raisetheearth | Shepherd's Haven Event: Devil's Night

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Shepherd's Haven Event: Devil's Night

Who: Damon the doppelganger and OPEN TO ANY IN SHEPHERD'S HAVEN
What: Devil has an announcement to make in the form of arson and violence. Aforementioned player plot shenanigans.
Where: Shepherd's Haven
When: Forward dated to the night of October 30th, and probably into the morning of the 31st. Devil's night, in other words.
Status: Open with some closed-ish subthreads!
Warnings: Arson and violence?

No night had ever been so aptly named.

Shepherd's Haven wasn't anywhere near Michigan, but that didn't mean the festivities of Devil's Night couldn't be spread to far and wide locales. It was the perfect night, in fact, for the creature known as a demon to remind the sleepy little haven of precisely why it was unwise to prod the beast. Perhaps the one who called him there had forgotten, or perhaps he simply thought the devil had more bark than bite.

Oh, how wrong he was.

It began with fire. Several fires, to be precise. Small at first but fed with whatever accelerant Damon could find on hand. Fuel left unguarded, dry hay or straw. Did you know compost burns very well? It does, oh how it burns. And each fire set at different locations across the town, so quickly and so close to simultaneous one might almost think that they were set by several people at once.

Or one that could move very, very quickly.

The cherry on top was a door with a fading red "X" painted on it, ripped from its hinges and set ablaze, then left on the steps in front of the town hall.

[[OOC: Leaving this fairly open for anyone to react to and have their own threads/etc. of what's happening. Separate threads will go up for some more planned stages of the event, but if anyone wants to be unfortunate enough to run across Damon while he pursues his arsonist rampage through SH go ahead and put up a toplevel and just toss in the comment header that you want me.

Have fun dealing with those fires and rampaging demon, guys!]]

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Lazarus' 28th birthday has dawned red and furious, with so many things he's built on hours of sweat and toil up in flames. While there's truly only so much he can do as one scrawny young man with an ice stave but no magic of his own, he's determined to try, determined to do something to protect the people he convinced to come here. For safety's sake, for peace's sake.

His own home isn't burning yet. He wrenches open the door, making his way to the kitchenette and throwing the ingredients onto the counter in a haphazard sprawl. All of ten seconds are devoted to assembling a sandwich in haste, slapping it onto a plate, and holding it there as he runs back out into the street and sprints toward the newest burning structure. When he gets there and sees the silhouette of someone who looks completely identical to Tony, he knows he's found his man.

"I heard you were invited," he calls, making a concentrated effort to keep any kind of waver out of his voice as he holds out the sandwich. "We try to be good hosts here if nothing else. Let's talk about this. Please," he adds, relaxing his hold on the ice stave, eyes wide in his pale face.

Safety and peace do not exist in this world, and Damon will be the harbinger of that message. Is it cruel to attack a bunch of bumpkins in the middle of nowhere? Of course it is, and he'd have left them alone if for not one among them being unusually mouthy. You can thank Nux for this later, Lazarus.

Damon was admiring his handiwork, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for the ones he was truly after to arrive. They'd call back their de-clawed wolf at any time, of that he had no doubt.

It wasn't the wolf that approached him, but the shepherd himself. His eyes focused on the man, expression unreadable. While they had a... semi-agreeable arrangement of Damon would leave him mostly alone that debt had been repaid as far as he was concerned. The sandwich though, that's just insulting. "You are too late for appeals, shepherd, your home burns," He gestures toward the flames. "And it would appear you drove your guardian further away than you might have imagined."

Actually it's kind of hilarious. In a way.

It's very cruel, not that Lazarus is making any effort to directly accuse. He is well aware of why Nathan, Jacob and Misa had such strong misgivings about him approaching Damon; he doesn't stand a chance if the doppelganger decides to snap him in half. Every fear he's ever faced when Tony struggles to maintain control is heightened here, because truly, while they do have a sort of uneasy truce and a rapport that could be far worse, Lazarus doubts that Damon would lose sleep over killing him the way Tony would.

