff your shoe against the short carpet. The light over your head is pitted and flecked, broad winged bodies stuck to the insides, their outlines dappling the floor. Somewhere, through layers of walls and floor, you can hear someone shouting, someone else sobbing. A rat-dog in another apartment starts barking, frantic, panicked, breathless yips rising to match the volume. Rain drums against the unseen skylight, a grey glow filtering down the central stairs. Shadows rippling and undulating in time with the sheets of water sloughing off the sides of the window. They run down the railings and cluster under the eaves, a different kind of stain.

Sorta like your dream. Press your palms to your sockets, try to work the sleep out of your eyes. It's so hard to remember the details but you remember that don't you? The storm clouds whipping past. The light of bruised, dying stars.


There's a noise up ahead and you push yourself on your feet in a burst. Jerking away scarf-snake, the primordial serpent smacking against your hoodie, hissing in surprise. You're down the corridor in three steps. Rounding the corner as it groggily unwinds across your throat, hand on an elaborate piece of molding for balance. You know it's probably not him but haha fuck spending another second alone in your head. Slit pupils scanning the steps, a justification ready, an explanation. You're not desperate, not clingy, you're just- just whatever, it doesn't matter, you'll think of something. You always do.

You see her.

The words die.

She sits with her back to you. Strawberry red dress over bony shoulders, brown hair falling halfway to her waist. The storm's soaked her to the skin, plastered the cloth and chestnut colored strands to the body below and you can see how thin she is. Thin enough you can all but count the ridges of her spine. Thin enough you can see her ribs splayed along either side of her torso like fucked up butterfly wings. But God she's something close to statuesque for all that, tall and broad across the shoulders. Muscles melted away like so much candlewax but she's still bigger than you, you'd have to look up just to meet her eyes. Her arms gently rock back and forth, an unseen burden cradled against her chest. She coos to it. The words soft and musical, meaningless; a half-hummed song.

The thing in her arms gurgles back, wet and mucus-thick. She stops.

Her head tilts. Her head turns. Long beautiful tresses threaded with golden ribbons, hanging, long and lank over her face. Her dress rustling as she hunches in, protecting the baby, her baby.

It takes you a second to realize she's protecting it from you.

Mumble something. It might be an apology.

Back away, step by step the way you came.

Back away until your snakes hit Sebastian's door and the impact is enough to snap something in place. They curl around you, rearing, hissing like a half a dozen teakettles as you claw up your left sleeve. Scrabbling at sodden fabric with clumsy, half-numb fingers, your heart thudding in your throat. Your ears straining as you listen for that voice just at the edge of hearing, the song that mingles with the rolling thunder of the rain striking the roof. Get the cuff around your elbow, bare the seal. A poison-green brand gleaming against the tanned skin and sleek muscle. Your tether, your anchor, so fresh it still stings. Foaming Fangs is nearby: the raw pressure of his presence, the humidity that settled across your shoulders like a sopping wet comforter reduced to nearly nothing. Not even a weight just a cord, a connection, threaded into your body. All you have to do is call and he'll be here. All you have to do is-

"Levi?"

The flinch is visceral, violent, your serpents snapping around as you jerk forward. The whole pack of you staring up at a concerned Sebastian, black nails digging into the meat of your arm. Your hand slipping to cover up the glowing tattoo, the complex glyph.

"Uh..." you say, eyes flicking wildly from side to side, tracking the doors, the corners of the corridor.

He stands at the end of the hallway, plastic bags in his hand and an umbrella under his arm. In the Mask he's wearing a dun coat and a button up shirt, small puddles forming beneath his leather shoes. In the Mien he's barefoot and half naked, his coat the color of frozen mud and flickering with Glamour, the size of a fucking circus tent and stretched over his brawny back. Curved claws digging into the floor, exposed skin from stomach to throat. Pelt damp from the deluge outside. He's so cute it makes your heart hurt a little just to see him. So close. So...real.

"Heh, I ah-" you try again, trailing off almost instantly, covering it up with a cough as you straighten. Rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand, let it fall and casually, carelessly, tug your sleeve back down over the tattoo.

