Furthermore, a coyote apparently has a lot lower alcohol tolerance than a human.
Which put Protégé in a bit of a predicament. He was in his coyote form, and quite uncertain how to get back out.
It must have been an odd site to most people to watch a coyote stagger around the grounds. Protégé had come onto the school grounds to enjoy a nice bottle of scotch at the lakeside, and had enjoyed a bit too much. Realizing it was getting late, he decided he could probably get home faster as a coyote. He quickly shifted, but then discovered the effects of that bad idea. Trying to undo it, he realized he was now too drunk to remember how to become human.
Deciding any port in a storm was good, the coyote staggered across the grounds to the crypt. At least the crypt was quite and mostly unoccupied. Not too much trouble he could get into there! What a smart coyote he was! Alcohol wasn't hindering him too-
Thunk.
Okay, that crypt wasn't there earlier. Who put that in his way? Shaking his head, the coyote leaped onto it. Or well, tried. His paws weren't working too well. Spying some rubble, he nudged it with his nose towards the crypt. Pulling himself up, he was disconcerted as the rubble shifted and wobbled beneath him. Or was that just him? Deciding to get off this deathtrap of rubble, he took the short step onto the crypt top and curled up. This world was not designed for poor inebriated animals.
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Jun 11, 2012 18:52:01 GMT -5
The night air kissed her hands as she fingered through her satchel. Blood-red hair dripped over her shoulders like water clinging to the ice from which it parted.
Wind whistled through the trees, and the graves hummed a haunting tune.
Fortunately, there wasn't anyone living to bother her tonight--as far as she could see, anyway. There would always be the drunk meandering around or the kid sleeping in the crypt or a vampire looking for dinner. After all, this wonderfully isolated and lonely place was nice for privacy, and the icy air tended to ward people away. Unfortunately, that trait also lured people who wanted to be alone.... Like her. Only she was actually here for more practical purposes rather than seeking a cold night to brood without interruption.
The Monolayre pulled out a large staff, one that was much longer than her bag could carry if magic weren't used. She traced her spidery fingers over runes she'd carved herself, spending ages on it and working again and again every few weeks when the glorified stick butted itself into her thoughts. The runes grew in number every time she returned to her invention. Between this thing and the chain she'd been working on for the past couple of years, she wasn't quite sure which was more of a pain in the ass.
Real jobs, even ones like being a professor, were easier.
Last night, the adjustments were small--she added groves for the user's hands. The idea was that they would offer the user (her) more control, thus making the damn thing less likely to launch itself like a rocket in the wrong direction. Theoretically, her prototype was almost complete. Then again, detail after detail dragged out this project much longer than she expected when she first began designing it.
The wood curled up and clutched a chunk of red garnet. The idea was that it would focus and amplify the magic, but she might have to switch it out with something better later. For now, it prevented the stick from exploding and blasting meter-long splinters all over the crypt. Its current length was a little over a meter (width decreasing from a large man's fist at the garnet to that of a child's on the other end), and it wore a few cracks from... previous incidents.
Her inhuman eyes flashed over it as she checked over the runes, and some idiot stumbled into the graveyard and made a ruckus.
She moved into action silently, wand already in her left hand and rod in her right.
A disoriented coyote had apparently decided to take a nap there. Then again, there was only one "coyote" she'd ever seen around these parts. As a matter of fact, hadn't he been drunk the last time she saw him? And she'd kindly sent him sky-diving to France or something.
Well, then, thought Teagan, previous head girl with a grudge as she gave her rod a little twirl, testing time.
From about ten meters back, a red light shot from the rod with a blast like a shotgun.
It narrowly missed the inebriated coyote and planted a crater of about twenty centimeters wide in the dirt a few meters behind him.
There are approximately 42 appropriate reactions to explosions near you. 41 involve running, and the remaining one is death.
It turns out drunk coyotes do not understand any of those 42.
Indeed, upon hearing the blast next to him, the coyote just raised his head and looked at the crater, pushing himself slightly away from the edge of it with his feet. Satisfied in his 'flight', he put his head down and looked mournfully at his assailant.
Drunken coyotes do not have good memory.
However, few women made in an impression in Protégé's mind like Miss Monolayre. After a few seconds of sluggy through the alcohol-ridden mind, the thought finally dawned on him of who she was, and naturally had appropriate reactions.
RUN. EXTREME DANGER.
ADORE. DO NOT LET ESCAPE.
Well then, that was clear as mud.
