|
      |
*
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, or at least in Central Park. It's a touch cool this clear Monday morning, but it's expected to be quite mild by lunch time. A very light breeze rustles a few falling leaves as Tigra travels along a path in the park. To avoid causing a scene or commotion, she's not actually walking -on- the path. In feline form, she travels from tree branch to tree branch, stepping lightly from one to another when close enough, and leaping across from one tree to another as necessary, catching a branch in one hand, swinging around it and coming up to land atop it in a crouch, her tail swishing cheerfully. And to think she was going to go out sans fur this morning. So much more enjoyable like this.
*
Oh sure, the young mystic could be more wise and listen to the advice saying Don't go to Central Park. But the pursuit of knowledge, and the constant poking and prodding by entities that won't leave him the hell alone (ha, pun), has caused Bernard to make his way into the obvious poor life choice. At least he had prepared himself, also in an obvious example of poor life choices, dressing much like the wrong sort of person to allow anywhere near magically problematic areas, the hood of his robes casting deep shadows over his face. If nothing else, he should be there as Conjure if something decides to poke and prod him.
*
Beauty on a crisp autumn morning calls for chunky sweaters and hot cups of coffee, tea, or cider in a mug, tramping through crushed and fallen leaves, and daydreaming about the past summer glories. Maybe someone worries about getting the last few rays of sun before it's too cold or airing out their apartment. Thoughts might turn to a good pair of winter boots or getting away upstate past the earthquake zone to see the last of the colour, possibly Thanksgiving, and the need for pumpkins for the company party. The one that involves drinking.
It does not, typically, involve monster hunting in Central Park unless someone presumes that is a certain charming Halloween event. It is not. Dressed in a belted forest green coat, Scarlett is starting to shed her visible bohemian look for something more tactical. It might be particularly concerning only for those used to seeing her in minidresses; this signals a departure. One, she gets cold, two, she looks ready to wade into a riot. For reasons of her own, she carries a basket of chrysanthemums over her forearm and stalks towards the heart of Central Park. She knows what lives there. And for that, she's bringing flowers and a seer. Go figure.
*
The cards had agreed; she was supposed to stay with Scarlett today. They hadn't told her why, or what benefit would come of it — if any — but they did tell her to do it, and when the cards speak… Marie listens. So the slender seer walks a few steps behind her friend, trailing along with a determined intent. Being well-fed and in comfortable clothes tends to help with this.
Of course, she's also one of those used to seeing the bohemian in her more typical regalia, so the change of attire brings a bit of a surprised look to her features, but only a bit. This… must be more American fashion, she decides. She really has so much to learn about this country!
*
Another leap from one tree to another, Tigra whipping around the branch like a gymnast and then launching herself to the next one, rustling the tree in her wake. This time she latches onto the thick trunk, digging in with toe and handclaws as she pauses to update her bearings. Oh, hey, there's a squirrel. Her tailtip twitches as she ponders stalking it, just for fun, and then spots Scarlett and friend. Huh. What's all this, then, she thinks to herself, moving to a better vantage point.
*
"Ya know, it doesn't seem all that bad," Bernard says mostly to himself as he walks. Oh sure he can feel the ominous energy in the air, even the most base apprentice could feel that, but if he lied to himself out loud, perhaps that would keep his confidence up a tad more. "Bright sky, clean fall air. Yep, totally nothing could go wrong with this. I don't even know why Wanda said this was a bad idea." Yeah, it was getting rather much harder to lie to himself, and he took out one of the books from his satchel, glancing over it as he walked, perhaps in search of something specific.