He doesn't make any move to approach Damon further. Instead, he sinks into a slow crouch, setting the sandwich on the ground at a full arm's length before leaning on his stave and standing again. He strikes a shabby and desperate figure, with smoke and soot darkening his features and the obvious effort it takes him just to remain upright.

"It burns," he agrees; though they've both effectively and annoyingly stated the obvious at this point, he's in no position to be sarcastic about it. "A lot of good people worked very hard to build it, for much longer than it took you to destroy it. None of them pose a serious threat to you." The jab about Tony hits home and digs in, as does the mocking use of the word "shepherd." Though he's trying hard to protect flocks both literal and figurative, it could well be futile. He could well have already failed.

"No one declares war without a reason and a demand. If you don't want to stay for dinner, what can I do to persuade you to leave?"

Money springs to mind, as it's a proven motivator for Damon. But he also holds vicious grudges; anyone here could have arbitrarily offended him, maybe without even knowing it.

Edited 2015-11-03 16:09 (UTC)

Accusations would make about as much progress as spitting on a wildfire. Damon wouldn't care, if he did he wouldn't be there in the first place. This place meant nothing to him, a smudge on a map. The work Lazarus put into it, that their whole community put in, meant precisely naught to the demon. These people were no threat to him, and Lazarus likely knew it better than most. Though if Damon chose to kill him it would be because he decided to, not because he lost control.

Unlike Tony, he knew how his devil worked and he reveled in it.

"Indeed, you are little more than lambs to the slaughter here," Why then go to all this trouble to send a message? Well... "But it would seem that a few among you are ignorant to that fact and have grown loud and bold. I am here to rectify that misunderstanding." All spoken in the cold, emotionless drawl that was customary for Damon.

"You can't," He smiles then, wicked and predatory. "This was set into motion months ago. I will teach your errant lamb a lesson, and devour your fallen protector. He is unworthy."

The answer isn't reassuring or clear. Lazarus asked for something constructive and he's getting something even more ominous in return. The cold indifference to the plight of humans fighting for the lives they've built that have been scattered like a kicked anthill is positively chilling.

He doesn't know a thing about the "errant lamb," or what's been set in motion. The "fallen protector" sounds like Tony; does that mean that he's here, that this has already happened? His head is already shaking before Damon finishes speaking in that slow, drawling voice.

"I can't accept that. Pride isn't worth the trouble it'll bring all of us for you to stay and do those things. I'm laying mine at your feet because you don't have to do this, but I must do everything I can to keep them safe, whether or not you think they're worthy. Do you understand?"

He cares not in the slightest about humans nor their plights. Only indulging his own hunt for power and strength. He has it at his fingertips but that sword is the key to something larger. It must be. But Lazarus didn't need to know about that, he might not know much at all very soon.

If he persists in standing in the way that is. "A pity," He drawls, lazily drawing his sword and giving it an idle twirl. "In that case I'll make this quick. In honor of our early understanding. The mantle of a martyr. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

His tone grows colder there, and he settles a downright judgmental glare upon Lazarus. All those network conversations, those memories. He shares them with Tony, but his own opinion is very different from that of his original.

Lazarus sees fire and death reflected in that sword, and he hears disdain in Damon's cruel words. Both hands are on his ice stave now, white-knuckled, as if he's also willing his soul to cling tighter to his body so that they won't be as easily separated.

"What I've always wanted is to live with myself," he says, shifting his weight and bracing for what's clearly coming. "If I walk away, knowing what you intend, I won't be able to. That's all it is."

It won't do you any good, Lazarus. Your life hangs by a tiny thread, and it would only take a flick of Damon's wrist to sever it.