Naturally, his mind quickly deciphered that to an acceptable plan. Upon hearing her loud comments of 'apology', he rolled over a bit more on his side and barked. Sup?
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Jun 13, 2012 10:44:50 GMT -5
"..."
Oh man, this pup was drunk. Perhaps Teagan would feed him to the lycans... Then again, alcohol did strange things with magic. She pondered, calmly twirling the wand in her left hand. She'd missed on purpose last time, but she wasn't known for her kindness.
What happened when one transformed an inebriated coyote animagus into a squirrel, for instance? Such interesting effects might occur, after all.
And besides, she thought for a moment, giving him a rare few seconds to escape, I'm a cat person.
Then, she silently launched a spell at the stupid mutt that would transfigure him into a certain creature with a long bushy tail that loved hoarding nuts. Perhaps this sort of thing was becoming a signature of hers, but it was oh-so-fun.
Certainly more practical options were available--such as using magic to fling him into the distance or straight-up killing him. There were hundreds of ways to commit a murder, especially with magic as a tool. Being drunk only increased his vulnerabilities. This was such a pain.
Couldn't the stupid coyote just go die somewhere else?
Well then. What. If he were anywhere near sober, he'd be offended. Turning an expert at transfiguration into a squirrel? The sheer indignity! He would surely be writing a sternly worded letter of complaint to the proper authorities once he took his normal form, yes sir! This sort of thing was rubbish that needed to be stopped!
Except he wasn't sober. He was drunk. And, as a squirrel, that alcohol had a much more potent effect on him. The shock of turning into a squirrel temporarily jolted him into a state of awareness at least, and he was able to stumble away and get off the top of the crypt.
Where to from here? There was only one place possibly safe as sanctuary, so he had to chance it. Moving as fast as a drunken squirrel does (not an SI unit of movement), he flopped over on top of her shoe. If he was lucky, she wouldn't want to aim any spells at her feet, and would just get frustrated and kick him away. Elsewhere who knew what spells she might fling.
Unfortunately, even with all this exertion and change, he was still a squirrel with too much alcohol in his system. Slowly, his consciousness faded to black as his mind was overpowered by the drug. At least if he died this way, it'd be an interesting story.
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Jun 20, 2012 10:36:19 GMT -5
The furred creature wobbled over to her... and plopped onto her shoe. She considered kicking it off and stomping it, crushing its small bones beneath her heel. Of course, she would never perform such cruelty against a real squirrel, but this was a human. Of course, real animals (minus cats) tended to avoid her. Probably something about her smelling dangerous.
She nudged the creature free of her black sneaker as uneven and slow breaths puttered out of it. This served him right. A bird, cat, or other creature would get an easy snack, and the streets would have one less drunkard.
Not willing to necessarily kill him directly, she calmly took her stick and continued walking toward the other end of the crypt. She had work to do, after all.
Like this, something else would kill him easily, or he would die of intoxication. As the former transfiguration professor, his ability to turn himself into a squirrel even when drunk would not be questioned. Maybe a few friends might be sad and then drown their memories of him in alcohol. They would not be reliable sources. A death like this would not be entirely unexpected. Better yet, if something else ate the body, then he would only become a missing person. Protege tended to disappear on his own anyway. There would not be too much concern. It was not out of his nature.
Engorgio, thought the Monolayre, flicking her wand silently at a head-sized rock, letting it expand to twice that. This way, should she be investigated, her wand would not provide that squirrel transfiguration as its most recent spell.
She knew how to break rules and not get caught at it. After all, she probably broke more rules as a student, prefect, and head girl in her school years than most of the students she busted. In all that time, no professor questioned her, and only one student realized she might not be as obedient or clean-cut regarding regulations as she acted.
Fucking Lucre.
Anyway, pushing bad memories aside, she withdrew a chain from within her bag and returned the staff to it. The chain was quite warm to the touch, having not appreciated being carried in a magical bag in the least. It was about the width of her pinkie finger and consisted of thirty-nine chain links, the first and last of which were designed to be clasped together. Runes that she painstakingly carved decorated every link. There were three per link, meaning she had cut one hundred seventeen sigils into the damned thing.
Granted, she came out her to play with her blasting rod (that little crater from before was caused by using the minimum amount of power through it), but that would be no good if it attracted unwanted attention.
She clasped the ends of the chain and placed it around the rock. It was only thirty centimeters long. She watched it for a moment as the rock seemed to wriggle and recoil, finally retreating and shrinking to its original size. And then its original form.
