We're Helping, I Guess? (Closed)

Participants: Cullen Bloodstone and Elsa Bloodstone
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): Northern Thailand
Time of Day: Dusk
Weather: Raining
Summary: Elsa Bloodstone is generously extending her services at the request of the Scarlet Witch. Due to the significance of the job at hand, she's enlisted help: that help is loud, obnoxious, and not very pleased at being dragged to Asia.

"So, correct me if I'm wrong, yeah?" Cullen drawled, shoving a leafy branch out of his way with a scowl. The dense forestry was oppressive and the humidity of the rainy Thailand night was even moreso. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back, soaking the white shirt he wore beneath his red leather jacket and sticking it annoyingly to his skin. In fact, everything - ever teeny, tiny, minuscule speck - of the whole ordeal was f@#$ing annoying.

"You get a love letter from some tosser witch - who, 'pon a time, f@#&ed reality up, down and sideways, just 'cuz - saying you have to go to some jungle in Thailand (that reeks like ass) to find a magic paperweight that she needs for a spell, not only do you trip over your ghastly ponytail to help," Cullen paused long enough to swat at a mosquito, plastering it on his neck. He cussed at the thing, looked at his hand and grumbled at the blood that promised an itching welt to raise on his throat.

"But," he pressed on, just as relentlessly as Elsa was marching them through the rain and jungle, "you thought, for good measure, you should subject your innocent little brother to the horrors your bleeding heart earned." Cullen barely ducked as Elsa pointedly let go of a branch she'd been holding, that tried to whip across his face. He knew he was being difficult. He rather didn't care. No, in fact, he was very much glad he was being difficult.

He knew Elsa wouldn't have agreed to do this if it wasn't necessary. That he wouldn't bring him into it if it weren't also necessary. But Cullen didn't want to be there and, if his dedication to his sister was enough to get him there, it wasn't enough to keep him pleasant. He'd never learned "pleasant," after all. That lesson must've been the one his good ole dad was planning on teaching the day after he'd gone and died and left Cullen stranded for years in a demon-infested dimension all on his own (at age ten).

Elsa paused with her foot upon a twisted Liana root, taking a moment to catch her breath while dragging the back of her hand across her forehead. If she’d wiped away any of the sweat that ran like a waterfall beneath her fringe, she couldn’t actually tell – both forehead and hand were as damp after the wipe as they had been prior, the humidity and rain ensuring every part of her person – clothing and all - was well and truly soaked. She’d been swimming fully clothed in the ocean and bathed naked in mountainous hot springs for hours, and could swear that neither experience had seen her as thoroughly moist as trekking through a Thai jungle. It had been a singularly unpleasant journey – the failure of her assigned mission and the destruction of life as she knew it might well have been a preferable option. However, despite her displeasure, life flourished and teemed all about her, the pitch-dark night as alive as the daylight had been - crickets croaked, distant monkeys howled and chattered, mosquitoes hummed by her ear, and in the background, her brother whined and groaned and griped.

The situation she found herself in was frustrating enough without him: walking through a rainforest in leathers, carrying a bag of weaponry, caked in mud, soaked to the bone in sweat and rain, and gasping for breath because the levels of humidity had caused her to wheeze like a chain smoker. Him incessantly and endlessly droning on about how awful things were served to make it only more unbearable. If it was anyone else, she might have turned around and shot him in the kneecap to actually give him something to moan about – but as it was Cullen, she settled for a withering backward glance.

“Do you ever shut the @*&^ up?!” she asked, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “Since when did you become such a whiny little &^%!?” She shook her head in obvious displeasure, and then let out a long sigh, slightly raspy in nature. Though the air was heavy with moisture, it seemed her insides were bone dry. She even struggled gulping, her throat parched and raw, as if she’d swallowed an incredibly absorbent metal sponge.

“To correct you, she didn’t write me a letter. She appeared in my dreams, half-naked and undulating, which is why I accepted her offer.” A total untruth, but Cullen didn’t need to know his big sister had sort of joined an actual team of superheroes fighting against the magical forces that threatened the world: she didn’t want him to think she was going soft in her old age. “And secondly, I invited you along so it’d be like a family *”$!ing vacation, and this is the thanks I get.”

She wrinkled her nose and tried to spit – hoping doing so might lessen the sticky feeling that resided in her mouth. It didn’t. “Also, you’re about as far from innocent as you can be, and the only ghastly thing in this jungle, apart from this jungle, is that red leather suit you’re sweating in.” Elsa sniffed audibly. “So, the only thing you got wrong was ^&%$ing everything. Good work.”