"Is that why you launch head first into death at every opportunity?" He muses aloud, tone both bored and wistful. "What a peculiar way to show gratitude to those who strive to protect you. Not that it matters to me, I simply tire of the whining." Now the sword points at Lazarus, the challenge clear.

"Make your move, shepherd. Perhaps I'll take you and spare the flock, but then... why should I?"

In other words your death here would be meaningless, Lazarus. How does that make you feel?

That thread feels especially fragile here and now. Damon's power is real and terrifying; there's no shame in falling to it, but there's shame in running. His body might not be sturdy, but his commitment is firm.

Even if those comments sting enough to almost bring him to his knees. They're things that Tony could say but presumably loves him too much to ever mention, deep flaws that aren't merely human, but feel like stains that are irreconcilable with the person he wants to be.

"No one needs to die tonight," he says, a thick layer of ice creeping over the sword's blade and coating it, weighing the weapon down and dulling it and rendering it useless, at least for cutting. "It'd go better for us both. Your life has value, too, and it won't last much longer if you take mine."

Edited 2015-11-04 04:12 (UTC)

"YOU BASTARD!!!"

Misa is panting, red in the face and furious as she runs toward the two figures. It is not immediately clear which of them she is talking to. Her wrists are chafed an angry red, still coated in a sticky residue from the duct tape she wriggled and ripped her way out of. The echo that being physically restrained by her boyfriend caused and the fact that he did it in the first place can be discussed later. First she has to ensure that there is a later, not just a bloody splatter on the pavement where Lazarus used to be.

In a word, Misa looks unhinged. Her hair is wild and singed from getting too close to the fires more than once in her desperate sprint after Lazarus. In one hand she is clenching a large kitchen knife, the best weapon she could find on just shy of zero notice.

Despite the fact that she is obviously winded and out of breath, she digs deep within herself to find the power to continue screaming.

"Why can't you copies ever get the message that you're not wanted?!" she demands, pointing the knife at Damon accusingly as she attempts to get in front of Lazarus. "You're a pointless mistake that isn't even supposed to exist! Get the hell out of here and go die already!"

Indeed they are things Tony could say, if he didn't have the heart and understanding that he does. Damon has no such compassion.

Hmm, magic? He tilts his head to the side in mild curiosity, but the sword doesn't waver. Sure, he's temporarily dulled the edge, and instead given him a bludgeoning tool. Well if that's how he wants to die. "Hnph, bold words. But ultimately meaningless. You have nothing to enforce that with." He'd continue but...

Then there's the shrill shriek of that damnable harpy. If anything could give Damon a migraine it'd be her. With his free hand he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Really. Really?

"Oh good. It's the loud one." He drawls in disgust, leveling the flattest look at her. Oh, yes, a kitchen knife. He's terrified. A flash of red-black light surges through the sword, effortlessly shattering the enchanted ice, which he then flicks in her direction. "I think I'll silence you first, screeching banshee."

With blinding speed the sword flicks out, aiming to knock the knife from her hand. He's not even going for a kill yet, he's toying with them like a cat with a cornered mouse. What a loud mouse it is. Maybe more like an angry shrew.

The situation was dire before, but now it is nothing short of an absolute nightmare. Lazarus is here running secondhand hopeless damage control on something that Damon perceived as an unforgivable insult, and he's just barely holding on as it is. For Misa to appear and sling unambiguous scraps and slurs in his direction only guarantees to make everything far worse. He'd taken comfort in thinking that he'd saved Misa, but now she's actively dooming both of them, and Damon must be having a field day with the spectacle.

For a second, he's as frozen as the sword, jaw dropping at her audacity. He's already grey, but he blanches further as Damon states his newest intentions. As the knife is knocked from her hand, Lazarus moves to push her out of the way; though he was doing a fine job of wearing a brave face before, the added variable of the tiny woman he's dating being thrown into the mix has him scrambling to keep her out of harm's way.

This is why he wanted to do this alone...