Her inquisitive eyes blinked as she suddenly looked into the eyes of a human head. Because of the spell that turned it into a rock, decay had not gotten very far.
Graveyards. Excellent.
It was not too surprising for this kind of place, though.
It was an older man with nasty teeth. Gray-brown hair flecked over his scalp, revealing a bald spot. His mouth hung open. Caucasian. Blood decorated the back and one side of his head, especially at some concave spots, clearly indicated that the poor soul had been bludgeoned from behind and then dismembered.
Teagan figured that transfiguring him into organic material like a block of wood or something would be more practical since it would decay; turning the head into stone preserved the corpse... a little too well.
Removing her chain without letting it touch the head, she then began walking to the other end of the crypt. It was not like she was concerned for that stupid coyote, but she would not have a test subject like that every day. His life did not matter to her, so it would not be too bothersome even if he lived.
She was not concerned for his well-being at all--or so she believed.
Coming upon the dying squirrel, she knelt on one knee and looped the chain around his small body, curious if it would negate the transfiguration spell she performed as well as the animagus magic he used on himself.
Shortly afterward, the chain grew warm as he stripped the last coats of magic free from foolish wizard, licking it away like scoops of an ice cream cone. The squirrel shifted into a coyote, which then shifted just as quickly back into a human.
Well, that had gone well, as expected. Perhaps this invention of hers was complete after all.
It was not like she went out of her way in concern for him.
Her hands reached forward for a moment and paused. This unconscious inebriated moron's body was now on top of part of her precious chain. Would she have to reach around him to free the iron? If she did, then it would be like hugging him. Disgusting.
Deciding to release the clasp, then kick his smelly ass aside and off her precious prototype version three-point-oh, her clawed spider-like fingers reached for the clasp.
Really, at this point it was a surprise his body didn't just shut down from shock of everything happening today. First he was human. Then drunk. Then coyote. Then a squirrel. And now he was being fast tracked back through all those changes straight back to human. At this rate he'd be lucky if he didn't have any weird defects from changing into so many things. If he had a bushy tail at the end of this someone would be in trouble. And no one would give him shit cause no one fucks with the man with the huge bushy tail. But no one wants to be the man with the huge bushy tail.
When she nudged him off the shoe and began walking away, he thought he was just left for dead. Which was fine, really. He expected to be certainly dead after all that was done. As long as his body continued to kick ass with alcohol he just might survive to tell the tale! Granted, he'd be a squirrel, but he'd find some way to fix that.
But no, it turns out Miss Monolayre wasn't done with her fun. The angles kept him from seeing what she was doing, but he saw her reach in her bag and then place something around a rock. Leaving a memento? But no, she brought the chain over and clasped it on him. Suddenly torn through his transformations, his system took quite a shock: partly from the change, and partly from suddenly having much less blood versus alcohol.
With these two shocks combined, Protégé recoiled away from Teagan's grasping hands. "Whoa now, let's not get too hasty here. " Standing up, he unclasped the chain from his neck. "This is an interesting little trinket you've got here." Looking up at her, he caught sight of the head. "I'm not going to ask about that. There are much bigger things to worry about than random heads here."
Looking back at Teagan, he held the chain in his hand. "Technically, I should give this back to you. But today...today was out of line, even knowing how much I've pissed you off over the ages, Monolayre. I'll admit I've done enough to provoke your wrath in the past, but this was completely out of the blue." Leaning back on a crypt, he slid the chain into his pocket. "If you're going to be like this, then you shouldn't have dangerous trinkets. I'm not going to fight you to get the rest because we know how that'll end, but I'll deprive you of what I can. Got it?"
Inside, Protégé hoped she'd be willing to walk off. How much of his sobriety was due to shock was still uncertain. There was a risk of coordination and cognitive thinking dropping when he calmed down. If that happened, he'd have no chance against Teagan, even if she did fight normally.
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Jun 27, 2012 10:27:25 GMT -5
....And he moved. Fucker.
And what did he mean by "hasty"? She helped him instead of killing him.
She stood carefully, echoing his movements as she watched him blankly. What was he up to? If he did not give her chain back, then she would make him look like that random head over yonder. Hell, if she felt like it, maybe she would report it to authorities? It was not as though she killed the poor sap.
Regarding the chain... Yes, that was an interesting "trinket," and she made it.
Teagan listened quietly as he spoke, the air around her seemingly growing colder as the moment continued.