Cullen Bloodstone

Cullen curled a lip upward in what was either a sneer or a smirk - maybe both, or neither, it was hard to tell - at that first question. He rolled his eyes pointedly. He was a Bloodstone. Of course he never shut the f*@# up. Since the question was so glaringly rhetorical, he managed to not toss back a reply. If only just. The next comment, about his whining, made his sweat-beaded eyelids go half-lidded to veil a now incredibly dry stare.

"Don't sound so surprised. It's a well-known fact that b*tching is one of my defining characteristics," he countered, stepping over another treacherous knot of roots underfoot. Mention of a half-naked witch made his nostrils flare and lips purse in intermingled curiosity and distaste.

"Well, with all disrespect, sister, dear, next time, I'll be the one to plan the family getaway." Cullen pulled the collar of his white undershirt up and used it to collect some of the sweat on his upper lip. "Also, my sense of fashion is impeccable, and someone who accessorizes with draugr intestines more often than not isn't allowed to critique." He was, obviously, ignoring the fact that it was another Bloodstone family trait to be smeared in various monster matter.

The forrest floor dropped suddenly, then, and Cullen came to stop at Elsa's shoulder, looking down into the small, one-hundred-fifty meter wide furrow in the jungle that stretched ahead of them. "Oi," Cullen grimaced. He sniffed the air and grimaced again. "You smell that?" Of course it was another rhetorical question. The sudden stench wafting up from the valley was unmistakable.

To the average person, in fact, it'd probably have been debilitating or vomit-inducing. Monster hunting was in their blood, though, and Cullen could count on one hand the number of abominations that didn't smell vile. His question was more of a "do you recognize this particular brand of a** stench?"

Elsa Bloodstone

The siblings continued on; both picking their way through the jungle and sniping at one another with every drawn breath. Though it would have been smarter to ignore Cullen, to adopt a policy silence so that, in turn, he too might fall silent, it simply wasn’t Elsa’s way – just as it wasn’t her brothers. Whatever thought crossed her mind, no matter how vulgar or awful, it tended to find itself spoken. In her mind, filters were for cigarettes, not Bloodstones, and she wasn’t entirely convinced on the former. “I’ll critique you all the &^*k I want, dear brother, because someone has to. If your ego continues to swell your shoulders won’t support your fat f^%*&ing head.” She shot him a mockingly sweet smile. “Besides, draugr intestines in in style…”

Looking back at the path they followed – not that it was much of a path, more of a course they’d chartered, placing their feet in spaces that weren’t quite so thick with sinking mud and knotted undergrowth – Elsa noticed the ground fall away, the steep side to a jungle-dividing ravine. She came to an abrupt halt, and felt her brother do similar, hovering at her shoulder. Peering down over the furrow’s edge, a hot, putrid smell greeted her. It was so thick and foul she felt for a moment as if it would suffocate her, and her eyes began to water at its pungency.

Cullen spoke before she could, voicing his displeasure in a manner and speed that only a Bloodstone might. ‘Oi. You smell that?’ He knew full well she could – it’s strength and potency would have cured anosmia.
“Nevermind f*&^ing smell it, I can taste it.” Elsa slapped her lips a little, and made a rather unpleasant ‘heurgh’ sound, somewhere between a choke and a wretch. “What the £&$^ is that?” She looked at her brother, brow furrowed.

Experienced as Elsa was in the art of monster hunting, and as good as her nose was at picking up the distinct scents of certain cretinous creatures, she’d never had her nostrils assault with anything quite so fell in her life. It definitely wasn’t an odour she’d be quick to forget – if ever. It's burning quality could well have permanently scarred her olfactory system.
“Unless you've got any bright ideas or fancy wasting some time with wild guesses, I guess we’re climbing down there to have a poke about.”

Cullen Bloodstone

"Nevermind f*&^ing smell it, I can taste it. What the £&$^ is that?"

Cullen's expression was puckered in stank face to the nth degree, but with Elsa's insight he gave his own click of the tongue, like he was apprehensively tasting the air. "'Member that casserole you made a few weeks back?" Cullen asked, tone conversational and relatively innocent. The implication that the taste reminded him of his sister's cooking skills was only noticeable in the faint flicker of slyness in his irises.

The younger Bloodstone came abreast with Elsa and rolled his eyes hard enough she'd see them if she were blind. "All you have to do is fess up to being scared. Don't worry, sis, I'll go first." He poured on the sickly honey sweetness as much as he possibly could, shoulder checking Elsa aside slightly. Before she could stab him, or dislocate any bones he liked right where they were, Cullen leaped forward.