He freezes the ground at Damon's feet; it's cheap and will likely infuriate him further, but it might at least trip him up for a second and give them that much extra time.

"Misa, you have to get out of here...!"

"Kya-!" Misa yelps as the knife is knocked from her hand with enough force to leave her hand numb. She stares at Damon with a mixture of fear and defiance as she cradles one hand in the other. She didn't even see the attack, not that it would have mattered if she did. Misa has never been a fighter. What could she have possibly done to defend herself even if she had the chance?

"Hey!" she objects as Lazarus pushes her, immediately pushing back and generally resisting his attempts to get her out of harm's way. Him she at least stands some sort of chance against. "No! You want me to leave you alone to die here, that's your plan?! I'm not going anywhere without you!"

She has no power to protect him, but that does nothing to dull her determination not to let Lazarus die a martyr while she hides away. Too many people she loves have died for her to passively allow it to happen again. Even if she can do nothing to stop it, she can at least be present.

Misa's mouth effectively cost Lazarus any chance he had in potentially swaying Damon. That chance was extremely slim and unlikely, mind you, but now it's impossible. However, the spectacle is hilarious. Where mentions of being "fake" and "a pile of feathers" might insult Ryuzaki, but Damon doesn't care. He knows what he is and who he is, he also feels that he's superior. So, there's that.

Ice encases his feet and up his shins, sticking him annoyingly to the ground. It won't last long, but they're already fleeing. Well, that won't do at all. Another surge of that red-black energy crackles along the sword, but this time he launches it after the two, a blade of pure energy shearing and tearing the ground in its wake.

It's not as powerful as it could be, he has to tone it back to avoid obliterating his own weapon, but against a couple of people made out of paper it really doesn't need to be full power.

You are both very stupid. Let him fix that for you.

The "chance" was always more about stalling than anything, the idea that the longer Lazarus could talk to Damon, the more damage to property and people he could curtail. But the grace period's ended as he seizes Misa by the arm and drags her away from the ice-bound monster. The teleporter is the idea he has, if he can shove her through maybe he can still salvage this...

He hears it coming before he feels it. Even if Damon's reigning back, the force of the wave is still enough to knock him off his feet, and even the thick layer of ice he tries to shield them with doesn't protect them entirely. He flings what he can at the impending force as swiftly as he can react, and then they're on the broken, torn ground, the earth turned as if for their graves as their breath comes in ragged gasps and their eyes are dazed as they try to make sense of what happened too fast for a mere human to process.

Lazarus plants his left leg under him to push himself up, reaching for Misa's hand so he can do the same for her without even thinking to look at how badly she's hurt. He starts forward again, but his right leg won't support him and brings him down again, where he stays, having no other choice. A cursory examination shows him a serious burn, with pieces of his black denim pants melted into the wound. It won't support weight, certainly not to run, and therefore, this is where he stays.

He can't look at Misa. He's afraid of what he'll see if he does, if she's charred and blackened and unrecognizable. He doesn't want it to be the last thing he sees. If she's not, though, and she can still run...

"Go! You have to go..." he begs, pulling desperately at her hand.

It's all I want for my birthday, now.

Edited 2015-11-05 05:58 (UTC)

Misa doesn't feel the attack as it scorches her legs; all she is aware of is a sudden pressure as the ground rips up behind her and suddenly she is being thrown down by a magical force. It knocks the wind out of her, and at first all that registers is the pain shooting through her palms where she tried to catch herself. Gravel embedded in the skin, maybe a sprain. Mild wounds.

Lazarus is quicker to recover than she is, attempting to scramble up before she has completely registered what has happened. Self-preservation finally kicks in and she grabs his hand back, attempting to pull them both up. If Lazarus is too hurt to run she'll just have to—

Her legs don't respond, sending her toppling back to the ground the moment that she attempts to put any pressure on them. Misa glances back sharply, and her eyes go wide at the blackened wounds burned deep into bare calves.