*
"Trouble," murmurs Scarlett, leading the third member of Team Redhead, and one of the inadvertent casualties of the Civil War Hooligans. Marie just doesn't know she has joined the latter by proximity. Scarlett could go about wearing a scarf to keep the cold at bay, but she does not; the gloves, then, must be enough. The conversation between her and Marie comes in French, rapid and almost enough to be native. Nonstop practice in the last week certainly helps to put the polish on her skills. "« You understand nothing requires you to come in with me. But I have to observe the conditions in the park. They have been dangerous but contained. If something took a turn for the worse, then I must warn my friends. The one you did the reading for, in particular. »" She gestures gracefully towards the wall of trees, and in places, the stench of brimstone and other miseries are guaranteed to raise the gorge of unprepared souls. "« Reconnaissance rather than direct danger, at this point, though I will defend myself if I have to. Nothing says you should be at risk, though if you want to be informed on what denizens and horrors of the lower dimensions look like. »"
A reason for that French, truly. She tips her head in Tigra's direction, possibly inspired by the movement of a nearly camouflaged woman, or perhaps just lucky. Right. Lucky.
*
For Marie's part, the cold of the daytime really isn't nearly as bad as it might be for others, so she's… truly pretty comfortable in her garments. "« I understand quite well, Scarlett; but while I may not be required to follow, I find myself called to. »" There's a pause, and she smiles a bit. "« Besides, you're a dear friend, and I would be remiss were I to let anything happen to you when I might have been able to warn of the danger. » …yes. Because that's /all/ she can do. See the future, nothing else at all. Innocent little Marie who might need protecting from a fruit fly on a good day… that's her alright.
Eyes follow Scarlett's motion, and hands move swiftly towards where she keeps her pouch of cards. She knows why she wants them handy, and that's good enough for her. « I have heard many things of what they might look like, when I was little. Stories told to scare children and make us behave. …it will be interesting to see what truth there is to these tales. »"
*
Tigra can hear the French being spoken as clearly as if she were standing next to the two women. Of course, she doesn't understand any of it. She can read the tension in the air, though, and that leads her to decide to show herself when Rogue seems to have spotted her. Note to self, work harder at hiding.
The tigress drops lightly from her tree, landing gracefully in a three-point crouch. "Don't be alarmed, please," she says. "I don't know what's going on, but perhaps I can help."
*
Marie-Ange draws Ten Cups.
*
Meanwhile, over towards a path covered in slime and the remains of moldy leaves, a man is standing inside a circle chanting. He makes absolutely no bones about being there, snarling in his pidgin Greek, Latin, and bits of German. Hands wave in the air as he flings several coins and a pouch of sulfur into a glowing vent that wavers with heat distortion. The foul light rising out of it maintains the same sickly egg-yellow color.
*
Being of a particular mind and the sudden increase in yammerings by the beings unseen, Bernard frowns. "Dammit when you all start doing that, it's harder to parse out," he mutters to the air. The attention however is gotten, and his own booted feet take him towards the slime and moldy leaves, and seeing the fellow chanting he raises a brow. As the fellow tosses the coins into the vent, Bernard calls out to him in Latin «Your grammar is terrible! What sort of rubbish book did you get that spell out of?» Okay, so maybe he did share some traits with most other western sorcerers, in being judgemental of shitty spellwork.
*
Marie-Ange draws Queen Swords.
*
Marie-Ange draws 0 Fool.
*
The vent that opens also stinks to 'high heaven'. Sulfur, brimstone.. the scent of raw, spoiled eggs fills the air immediately surrounding the area. One coin in, one creature comes out. With each coin toss, there is some being that emerges from that clouded, stench-laden vortex.
One, two, three… eight, nine, ten…
From a distance, there is a convergence of red, and from the center of that convergence, a shriek of terror, then pain.. then nothing.
Nothing but a group of all-sized demonic-looking creatures that now are coated in a glimmering sheen of the caster's blood.
*
Scarlett's tempered gaze traces the cloud of infernal black spilling into Midtown, the trees reduced to horrors, the eerie glow emanating from the trees. "Is it any surprise?" she says in English. "All hell's broken loose." Cold comfort for the rest of the world, surely, but she looks at her gloved palms. Reading lifelines is not exactly purposeful there, not in the least. Inhaling a deep breath to center herself is the simplest of yoga practices, meditative and serene. "Marie, meet a friend of a bookstore. Tigra. Tigra, this is Marie." The same is translated to French, just in case. "« In there are demons and other various infernal horrors. I do not know why they chose to come now when they were controlled. But I'm going to have to wade in and look. »" Wading in she stresses with a grimace, universal across languages. "Time to go and explore. That likely includes violence. I hate the necessity." Her fingers flex, and she turns towards the erupting cloud of… demons.