Say something. Say something. Fucking say something don't just...just stand there like an idiot. But your brain's locked up, gears seized and you're squeezing your wrist so hard the tips of your claws are denting your skin, on the verge of bruising your scales. Your tail swishes back and forth as agitated snakes squirm around you. You catch sight of his expression. A horrible lipless slash in the glacial blue mask. Fangs bursting from purple gums, somehow worked into a frown. You force on a smile, drag up the corners of your mouth and nail them in place. Swallow down cocktail of whatever-the-Hell you're feeling, let it settle into your stomach like so much lead.

"Man you look like a flasher in that coat," you say weakly.

He splutters and that's good, that's good. That makes it easier to slip back into your role, into the space you've picked out for yourself. Your Mirror, brave and heroic and charming and winning and all that shit. You're a bit more honest with Sebastian, a bit truer, but right now this is what you need. This is what you want. Just for him to not stare at you with that fucking concern. Because you're fine, it's fine, everything's fine. You startled a single mother on the stairs, that's alright. Who can blame her in this city? Roll your shoulders and turn your head, listen to tension pop off between the vertebrae.

Everything's fine.

"Here, lemme help."

"I've got it! I really do it's alri-," you make shushing noises as you hook one hand behind his belt buckle and slip the other into his, threading a few of the bags into your palm, pulling him against you and then slipping to the side before he can decide if he wants to pull away or not. "-h-hey."

"I got spooked earlier," you say, idly shifting through his stock, ice-cream? Half and Half. Nice. "Turns out fear kinda gets me going in a weird way. But man this town though, feel like I'm falling over something freaky every time I turn around."

"It's a little like that yes," bless his weird wendigo heart, he's clutching the rest of his groceries to his chest like a shield. Or a makeshift teddybear. You cock your head and smirk, eyeing that eyeless face, the invisible flush beneath the fur and ashen skin and wax in Winter's hue. You reach around his waist as you start walking together and slip a hand in his back pocket. His protests are pretty token, you can all but hear him swallow. Dry throat clicking. His breath hitching as he shortens his stride to match yours, to keep up the contact. Perfect yeah, no substitute for jumping in his arms but already it all seems so far away. Just don't think about it, don't invite it back and it'll be okay. Everything will be okay.

"(Do you have to be so handsy?)" He mumbles at last, not sounding as if he minds in the slightest.

"Man we've done it on your dining room table, weird time to get shy."

"Imeantwhatifsomeonesees."

"Sebastian do you even have any neighbors on this floor?"

"I-I well there's Agatha around the corner, but we haven't talked in years and even then it's just at the mailbox. Most everyone else near me has moved out."

"Tell you what," you say, tucking yourself under his lanky arm, breathing in the musty scent of wet fur, the coppery tang of blood that always seems to hang around him, "if Agatha walks in on me doing something indecent to you I promise to have a nice long conversation with her about it."

"B-"

"I mean I won't stop but I'm glad to talk."

He snorts and for all that it's a horrifying snarling thing it still banishes the feeling that lingers around you. He loops his free hand around your waist, tugging you against his hip roughly. Broad palm, claws like sabers resting on the outside of your thigh. You lean back against him gratefully as he juggles his umbrella, his groceries, he keys, and his grip on your haunch before finally getting it in the door.

The two of you pile in, you smack the door shut behind you and lock it with a flick of your tail before helping him carry his groceries to the kitchen. Your snakes coiling, shifting, angular heads pivoting to watch the way you came, the closed doors to the siderooms. You play it cool, scratching the base of one black horn where it bursts from your scalp, one tine to your living crown.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long," he says as he starts unpacking everything, fresh produce, some cuts of fish and beef from the market, fewer frozen dinners than last time that's good to see. "I, ah, felt inspired to be actually productive when I woke up. Didn't want to waste the motivation."

"It's fiiiiiine, I came by early on a whim anyway. Been bored out of my mind."

"I- oh." There's an odd note to his voice, just for a second. Awkward and ungainly and unhappy. You pause, play back the last few lines in your head and roll your eyes.

"Oi, Sebastian."

"Hm?"