A sense of body dysmorphia fills her as her vision goes fuzzy around the edges. That's... her? This must be happening to someone else, she feels no connection to the grisly sight before her even as she can see that those legs are indeed connected to her body.

Misa doesn't respond to Lazarus, she screams.

The nauseating and all-too-recognisable smell of scorched flesh hits him a moment after he appears, as if from nowhere, on the tail end of a flash-step. Somewhere along the line he lost his shades, but it hardly seems to matter.

"Damon!" he snarls out over the sound of Misa's screaming, already scuffed and bruised from an earlier tussle with the doppelganger but now all the more determined to see him off in any way he can. "Why don't you try pickin' on someone who presents more of a challenge?"

Most of it, really, is him trying to give L and Misa a chance to run, or get away from here any way they can. He has to present a more interesting target than they do, and if he doesn't.. he can definitely make more of a nuisance of himself than this. For now he places himself between Damon and the two injured people on the ground, eyes narrowed on their attacker.

He's only sorry that he didn't get there sooner.

"You an' me, we got some unfinished business."

There was something satisfying about watching the two would-be heroes go sprawling like a pair of knocked over toys. It would be even more satisfying to leave their broken and battered corpses on the street as a warning to anyone else. But roughing them up a little so that they can remember fear is an acceptable outcome as well.

He's charging another Drive when Richard appears on the scene, and while it was meant for the pitiful martyr and his screeching counterpart instead he launches it in Richard's direction. So many people eager to die tonight, what a joyous occasion!

"Oh, are you disappointed I left you alive the first time? Very well, I'll be sure to fix that."

But first this stupid ice needs to go. He starts to wrench against it, already weakening and cracking away from his feet.

It's simultaneously very horrifying and very logical that there's not any pain to speak of. The injured leg is there, of course, visible and sickening and singed, and that means it warrants alarm, but the shock of the injury and certain nerve damage makes it difficult to register beyond what's visible. Starting above Lazarus' ankle where his boots offered more or less adequate protection and extending a couple inches above his knee, one side of his right leg is in pretty rough shape.

Working to even out his quick, frantic, catching breaths, he finally looks at Misa when she screams. She's not covered, didn't even have the cursory protection of normal garments, and her bare legs largely took the brunt of the attack. His first instinct is to use the dropped stave, just a foot away and within easy reach, to encase them in soothing ice. If they were going to live through this, that would carry dangers and risks of complication: frostbite, of course, as well as intensifying hypothermia as the body loses heat faster through burned flesh.

But they're not going to live. That much, by now, seems abundantly clear, and instead of reaching for the stave, he wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly, offering his body as a paltry shield because it's all he has. A few seconds of pain, and then perhaps they'll meet again in the next life.

As the sound and charged air announce the beginning of the attack that will likely finish them off, though, a familiar voice causes Lazarus to lift his head and his gaze. "Richard..." he murmurs under his breath, maybe loudly enough for Misa to hear if she's stopped screaming. His eyes widen as he recognizes what this is: a chance, if nothing else, to actually get away, offered by someone far better equipped to face Damon and live.

"Misa, come on...!" he turns, shifting his weight experimentally. He doesn't have the strength of most men, but all the honest labor around Shepherd's Haven has improved the wasted physique of a former addict with hangups about food significantly. He does his best to position their bodies in a way that promises the most efficient distribution of their weights, and then he seizes the ice stave, using it to create a solid makeshift harness that can hold her in place against his back. It's not perfect, but it's the best he can do in a single desperate second.

Two deep breaths. Bracing on his good leg and leaning the rest of their combined weights on the stave, he manages to pull them upright. Even though he's shaking from adrenaline and shock and his injured leg is infuriatingly useless as it drags alongside the load-bearing stave, he makes clumsy but steady progress away from the battle with Misa in tow.

Edited 2015-11-06 17:07 (UTC)

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Shepherd's Haven Event: Devil's Night

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