"Sisters spare us. So it goes." There was a time, once, in pretending she was normal. There isn't when she starts crossing the road, headed for the darkness.
*
Marie-Ange draws Queen Wands.
*
While Marie had gotten a bit of a heads up of Tigra's presence from her taller friend's motion, the rather sudden change from camouflagued to in their faces is enough to make the girl from Lyons gasp, and draw immediately. The words — and more specifically, the words /and/ the card drawn, cause her posture to revert back into a relaxed one. She's seen people who don't look quite so normal before, like Mree! …and besides, it's not her role to judge people. Only interpret. Thus, she replies. "« Help is— »" Then she realizes that the… rather scantily-clad (does it count, what with the fur? She's not sure) woman might not speak French. So the thickly accented English it is! "Help is always a welcome offer, Madame Tigra, though I fear this could be dan—" …gerous is what she was going to say, but that's about the time she hears two people talking in words she can't comprehend. Two more cards are drawn; the sight of the Queen of Swords representing the first fellow tenses the girl, who's eyes stare in that direction. The Fool representing the second foreign voice brings a bit of relief.
Then a scream shatters that again. It leaves Marie flat-footed. Trouble. Danger. It's here. Teeth bite into her lower lip as she thinks. She could use her cards, but Scarlett's here, and… a card is drawn. The Queen of Wands. A good friend. Marie nods to herself and closes her eyes. Preparing herself for what she must do, even as the demons begin to make their moves.
*
Marie-Ange draws 4 Emperor.
*
Cold, this realm is. Despite what it took to bring her to this place Jillian still finds herself almost missing the hot gusts of dry wind from the Abyss. Where she had thought this world would be ripe for the plundering it is surprisingly ..dull. That some wizard is now also threatening her with banishment helps her mood none. Here is one of the Neyaphem without a purpose, and it's proving to be a difficult transition.
One thing which has remained with her is the ability to track down nearby magic. Especially that of an angelic or demonic nature. The 'scent' of a ritual being performed easily out-shines other enchantments and draws her in like a moth to a flame.
Not just any ritual… A summoning ritual, with the bloodied fruits of the caster's labor already jumping through. These ones..they smell familiar to her. This only makes her more swift in calling to arms.
Almost as quickly as the red imps start to appear one of them -disappears- in a swoop of deep blue shadow. Speared on the end of a large glaive. Carried up into the darkened sky.
*
Tigra stands up, listening to Rogue's explanation. Hell breaking loose? Another day in New york these days. She offers Marie a quick, tight smile and nod at the acceptance of her help, and then her head whips around at the sound of the scream. She hesitates at the sight of the demons. "Uhm, are these bad guys? I only ask because I've met a couple…blue ones like them. And one of them was a nice guy, actually." Seeing a swoop of shadow pounce on a red one, she notes, "That may be the other one. Not nice. Or a guy."
*
"See, this is why grammar matters," Bernard says, at least a few moments before his brain catches up with the terribleness of whats just happened. "Dammit dammit dammit, couldn't do his circle right now could he." He is at least already backing away, his left hand coming up in a warding mudra as he murmurs, "Arma Bellum". The shimmering energy in the half dome of a shield appearing outwards from his outstretched arm. Seeing one of the red figures disapear, and then hearing the words of the furry girl behind him, he glances back seeing the red heads with them. He blinks a moment as he recognizes one of them. "Scarlett? You guys need to get out of here! It's not safe!" Understatement of the year perhaps, but he is at least backing towards them, keeping the shield up.