You tap a horn with a claw. He turns and you stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him, deep and long and right on his carnivore, cannibal maw. He freezes a carton of eggs in one hand. Suddenly so unsure of what to do, how to move. But that's okay, that's why you're here right? You step in, your knee against his, your body against his, pressing him against the fridge. Pull away, break the kiss and gently headbutt him in the chest. Leave your forehead there, feeling the shaky rise and fall of his breathing. The skin stretched taut over the bone below. Sinews flexing just beneath the surface. You cross your arms behind his waist, wrists dangling.

"I don't hang out with you just because I'm bored dumbass," you say lightly.

He tries to turn his head, heat all but radiating from his cheeks. He ends up just knocking his antlers against the freezer door. "I know that."

"I do it for the senior's discount."

He exhales, a short sharp bark of laughter. "F-fuck you."

"I'll give you a minute to go get your pills then."

A low growl, more affectionate than furious, and he pushes your face into his chest and you go with it, serpents slithering up to wrap around his back. A snake or two sliding up under his coat. The two of you just stand together like that for a minute or three. Nowhere really to be just yet, nothing pressing, demanding attention.

"Did you want to?" He says at last, "I honestly have a hard time telling when you're teasing or actually in the mood."

"Nah, nah I was thinking we could go outside for a bit. Get some fresh-ish air. Hit up Arsenal Pier?"

"Oh!" He says, faintly relieved he doesn't have to perform on the spot. "Are you sure you're good with the rain? I have my coat, could lend you one if you'd like."

You give him a faintly pitying look.

"...What?"

"What am I?"

"A Changeling?"

"Yeah but what kind?"

Silence. You can feel his shifty eyes or whatever he has beneath that expanse of bone and flowing, merging candlewax. You don't bail him out, you let him stew in it until he cracks.

"(A sea monster)" he mumbles at last.

"A hydra, and it's not like hydras mind getting a little we-hey!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he rumbles as soothing as he can, voice all but buzzing in your chest. Rubbing the spot where he reflexively cuffed you, it didn't even smart but you play up the poor injured puppy angle until he huffs and gives you another kiss. He does a pretty good job for all that he's missing almost every essential part. You pull away and help him stash the rest of the groceries. And then spend five minutes in the hall telling him to hurry his ass up while he fills up a thermos of coffee and hunts down a leather bound journal to slip into his pockets.

You glance back as you leave.

There's a crack in the wall where you were leaning. A hairline fracture right by the door.

Don't think too much about it.





Arsenal Pier is honestly pretty grim in the offseason. There's a lightning warning so the Ferris Wheel is shut down, a skeletal silhouette against steel colored skies. The waters of the Bay heave and crash out to the horizon, the world fusing behind hazy curtains of rain. Electricity crawls across the sky, forking, flashing, vanishing before thunder goes off like artillery shells.

Improbably there's still actually people here. A few inside the covered concourse, you can see them milling around through the tall glass windows. A few fisherman out along the pier as it juts into the Pacific, bright yellow slickers whipped this way and that. A...food truck, of all things, parked just at the edge, of the street past the concrete pylons. Fresh caught fish and chips, have to check that out.

Sebastian's bone dry, you're getting drenched. You blatantly hold his hand and look out fondly on the whole desolate mess. Yeah, yeah this perfect.

"So..." you begin.
[ ] Ask about the history of Sparker's Bay, you love a good horror story and you know he does too.
[ ] Ask about his past, it can be a tender topic but he's in a good mood. Push him to open up a little.
[ ] Tell him a bit about where you came from. It's a messed up half remembered slurry but hey, do your best.

Oh and when you get a second you should send Foaming Fangs out to do some scouting. Y'know. For tonight.
[ ] Have him pick out someplace on the edges of the Vampire Ramparts, where the lesser leeches congregate. More numerous but individually weaker for all that that matters.
[ ] Have him pick out someplace expensive looking, not too nice, don't want to bite off too much, but nice enough to make it worth your while. Fewer threats but individually stronger.
[ ] Have him pick out someplace near the Mall, it's safe-ish during the day but in the evening all kinds of monsters show up to buy and trade. Leans more on luck of the draw.