His boots hit a cleft in the ravine's sides - probably cut by rainwater, since it wasn't choked with plant life - and he started sliding steeply downward. Cullen's training, combined with his superhuman physiology, were the only things that kept him from breaking his neck on the descent. Even with them, there were some close calls. At the last second, when it was clear to Cullen he'd nailed it, he shot a sh*t-eating smirk up at Elsa.

"Uhhf-!" A rock tripped him up. Thud- squelch! Cullen blinked once. Twice. When Elsa made it to the ravine's depths, she found him waist-deep in a foul-smelling mud. He'd built up the strength to weather her 'I told you so' expression the entire while, and beckoned for her to help pull him out. "Steam's comin' off of it like dog sh*t in the f**king snow. Is this f**king sh*t? Is this f**king sh*t?!" 

Elsa Bloodstone

Cullen was, apparently, not at all interested in wasting time theorising about the origins of the stench. If Elsa’s off-handed jibe had been intended to push him into action (which it sort of had been), it worked almost too well (which Elsa had figured it would). Stepping up to her side after an ‘innocent’ comment about her casseroles, which she’d ensure were poisoned in future Bloodstone family meals, her blonde sibling shoulder-checked her out of his way, and hurled himself into a daring descent of the almost vertical slope. Had she not nearly toppled over the ravine’s edge at his firm nudge, close to overbalancing thanks to the sack of weaponry and monster hunting paraphernalia she carried on her back, Elsa would have wanted him to fall anyway – call it comeuppance for being a cocky b*s%$^!.

That she’d nearly ended up face-diving into the rancid pit thanks to his incessant desire to show off simply meant that she wanted him to fall and break something. Preferably his face.

Elsa spent much of his descent willing him to trip, stumble or hit anything in his path. When disappointment was close setting in – Cullen reaching the bottom and flashing her a s*^$-eaters grin – her desires were fulfilled as, during the easy dismount from slope to ravine floor, his foot caught on something, and he fell face first into…well…whatever stinking, semi-solid goop lay below. It was the elder sibling’s turn to smirk, and she was certain hers would be felt by Cullen even if he couldn’t see it.

Taking to the slope much as her brother did, she followed the path he carved out, as nimble, athletic and precise as his descent had been, even with the heavy bag slung over her shoulder. However, upon reaching the ravine’s depths, she expertly stepped over the rock Cullen had been bested by, warned of its presence thanks to his rather awkward face-plant. Two steps later, and she was stood at her sibling’s side, still smirking down at his prone form, which had begun to sink slightly into the rancid mud.

He raised a hand toward her and beckoned for her aid. Reaching down, Elsa took a firm hold of his wrist and hoisted him to his feet, while simultaneously stepping back onto slightly firmer ground, so as not to sink into the squelching mire underfoot. “I hope that cheap red leather suit washes well, because that smell isn’t coming out easily.” In actual fact, she didn’t hope it washed well at all. “And yes…” she said, looking down at the muck layered across the ravine’s floor. “It could definitely be s*!^.”

Cullen Bloodstone

Elsa was a good sport and actually took his waving hand to help pry him from the muck. On his feet again, Cullen did his best to scrape off the bit of stuff that'd peppered his face with the impact. Elsa - smugness peeking through her distaste - pointed out that the odds were fairly high that it was sh*t, and Cullen gave a soft groan. "That witch is getting the dry cleaner's bill," he said, wiping his filthy hands on the bag of goodies his sister toted.

The siblings took a moment, then, to assess their surroundings. It wasn't lost on either of them, the significant shift in the atmosphere of this new area. The smell was as foul as ever, somehow refusing to let Cullen's nostrils get used to the stank even after minutes spent suffering through it. More than that, though, the dense jungle around them in this shallow, micro-valley was distinct.

Birdsong and wind, even sounded far, far off even though both listed through the trees less than fifty feet above and behind. Down here, not a single leaf moved and Cullen couldn't even spy or hear the drone of a single insect. Which defied logic more than anything, really, since the probable-sh*t pools ought to have drawn flies and other creepy-crawlies.

The vibe of their venture had just become more grave, though. Even Cullen's penchant for sarcasm and sass was staunched, superseded by the many instincts that pounded through his veins. Tension twisted and coiled on the dead, still air, and Cullen gave a narrow, kindred look to Elsa in the silence, promising in the glance that he had her back.

Elsa Bloodstone

“I’d hold off on that. No dry cleaner is getting…whatever the f*%$ that is…out your jacket. You might need her to snap her magical fingers to save your pleather.” Elsa nudged her brother violently as he wiped his hands on her sack of monster hunting goodies, but fell silent, as did her sibling. For a moment, the air of animosity between them cleared, and they both studied their new surroundings, s*£% pools and all.