*
There are *pops* in the air as one form and figure disappears, only to reappear, ready to drop on top of Rogue, red cloven feet primed to grab her and either hold tight or rend flesh. It's a toss-up, really… only Jillian has managed to grab that one before anything the creature could do. It's speared.. and is dying.
There are several little ones; not more than 2 feet tall, and shrouded almost completely in the shadows. They're like a swarm, and while they don't move completely as one, it sure could feel like it to the person they're targeting. Hello, Bernard!
Sharpened-teeth grin out of shadow while glowing yellow eyes seem devoid of any feeling as they disappear one after the other after the other… only to reappear, bouncing off the shield in all different directions.
It'd be funny… comical even if it weren't for the fact that a lot of the red on their red-fuzz was still drying blood.
*
"They are not the blue-skinned one with a penchant for Catholic rites," Scarlett murmurs to Tigra, sliding out of her leather coat and holding it out to Marie. "« If you like, wear this for a little protection. »" Clearly she needs none for herself; the glittering silver and green ensemble she wears underneath is nothing at all like what US special forces wear, or even medieval warriors, but something particularly effective for battle all the same. "No," she murmurs, "they should run 'ere the Protector of Midgard or the Sorcerer Supreme look this way." Not idly does she use those names, nor is she taken entirely aback when things go pear-shaped right over her. It helps to have a hardcoded hotline to the Fates.
The rusty fuzzbutt drops from the sky and she's already swiveling, planting her feet lightly upon the ground with her hands raised to intercept a block. Curled fingers untether the only things keeping those gloves covering the tips, and intercepting a grab has unfortunate consequences for the demon. The soul-thief's cold expression is nothing compared to the black void in her very genetic code lashing out and latching on to the signatures of the living, and alas, demons do live.
*
They're getting closer, now. She has to act. The cards gave her permission. "They do not mean us well." Marie explains, her eyes still shut. "We must be… how you say, bold." A deep breath is taken, and eyes open to glance over at Scarlett, even as she takes, and puts on the coat offered to her. "« Please do not hate me for this. I do as I must.» " is offered in a pathetic, barely audible plea by Marie before she splays out a group of cards, letting her fingers dance along the backs until she /feels/ the one she wants.
« "Your Lordship, protect your humble servant from these infernal beasts!" » she pleads, holding the card faced out (Did she ever even /look/ at it?) like one would a shield — and almost instantaneously, the Emperor depicted upon it appears amongst the group of women (and one Fool, who seems also to know Scarlett!). He stands majestically for a moment, clad in his royal vestments and wielding his scepter. Moments later? As another of the larger Bamfs makes it's rather sudden appearance among the group, the Emperor swings that scepter as if he were the Sultan of Swat himself, catching the demon upon it's jaw and sending it reeling for a moment, before it's vanished with another *pop* that leaves plenty of doubt where it might have gone.
*
The one tiny imp which got airlifted away from the scene makes a sudden reappearance, the tiny critter now -very- red and -very- dead as it lands with a bloodied *splack!* on a nearby sidewalk.
No more Death From Above follows, though the dark winged creature responsible is still lurking up there somewhere. Keeping an eye on things, perhaps. Or maybe just being amused at the mayhem these small demons are bringing about.
Jillian may have been tasked in 'protecting' this area from further demonic incursions but there's plenty of others down below to help cull the small herd. If there's any stragglers, those she can help put out of their misery.
*
"No, I don't think any of these guys are Catholic," Tigra agrees. She leaps into the fray, now, literally, jumping forward with fingers curled, claws out, to try to latch onto a smaller fuzzbutt, her nose wrinkling at array of smells that assault her. She grapples with the little one, tumbling with it, then comes up on one foot, pivots, and hurls it towards a larger one with all her strength.
*
Bernard says, "God, I hope I'm not so rusty in my Script they don't understand me," Bernard glances worriedly at the tiny teleporting monstrosities. He closes his eyes a moment, biting his lip in concentration before he looks towards the little things and speaks in Demonic Script. «Small ones, it's best not to bite the hand of a Gateway. Leave me be and return home!» He wasn't quite sure he'd be understood, but it seemed the better idea than to just start throwing arcane bolts and hoping to hit. It was hard enough to keep track of what was going on as it is with flying and summoned cards and tiger women."