He had a point--several good points, actually. She attacked him simply because she was being territorial about the graveyard. She was acting like those real Monolayre pureblood bastards back home. Perhaps she deserved the name after all? She supposed she was even more aggressive than normal. Whatever. She would consider it later. She "should not have dangerous trinkets," and he knew she had more... Of course, she had more. She made them. She could remake them any time (with a few limitations and several hours of effort).
So... He refused to fight her because they both "knew how that would end," hm? Did he see it the same way she did? The violently violet eyes of her future only lit upon his gory demise, him being a doll decorated with bruises and broken limbs with her calmly walking away with her belongings.
Someone watching her feet closely might have noticed a sudden shift in their positions as her black sneakers cut into the grass.
Of course, that chain would not react to a summoning charm, and other magic would be rather ineffective. It was only natural she would resort to physical means to get it back, was that not so? And thus she soon found herself very close to him, close enough to feel his breath if she so desired--not that she gave him a chance to breathe since she swiftly clutched her fist and aimed a right hook as his cheek bone (zygomatic process).
Mind you, she could punch hard enough to break bones, and she decided not to hold back this time.
Well, what could Teagan say? He pissed her off.
And what were a few broken bones to a wizard? She wanted her chain back, one way or another.
Some women just had no manners. Here Protégé kindly discussed the situation with Miss Monolayre, and yet here she was again escalating things. Really, it was all rather rude. Protégé was willing to settle this peacefully. She would not back down. Apparently, the trinket he now had was valuable.
The sight of Teagan advancing at him was of course cause for alarm. He knew her. Had she wanted to negotiate, she would have done it right there as chill as you please. This was a threat. Threats had to be dealt with.
Again his system kicked him into gear as his mind shifted to fight or flight mentality. Feelings he has had and may have for the Miss Monolayre aside, if it came down to a matter of survival, he would not go down. Watching the advancing Teagan, he saw her ball her hand into a fist. Strange...not using magic. Even though she was blowing the crypt apart before.
Pushing off with his left leg, he shifted to her right and brought his right arm up beside hers, protecting him from her. Shifting his weight onto his left lag after placing it, he brought his right foot up and aimed a chance blow at the back of her legs. If he was lucky, it might hit. Low techniques for him, but with alcohol in him drunken brawling was the best she'd get.
If she's not using magic, she can't use magic. Something about this bracelet prevents that. Maybe it won't react well to magic directed at it. With this realization, he decided distance was his friend. Distance and time.
Pulling out his wand, he aimed it behind him. A rough transfiguration, but it didn't need to be pretty. Build wall between him and Monolayre. Preferably draw from material under her. With luck, it just might buy him a bit more time to run.
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Jul 7, 2012 21:51:00 GMT -5
Protege's arm contacted her, deflecting the blow of her hook.
She used too much force but managed to regain her balance and quickly shift her feet as she eyed his movements. Air swept in front of her legs.
She was fairly surprised--for a drunk, he moved with agility and more skill than most other common wizards. Not to mention his swift recovery from being a squirrel. She would analyze this later, after recovering her chain.
As she began to step forward, earth and stone and grasses glided under her black tennis shoes and slid into a wall before her. She scuttled back appropriately so as not to end up standing on vertical ground. Grass crunched under her otherwise silent steps.
Pulse throbbing in her neck, body loose and ready, Teagan Monolayre took a moment to breathe.
Calm down, she ordered herself. Relax.
Air slowly slid out of her mouth, not unlike a serpent slithering from its den. Relax. Relax. Her shoulders dropped as she stealthily took a few quick paces backward and stuffed her hand into her pocket, deftly pulling out a splinter of wood with a frizzled end. She swung her bag strap across her shoulder.
Calm down. Relax.
Relaxation was always the most difficult for her. She figured she would master it one of these things. She needed to relax in order to think clearly and plan things right. Not too mention, it reduced energy loss from stress and made one able to move faster.
And planning was good. After all, she could have un-transfigured that wall back into the ground, which would have left her exposed and vulnerable and unlikely to be able to defend herself in time since her wand would be busy. She had, unfortunately, busted her spare wand ages ago... The other obvious plan was to move around the wall, guns blazing. He would surely keep an eye on either size of the wall. Not to mention, now that the chain was no longer in her possession, she could simply just apparate to the other side, which would give him ample opportunity to ambush her.
The ravenclaw swiftly shot a silent charm at the small stick in her hand, a stick which then grew drastically as her fingers wrapped around its width, and she thumped herself on the head with another well-practiced charm. The sensation of cold water dribbled down her neck, across her abdomen, and to her toes.
