(Untitled)

[zeitsein]

There are -

There are ways this is supposed to work. An order to things. A fucking -

She isn't the one who gets snatched, not anymore. She isn't supposed to be. This is wrong. All wrong, like goody-two-shoes and a smile wrongThe tension spidercracks up her arms until she has to shake her shoulders to shake it off; she hisses in misspent

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[has_its_poetry]

Stranger's seven-league boots cut out at exactly the right moment to land her about three inches in front of Tara. It's transitionless: one moment the air is clear, and the next there's a mildly bemused blonde girl in the way.

You might call that exactly the wrong moment, really.

She hasn't noticed Tara yet, which is strange, considering the proximity. But her eyes remain focused on the middle distance, as though there's something incredibly interesting happening on the blank brick wall of that building to Tara's left. (There isn't, for the record.)

[zeitsein]

It's instinct and very little else that causes Tara to duck back, roll, and reach inside the folds of her jacket the moment her vision blurs now-you-don't now-you-do; the cause necessitates effect like the way water slowly pinkens when you drop blood in it. She comes up in a crouch, fingers of her left hand splayed and arched like claws.

It takes her .000007 seconds to take in the scene as it's changed, but she doesn't relax. Instead, she simply flicks her eyes in the direction Stranger looks to see what lies out there that's so fascinating. When she finds nothing her eyes flick back, unmoved.

People don't just happen.

She gets to her feet, takes her hand off the gun; anyone who can do that, there's an even chance something else would be necessary anyway. "What are you doing here?" seems a pertinent question, so that is exactly what she asks.

(Feral paw-crunches against the broken ground, further off. Coming closer. Who sent her here?)

[has_its_poetry]

"Oh."

She blinks, shakes her head, and looks at Tara.

"Hello."

Not noticing the sounds, or at least not assigning them any importance: "I was looking," Stranger explains, "for flowers."

It's her favourite occupation, really.

Beat.

"There aren't any here."

[zeitsein]

"It's a dead city." The rhythm's off; Tara should know what to say, but doesn't. "The only flowers you'd find here aren't the kind to take home to mommy for a nice decoration."

The only flowers here are the ones that look a lot like dead bodies when the sun comes up.

"How did you get here?" How did I get here?

[has_its_poetry]

"I walked."

It's spoken slowly, as though to a small child.

"Took a step, and-- poof!" The gesture with her hands is like a tiny explosion, demonstrative perhaps of suddenness. "Here I am. Happens all the time."

[zeitsein]

"You walked." Tara runs her tongue over the back of her top teeth and takes a few steps to round Stranger, warily.

Closer, now. Is she really going to have to fight for this girl's safe-keeping?

The girl can shift from place to place. Maybe the other way makes the loud noise and the flash of light, and this is just the silent aftermath.

There's no point taking chances. There's a broken piece of masonry and steel several yards away. If she concentrates -

no. Showing her hand now would ruin the surprise later, and she might need it.

"Ever do it to other people?" Walking doesn't work like that, in Tara's experience; then again, the world shouldn't look like this, either, in Tara's experience. But it's not walking, what just happened, whatever just happened. "Send them off on a walk like that, I mean. And they just ... show up somewhere else. Like that."

[has_its_poetry]

Vaguely puzzled: "Why would I bother? They have feet; they can go where they like."

[zeitsein]

There's some level of disconnect between the real world and whatever leaves this girl's mouth. Tara will have to keep this in mind, for the future.

For now, she slips her gun from its pocket and levels it at Stranger, eyes hard and narrowed.

Scrabble. Scritch. Tara's eyes narrow just a fraction more. She opens her mouth. Spits out, "Duck. Now!"

[has_its_poetry]

With all the finely honed reaction time of a hippopotamus plied with strong narcotics, Stranger blinks and opens her mouth to ask where the duck is. The motion of turning around to look for any urgently required avians in the area turns into an abrupt fall when her foot hits a stone in exactly the wrong place.

Or exactly the right place, depending.

Regardless, there's Stranger, sprawling out on the ground with an 'oof'.

[zeitsein]

Oh, this is going to be a barrel of laughs for all involved, Tara can just see it now. This girl has her head so far up father sky's glowing round asshole that she can't even see when she's in mortal peril, and Tara needs to keep her alive long enough to get at least one goddamned sensible or at least useful answer out of her in the middle of -

BANG

- a fight. She drops the wolf in midair and spins, sensing the footpads more than hearing the onset of the other five and taking a step back instinctively.

"Fuck."

This is going to get complicated. Her hands twitch and she nails one right in the forehead before turning, grabbing Stranger by the wrist, and running like mad for the broken outgrowth of masonry she spotted earlier.

Ten bullets left. Ten. She keeps the gun out, ready to fire behind her, but only squeezes off one shot - a miss - before they run.

[has_its_poetry]

Stranger yeeps.

And flails.

But dragging her along is remarkably easy; there's almost no resistance, in fact.

Possibly this is because she's now floating in midair. (An opportune moment for her levitation to activate, all things considered.)

[zeitsein]

...

This is possibly the most retarded rescue op Tara has ever tried. It reminds her why she doesn't like rescue ops; the target almost always does something stupid and ridiculous and beyond all hope of salvation

[has_its_poetry]

With another high-pitched noise of startlement, Stranger stays put.

She's more above than behind, because when the levitation starts it doesn't like to stop for a good while.

It's possible that there is applause. Yes, werewolves, very scary, but Tara is cool. Whee! What's she going to do next?

[zeitsein]

With a lick of her lips, Tara fires. The wolves scatter, but she wings one in the leg and it limps, which is good enough for her purposes. She moves, almost as fast as the wolves do, and fires - again. Again. Again. And she is good, because she hits each wolf she was aiming at. (Four.)

Her next shot misses - three - but the next one connects - two - and then she has one bullet left.

They can probably smell it on her, judging by the way they regroup slowly, leisurely, like they have all the time in the world (and maybe they have, this place is befucked enough in just the short glimpse she's had of it).

Dust swirls at her feet and the trickle-down glow peeks out from under the cuffs of her jacket. Tara sets herself, licks her lips, and waits for the wolves to come.

And come they do, looking like an onrush of inevitability and rage, right for her, right for her throat -

That's it, you bastards, that's it, come right fucking at me, the scared little girl you'll tear apart, that's it, runHer forehead feels light with sweat, and

[has_its_poetry]

THAT WAS AWESOME O_O

CAN SHE DO IT AGAIN?

Yeah, Stranger's just sort of staring. And trying to clap her hands gleefully some more, but considering Tara has her by the arm, that doesn't work so well.

It takes her until they get to the hotel to sort out this highly puzzling dilemma.

[zeitsein]

Tara drags them both back behind what used to be the hotel front desk and firmly pushes Stranger down for as long as she has to until the floating stops, then growls, quietly, not unlike the sounds the wolves were making earlier.

"Don't suppose you're paying enough attention to the universe to tell me why the fuck there are wolves running riot over the Las Vegas Strip, are you?"

Don't tell her, let her guess - you don't have a fucking clue. She hates rescue ops.