*
Log edit: Fix Bernard's narration of his action!
*
*bump*
*thud*
*bump
*thud*
If the little imps understood a word that Bernard was saying, it was only after the sixth, seventh, eighth try to get at him to rend his flesh. There is a high-pitched whistle, and once done, all of those remaining mini-demons teleport as one, ready to converge upon the other fuzzy one, Tigra. After, of course, watching one of their larger brethren get batted out of the park, very much like a home run.
There's just something strange about that one that is calling to the sky in a taunt. One imp, two.. they screech before they hit the ground with a *flump*. Down… and looking very dead.
*
The accursed power tears into the demon, and Scarlett shivers in that aikido stance. Preparation for a throw proves unnecessary as the unfortunate creature goes limp in her hands. Swiveling on her hips, she hurls the creature away forcefully at the biggest of the demons she can see, the iridescent roil of emerald flames in her eyes mildly concerning. Only mildly.
The remaining infernal powers might want to recheck their documentation and purpose in life. The tiny demons aren't too late to take an internship with Chthon in the accounting department. The big one, presumed as middle management, is about to find a redhead — and everyone knows they're soulless — taunting him a second time in his own tongue.
*
Marie-Ange draws 8 Strength.
*
The Emperor does his best to defend the little group from the horde — but it doesn't help too much when most of the remaining are so small… and appearing and disappearing so quickly. Speaking of which, there's a sharp yelp that comes from Marie as she finds just how effective of infiltrators they can be, with teeth sinking into a leg that's not covered under the jacket.
It takes a moment, but she forces herself to focus; the Emperor stands at the vanguard, swinging that scepter at any threats that approach from the front… but Marie draws another card. "« You wish to bite? I'll show you real teeth! »" she declares, a second card being held in her hand, now — Strength. Just as before, the card comes to life, and the lion depicted appears next to Marie with a mighty *roar*.
Moments later, as another of the smaller creatures tries to sneak in for a second attack for on the seer, there's an audible slamming of jaws. It would seem that this lion doesn't sleep; it eats, instead, and may have swallowed the critter whole.
*
Tigra bounces back on the balls of her feet, readying herself for a counterstrike before going back on the offensive, and her eyes flick about rapidly, looking fo—uhm. Okay, that's probably not good, seeing mini demons disappearing. She pivots and steps about, looking and listening for them, only to be briefly started by a roar. "Okay, now you're speaking my language," she says towards Marie and her lion. She's blissfully unaware of Rogue's eyes right now.
*
Relieved that the small ones have left him be, Bernard however realizes that they didn't just go home when he sees them going after the other girls. "Grant me courage," he mutters as with a gesture, the shield vanishes as he raises up his other hand. "Saggita magica," he calls out as he holds his palm out towards one of the imps going for the others and lets fly a magical bolt, unfortunately leaving himself undefended in the process.
*
It's something else, when someone actually curses in an infernal language. It doesn't translate well, but portions of it might be, 'Your ass is lighter than an angel's!' or somesuch.. which really does cause a couple of the little guys to pause in mid-fight/flight and stare at Rogue, their empty glowing yellow eyes unblinking. Their posture all but screams 'You said WHAT?!' at Rogue.
In that moment when Bernard lets fly a bolt, those 'left' are at that pause.. and they're stricken down… those that were left. Lying upon the ground, flat on their little backs, blending in with the colorful, changing leaves.
*
Oh yes. Scarlett said that, and her mouth rises up in a smile that just barely shows teeth. The distraction serves its purpose, making her an effective target. it helps to have a little whisper in her psyche informing her of just the worst things one could say, and she runs the pad of her index finger around her thumb as though considering whether anything else might be worth the trouble. Primal darkness bleeding through the trees thanks to a sorcerer's hideous spell dimly calls, and she swivels to consider the others. "Are you well?" English, at least, comes in her customary voice. "Is anyone injured?" A blink doesn't keep the flames from dancing in those surreal green eyes, which are, indeed, glowing. Though her pupils are still visible, which must be some kind of quiet comfort. The sight of the lion does give her pause, putting into context Tigra's statement. If nothing else demonic presents itself, she walks back towards them however much floating appeals, though the merest shred of infernal movement will have her pouncing like a different kind of demonic cat.