Of course, she was a motherfucking ravenclaw, former captain of the quidditch team at MH. As a damn good flier, another option was almost always available to her.
Mounting her broom, the ravenclaw alum flew into the sky, invisible all the way.
Not wearing a robe was a good plan tonight after all since someone might have heard it flapping in the breeze. As it was, only her loose pony-tail strayed much from her body. She was well-aware that, should the slytherin thrown the chain and manage to get it around her or the broom, she might possibly plummet toward the ground in a most unpleasant way. However, she figured she could magic herself out of it or even survive such a fall.
What fun was there in not having a risk or two and tempting death on occasion?
She inhaled slowly, focus directed toward the ground and her prey.
His muddled mind realized quickly the flaw in a giant wall. While she couldn't see what he did...he couldn't see her, either.
An unknown Teagan was a dangerous Teagan.
He listened to the chain jingling in his pocket. True, he could give it back to her and probably get away with it, but at this point he didn't want her having too much power. Besides, he'd gotten her this mad for it. Point of no return, friends.
True, the chain would probably protect him from any magical attacks she sent his way. But Miss Monolarye wouldn't let that stop her. She'd find a way around that, for sure. If all else failed, she'd start chucking rocks at him until he didn't block one.
Confusion was his only hope now. Spells he once was skilled at couldn't come to his head. All he could think of was running. Looking at the land around him, he saw thick brush on either side, just a few feet away. Brush was a bad escape route. It was noisy, hard to get through, and could hide any sort of dangers. No, he had to run straight...through an open path...with no cover...were those bushes so bad?
Making a split second decision, he reached in his pocket and hurled the chain into the bushes at the right, and tried to fix in his head where they went. Then, turning to his left, he yelled out, "You'll never take me alive!"
As expected, the brush was prickly. As expected, it was dense. But, it made a lot of noise as he broke through it. Shoving through the bush, he left his mind fill completely with a picture of his flat. Then, giving one last heave, he twisted himself around and Apparated away. As expected, the spell gave a crack, but it was only slightly louder than the sound he made tearing through the brush. Hopefully it'd take her a second to figure that out.
Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on Aug 16, 2012 22:55:11 GMT -5
The Monolayre watched calmly from above as the man down below began untangling his thoughts and making a decision. Invisible, she floated down until she was about ten feet above the ground, wand at the ready.
Granted, that chain of hers would be a nuisance when it came to direct magical attacks, but indirect means were always--
Protégé tossed her chain into the bushes. It made a racket.
He shouted something idiotic before jumping into the bushes on the other side (this all appeared to be a rather uncomfortable endeavor) and seemingly apparated.
Her invisible eyes flickered over to the space he through her chain and noted it before she began to drift over the spot that damned drunk slytherin alumnus disappeared at. Broken branches and a lack of human body confirmed her the apparation idea. Had he turned himself invisible as she had, then the mass of his body would have pressed down further on the shrubs.
Air brushed lightly against her body as Teagan merely floated patiently.
She returned to the path near where she last saw and heard her chain disappear. She stepped of her broom, retaining her invisibility, shrunk it, and replaced it in her pocket.
Then, she pressed her senses forward, searching for something that did not belong. She was not skilled enough to determine what magic was used and what magic was fresh, but she could definitely pick out the object that was completely free of magic and entirely unlike the surrounding magic-flooded area.
The witch reached forward, feeling the branches tug at her arms as she grasped and then lifted the chain free.
Starting at the hand that held the chain, color and tones flooded back into her fingers and hands and up her arm as the neutralizing devices licked her invisibility charm free of her body.
Well, that aspect of her chain was certainly a nuisance...
Teagan remained aware of her surroundings, prepared for any return strike of that stupid drunk, in case he was foolish enough to return.
Teagan Offline: This board is full of nostalgia.
Aug 22, 2020 8:39:09 GMT -5
Missing the old MH: gotta say missing when MH and all that was around.
Nov 6, 2019 0:02:30 GMT -5
Willow_lazy: why tf are there 400 posts about adidas
Sept 6, 2018 17:35:57 GMT -5
Azrael: I'm not hard to find, since I'm the only one there who goes by "Azzy", I'm pretty sure. XD
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:41 GMT -5
Azrael: Dunno if anyone still pops by here from time to time, but if any of you mofos do and still feel like gettin' yo nerd on, I've been hanging around this here place a bunch recently: www.roleplayerguild.com/
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:10 GMT -5
Azrael: hold onto your pantaloons
Jul 25, 2016 5:16:43 GMT -5