That neither sassed the other for a good few moments suggested something troubled the Bloodstones deeply.

The crevasse they’d plunged into – quite literally the arse-crack of the Thai jungle they’d stalked – was devoid of movement, sound and any form of life beyond the siblings. No insects. No wind. No rain. Just s**% and stench. If the monster they’d been sent to kill was to have a hovel, this most certainly seemed like it could be the place. “Well I guess we’re getting closer…” Elsa murmured to herself, dropping the large bag she shouldered onto a bit of dirt that didn’t seem quite as sh*$%y as the rest of the ground underfoot.

Opening its drawstring, she reached in and pulled out a pump-action shot gun, three grenades and heavy pistol. Then, she nodded at Cullen, encouraging him to follow her lead. “Go on, take your pick.” With any luck, the creature they hunted could be hurt by conventional means – silver bullets, buckshot and unnecessarily large explosions. If not, they were going to have to get up close and personal – which she didn’t overly fancy considering the Asian monstrosity lived in its own faecal matter.

“I guess I’m going first,” she muttered at Cullen’s sidelong glance, and after pocketing and holstering her sack-salvaged weaponry, took hold of her shot gun, racked it twice, and curled her finger about the trigger. Then, turning in a small circle and sniffing the air – an act that nearly caused her to barf – she assessed where the smell was most pungent. With her eyes watering, Elsa began to squelch in that general direction.

Cullen Bloodstone

Elsa's luck had just took a turn for the better, whether or not she knew it. The ominous atmosphere of that basin-valley meant that Cullen was naturally inclined to hold his tongue. The stench of it meant every time he didn't, the odor settled on his tongue and made his stomach protest. Both, together, meant his ordinary nonstop snarking was sedated.

Cullen walked up to the bloated bag of murder weapons when Elsa offered it to him. He pursed his lips, picking moodily through the arsenal that was jumbled inside. He made sure to take just enough time that he felt his sister prickle at his pace, then pulled out a rune-inscribed crossbow and a handgun. "Ladies 'n all that, eh?" Cullen grinned Elsa's way when she took the lead.

He wrinkled his nose over and over, surprised he still had hair and that the smell hadn't singed it clean off. Elsa was braver than him - or more stupid, by his measure - because she sniffled and snuffled and then picked a direction like a hunting dog and started trudging that way. Cullen wrinkled his nose one more time, then followed suit, strafing to the side somewhat so they weren't so clumped together.

Thirty meters in, and a single sound started to drift through the quiet. Long, lonely, mournful. Cullen looked, wide-eyed at his sister; it was some sort of instrument. Together, they pivoted and saw, in a small clearing within sight, something that definitely hadn't been there before. A woman - or the shape of one - dressed in the most rotten, molded, stained and soiled pha sin imaginable.

Their head was bowed and shaded by a paper parasol just as dirty, and abnormally long arms, concealed at the moment under the grotesque cloth, dragged the bow of a saw duang across its single string, drawing that ominous, blood-chilling sound from it.

Elsa Bloodstone

The Bloodstones had not forged far before they slowed, the silence of the ravine cut through by the long, low, mournful wail of a stringed instrument; the tone and timbre not dissimilar, in Elsa’s opinion, to that of a drowning house cat. Glancing sidelong at her brother, she caught his wide-eyed stare, and with a curt nod, the pair pivoted, searching the gorge for the source of the sound.

They found it quickly.

Behind them, in a clearing they had somehow missed, sat a hunched figure, huddled in a ragged pha sin; a twisted, misshapen outline of a woman, clad in cloth impossibly soiled, attire rotting and grotesque. Before her was clasped a tall, thin instrument, over which she drew a crooked bow, slow and deliberate, taut hair scraping at its lone silken string. Each note was akin to nails being dragged slowly and deliberately across a chalkboard, every utterance causing Elsa to wince.

“Did you ever play ‘Creepy Homeless Woman or Demonic Entity?’ as a kid?” Elsa asked because she had, on many occasions, in both childhood and in later life. In her experience, the game almost always ended the same: if you ever had to ask the question, it was more than likely to be the latter. Apart from the one occasion she’d rammed the barrel of a desert eagle against some poor old dear’s temple, asked her thirty questions, and then been mildly apologetic when she’d realised it was actually just a creepy homeless woman.

In Elsa’s defense, she shouldn’t have been so *$%ing creepy, should she?

Raising the barrel of her shotgun, the elder of the siblings began walking toward the lone figure, keeping her weapon trained on…whatever it was that confronted them. If it made the unwise decision to approach, she’d open fire and fill it and its *h$t-caked pha sin with even more holes than it already had.

Cullen Bloodstone