*
It's a chain reaction, it seems. One imp after another is smacked down by Bernard's bolt of magical power — but whatever chain reaction was affecting them also appears to have affected Marie's construct, as the lion of Strength vanishes into mist — in it's place? The fifth of the little imps. Covered in saliva, but fortunate to have been missed by hungry teeth and not-yet-digested.
Still, the battle is won! It brings a grin to Marie's lips — if a weak one. " « I… think… I… » " is about all she can manage before the Emperor too dissolves into mist, and the slender frenchwoman collapses in a heap. A heap, mind you, that bleeds from the bite wound just above her ankle, but which is otherwise unharmed.
*
Seeing that the immediate threats seem to have disapated, Tigra relaxes, a little bit. "Five by five here," she says on the subject of being injured. She looks towards Marie at the weak sound of her voice, and on seeing the woman collapse, Tigra hurries over to her side to check on her, and keeping a wary eye on that one little imp. "You stay put," she growls at it.
*
Making his way over towards them, Bernard glances warily at the imps about the ground, before looking back to the girls figuring he should prioritize humanity over demonic forces. "Is she going to be alright? Most nephilim aren't venomous, but you never know what alterations are made between subspecies," he says glancing towards her leg and the bite marks. "Not that I'm a healer, but we should probably find one who can handle that, or at least understands what to look for."
*
Ew… ew… ew…
It's not hard to see the disgust upon the little imp's face as he looks around the 'battlefield'. Original caster dead, check. He licks his lips and can taste the remnants of leg through the saliva and partial stomach contents of the lion… that he looks to either take or leave. Still… he gets slowly to his feet, yellow eyes narrowing at the growled command.
"Bamf…" is said softly, and he's trying to brush the spit/mucus off his red fuzz and it just isn't working for him. "Bamfbamfbamf.." is returns mockingly, as a teenager might do to mock and mimic a 'parent'. It's weak, however. Like that last hoorah before…
In the next heartbeat, the little guy falls over to faceplant into the ground.
*
Gentle and sweet, Scarlett is not. Not in the moment when the fellow French redhead drops, and she darts forward to scoop up the exhausted Marie. This after remember, at the last moment, to drag her gloves back on. One must look the part, after all. "She must have pushed herself too far. She will be well, and if any of them struck her, I know someone who can heal her." Her vivid gaze flickers, pupils fading a fraction, lost in the welter of emerald seas. "Did either of you take damage?"
*
"Sounds like she's breathing fine, at least," Tigra says towards Bernard, looking him over closely as he approaches. She lets Scarlett scoop the woman up, since clearly they know each other, and shifts her attention to said Scarlett, only for her own eyes to widen. "Uhm, not me, but your eyes are doing a strange glowing thing. Is that normal? For you?"
*
"I was able to raise my shield in time, so mostly my arm just feels like I've been hitting a tree with a stick for hours," Bernard says shaking his left arm a bit as if to get soreness out. Glancing to Scarlett and seeing her eyes still, he scratches beneath his own eye before sighing, and pulls his hood back to let it fall away. "I guess this would explain why the demonic deer hrm?" He seems somewhat amused as he mentions it.
*
A flickering blink might be disconcerting. Scarlett gives the faintest of smiles and shakes her head. "Nothing is normal where these are involved. It will pass. Unless they are yellow. If they are yellow, you probably should contain me with a binding for the next half hour or so, and take Marie from me." She inclines her head to the young woman she carries, rather reasonable about the prospect of being caged within a spell. Nor does she seem to have any issue with the burden of holding the French girl. Bernard's appearance generates a faint laugh. "The demonic deer were not my doing, but yes, I encountered them. You see the reason I levied a warning, for this is only bound to be worse. If we can allocate any effort to weaken the infernal, this would be a good purpose to pursue."
*
Well, Tigra's a woman with fur and a tail, so she's used to things that are not precisely 'normal.' "Nope, not yellow. They're a pretty vivid green." She straightens up and absently dusts herself off a bit, before turning to the one mini demon still left. "What should we do with this one? Go ahead and banish it or something?"
*
"A binding I can manage, well, a weak one I guess. I may need a bit more information about What precisely is being bound away though," Bernard says contemplating matters and glancing towards his books. "I saw most of the ritual the idiot used. I swear it was like someone took three different ones and mashed them together, then left out the control or binding commands," he says shaking his head, his tone that of a harsh tutor. Glancing to Tigra and then the mini demon remaining, he frowns. "Uh, banishing I'm not so good with. If we had a container to keep it in I could inscribe something, but out here? I could maybe make a circle. It wouldn't last too long, too likely someone would come across it and smudge it out. Or it could get rained on."
*
"A container." Scarlett glances over her shoulder to the dim skyline wreathed in tendrils of brimstone and the spreading darkness proving the Hellmouth has taken over a broader territory in recent hours. "Something large enough like a jar or a backpack? What requirements do you have? It might be better to locate that thing somewhere else, and capture it before it jumps away." Her simmering gaze is not showing any signs of dying down, not yet, though she is trending in the right direction. Carefully she adjusts the way she holds Marie, cradling the young woman's head better against her shoulder instead of letting her loll like a rag doll.
*
"How about a trash can?" Tigra offers. "We can drop it in there, and I can squeeze it shut and roll it closed. It wouldn't be air-tight, so I don't know if that's enough or not." She takes a slow, careful glance skyward, making sure the blue one's not still up there. "Maybe we should take it by St Patrick's. But y'know what," she says with a grin and a realization, "you two obviously know a lot more about this than I do. I'll follow your lead."
*
"Something sturdy, and something I can write on. We don't have the time likely to etch the design in place, unless someone happens to have a wood burning kit at hand?" Bernard glances between them, figuring it was unlikely. Glancing to Tigra at her suggestion about a trash can, "Actually that would work pretty well, as long as it's got a lid. Shouldn't need to be air tight, they don't turn into smoke after all." He smiles, feeling a bit more confident with the help available though he does bring his hands together, muttering an incantation as he brings them apart, a small paint brush appearing. "Already had the ink at least," he provides as he pulls out a stoppered ink bottle from a pouch.
*
"Finding a trash can here will be tricky, but let's see what we can do. In the meantime, wrap that up and let's assume it will not evaporate in the time we take to find a can." Scarlett has her burden and goes along with the idea, though a small hint of a grin follows the notion of trapping the demon. "That is a good idea. It is better than trying to ward a mailbox." Leave it to the tiger woman and Bernard to figure out how they went to go about tapping an unexpected market in impromptu wards.
*
"I saw one back on a main path," Tigra says, jerking a thumb in its general direction. "It's chained to a post so nobody will steal it, but, well, that won't be a problem. Kind of a shame for the sanitation department, but I figure they'd rather give up the can than deal with this guy." She pauses a moment, looking at Bernard, then Scarlett, then back to Bernard. "If you can handle wrapping it up, I'll go get the can and meet you two back here? Somewhere else?"
*
"My robes may work well enough. At the very least, it should be able to stop it from biting or scratching it's way through," Bernard sets his satchel down and starts to remove the brown robes, revealing his every day jeans and long sleaved tee-shirt beneath it. "I may not have planned for having to remove additional layers with the air this chill," he says with a slight shiver as he gets accustomed to the sudden lack of the additional warmth of robes. "Here's hoping it is truly unconscious at least…" His words carry some trepidation as he lays the robes over top of the little red imp first and waits a moment to see if it suddenly moves.
*
Tigra hesitates just a moment as Bernard reaches for the red one. Just as he's about to grab it, she suddenly gows, "Rawr!" And then with a merry swish of her tail, dashes off on her quest for a garbage can. She'll be gone about ten or fifteen minutes before returning with a can, most of ts contents emptied out…somewhere, and with a small length of broken chain attached to it. "I am finding the most -incredible- smiles today."
*
Bernard is shocked by the rawr a bit, but after his heart restarts he levels an angry look at the scampering away Tigra, before he finishes bundling up the imp. It was a patient matter as he waited, looking anxiously to the bundle, to Scarlett, and around the park for the Tiger with a can. He finally relaxes when he sees her returning. "Well, at least the thing will feel right at home with the horrible smell," he says dryly when the trash can is brought to them.
*
The tigress sets the can down and then steps back, holding the lid in her off hand. "I'd hate to think about the sort of creature that would think of a garbage can as 'home,'" she notes wryly. "Let me know if I can do anything to help," she offers.
*
"Mostly just will need you to hold down the lid, and if you're strong enough to crimp it closed that would help," Bernard replies as he picks back up the conjured brush, blowing off any detritus from it, unstoppering the ink. "Here's hoping Enochian will work properly against this type, it's harder to manage this thing when they aren't really conversant enough to distinguish themselves. Can't even set up the control procedures when it isn't my summon either," he talks more to himself than expecting the others to know or even care about what he's talking about. Still, with a careful hand, he begins to slowly and ever so carefully paint the ink onto the trash can.
*
"Hold down and crimp the can, I can handle that," Tigra says with a small nod. She then goes quiet to watch him as he works, paying attention and recognizing the general style of what he's doing, if not the specifics. Occassionally she glances at the wrapped bundle, making sure it's still that. A bundle that's wrapped. Otherwise, she stands ready, trying very hard to not think of smells right now.
*
Scarlett is not handling the imp or the trash can. Instead, she has the unconscious French woman in her arms with no signs whatsoever of recovering. "I am going to return her somewhere safe," she announces, "then I will take a look at that… thing. Where are you planning to transport it? Should we take it somewhere secure where you can continue your investigation, and I don't have to worry about its mother showing up to bother us?"
*
It takes Bernard awhile to write the words over the can, not skimping on appropriate planetary sigils and other factors as he covers over the bottom of the can. When the body of the can is done, he very carefully dumps the imp into the can, extricating his robes carefully so as not to slam the imp around, then he gestures for the lid to come down as he holds the brush and ink well. "I… was figuring I would try to find Wanda to have her banish it. I hadn't exactly had a plan for storage, and I'm pretty sure the … place… wouldn't let me just carry in a trash can." He frowns in thought. "It just needs to be somewhere it wont get wet. I didn't exactly come with the intention of permanently holding anything, this is just my note taking ink."
*
With the imp properly secured, hopefully, Tigra squeezes edges of the lid against the can proper, crimping them together and making it harder to pop open. She's careful to not touch any of the sigils as she works. "Guess we can't drop something like this off at the pound," she offers less than helpfully when done.
*
For all the wisdom in those terribly green eyes, returning to the shade of spring rather than neon hellfire, Scarlett is surprisingly reticent. "Somewhere not wet. We could take our trash can into Greenwich Village. It isn't far, but away from the darkness and any likelihood of a sudden thunderstorm spawned by a demon. No one is likely to question you if you tell them you carry about your art installation. Enough artists and NYU students in the area, you see." And one unconscious woman. "Supposing we head that way quickly, I can leave this one with friends and assure she will be all right." Or, the simplest choices might prevail: deliver her to the obvious address, with demon, and let someone of a higher pay grade sort it out. If only life were so easy.
*
"Hold on, let me get the lid too. I really don't know how it was hopping about with those shadows, I just kept hearing a weird noise and then there was the smell," Bernard cautions as he tries to get the top painted a tad bit more quickly. "None of the others looked like they survived at least. Generally that means they will deteriorate fairly quickly."