neverlands | more bob dylan; STORM FRONT part 1

[ The scented trail that the man leaves as he paces down the street is mostly washed away by the onslaught of rain from above but what little that lingers is enough to go by. The undercurrent of something familiar and yet so fundamentally different and alien to anything that Strauss could recall and cologne - any other smells (the natural and subtle ones, the ones that Strauss didn't particularly care for) are lost in the rain, leaving only the man-made cologne and the similar-yet-strange scent between the overwhelming smells of the downpour and the dirt it disturbs as it drums against the tarmac.

The man ahead of him strolls to a stop and Strauss's quiet, even pace continues until he's only a brief arms length away from his back. Blinking aside the rain he contemplates the other man's form - his carriage, his posture, the slope of his shoulders and the theoretical reach of the hand that holds aloft the umbrella. Strauss, bulky and thickly-muscled, fancies his chances. The swing of the baseball bat increases, looping back and forth in wider and wider sweeps until it gains enough momentum to be hefted upright in one hand.

There's barely a second that passes after the other man arrives at the junction before Strauss is wordlessly arcing the thick end of the baseball bat in a sharp, savage swing aimed at the base of the stranger's skull.

Because strangers could not be tolerated. ]

[Rusalki are creatures with sensitive ears, for better and for worse. Footsteps, an altered balance, walking with intent behind him - Perhin can easily feel the other presence and with it imagine the worst intentions. Sometimes paranoia is mistaken for instinct however, and sometimes those ready to prove it right change their mind, so there is no initiative on his part until something happens.

As gifted as he may be, speed is hardly something that sets him apart from other humans, especially when his age does little to help his reflexes. The evasion isn't enough to prevent the swing from connecting with his shoulder, pulling a sharp, almost feral hiss from his throat, umbrella released and abandoned on the concrete. There's both alertness and indignation in his eyes when he turns and reaches out to force the weapon from his attacker's grip.]

[ There's a surge of lip-sneering frustration as the bat connects lower than Strauss would like; still, the thick impact of hardened wood over the flat shoulder bones of the tall stranger was at least a little satisfying. He steps in with the blow, closing the distance between him and his target as the momentum of the swing brings him closer - but the natural curve of the rest of the bat's intended downwards arc is brought to a staggered halt.

Strauss's surprise to find his target still standing is etched in his features as he realises that, rather than buckling and falling to the ground, the man has the other end of Strauss's weapon in an iron grip. Still, the attack dog nerves in the back of Strauss's conscience override everything else; he applies his free hand and maintains the tight grip on the bat in bloody-minded refusal to let the target wrench his weapon away from him.

Not his only weapon, of course. But the only one that could be turned against Strauss if lost.

With both hands on the handle end of the bat he lifts a leg (a risky move, leaving him off-kilter and balancing only on one foot) to swing a boot at the other man's knees. ]

[Strauss prepares the kick and Perhin yanks the bat towards him. He then counters the motion, slamming him against the wall with the bat flat against his arms, trapping the attacker with his own weapon. Pain is pressing deeper into his shoulder, only partially ignored while he tends to more urgent matters.

The brutal side of his nature always had a presence; it always will. The only thing stopping it is the education given to him and the knowledge that any attack on a human being, be it provoked or not, would be severely punished (if it even is a human. There's no way he can tell just yet). He's a gentleman belua mourning the state of his outfit somewhere in the back of his mind, still he walks around with a the sense of entitlement that declares someone needs to be taught a lesson.]

Down, boy.

[The effort makes him grit his teeth, words hissed under the rain. The light seems to settle differently on his skin now that it's wet, the white of his eyes softly brushed with red. Pollution will do that.]

[ The surprising force behind the other man's counter attack initially catches him of guard but Strauss settles his shoulders and relaxes his arms enough to allow the other man to force him up against the wall. The movement he sacrifices in his arms as the bat crushes them helplessly against his is abated by the fact that the solidity of the wall can work in his favour too; Strauss lifts a boot and braces against the wall before eyeballing the short distance between himself and the man now conveniently up in his personal space.

The jibe is left unanswered; as much as Strauss would like to spit an answer back in Perhin's face he instead concentrates on keeping his tongue tucked away behind his teeth in preparation for what comes next.

With Perhin pinning him against the wall Strauss's eyes flicker once over the other man's as if measuring his target; he lifts his chin before quickly bringing his head down in an effort to forcefully smash it against Perhin's face in a heavy headbutt. ]

[Oh - that's going to draw some blood. The impact clacks against his nose and mouth, throwing him back a step or two with a flash of white blinding him from behind tightly shut eyes. For a moment his senses seem to shut down; blood is already mixed with thick drops of rain dripping from his jaw when he refocuses, sharp teeth viciously flashing between curled lips.

Perhin takes pride in the victims he claimed and left in the bottom of the lake. Violence isn't the problem, but the atrocities he committed in the name of his dona's reputation always embodied a level of subtlety. This is a very poor, very offensive antonym to that, and the belua is becoming less and less inclined to let him get away with it.]

[ That result was a little more satisfying than the swing of the baseball bat, but Strauss hadn't done it so that he could sit back and congratulate himself on the spray of blood across the other man's chin and fine clothes. He uses the shock - the slackened grip, the reel of the head - to work a little space between himself and the bat that still pins him against the wall to twist his arms and get his own fingers tighter around the circumference. Still pinned, but with a little more leverage than before, he grunts gutturally with effort and curls his own lips away from his teeth in reply as he pushes back against the bat. There's a dull ringing in his own head from the impact against the bridge of Perhin's nose and his teeth but there's little he can do about it now; the quiet throbbing is mentally pushed aside in favour of adrenaline and sheer brawling instincts as he attempts to heave the weight of the bat and the other man behind it from across his chest. ]

[He neither runs nor relents when he feels the force pushing him back, placing his strength into another shove, whether or not there's enough left in him for it to work. He should consider the fact that there is no one around to aid him in this fight (or bear witness to the fact that Perhin was unjustifiably provoked, should it escalate), but the same goes for Strauss, doesn't it.]

What is it you want? [The emphasis is placed with a scratch in his voice, thundering over the storm with pure contempt.] Money?

[ The second shove breaks the force behind Strauss's push and soon it's obvious that Strauss isn't trying to remove the other man's weight from pinning his arms back - he's going to start needing to get the force off his chest. The wood isn't just against his arms - it's across his ribs as well, pushing them both back against the wall in another firm shove that leaves Strauss hissing and rattling for breath between his teeth.

He isn't one for talking in a fight but there's enough in him to choke out a few words, spit and rainwater included: ]

You're on my street.

[ Although the money wouldn't hurt, truth be told. And Strauss isn't above fighting dirty - with his words delivered he goes for what he really hopes is going to get the other man off his chest: a heavy knee to the groin. ]

Was I? How - barbaric of me. [He tilts his head, muscles tense from the effort, riding on the upper hand until he decides what to do with Strauss.] You must forgive m--

[Until there's a kick to the groin. Beluae get the same sensations from it any other human man would, in case anyone ever wondered - regrettably so, in this case - so what follows is a natural result of just that. Strauss is freed from the force pushing against him, but those stubborn hands just won't let the damn weapon go.]

[ In another time and circumstance Strauss would have pressed home the advantage - a kick to the stomach, a knee smashed against the forehead - but between the burning in his chest and the worryingly 'other' quality of the man's scent Strauss merely struggles away.

He doesn't run - not in any situation - but once he's free of the other man's weight he stumbles a few feet away then turns back. Heaving in great, rasping gulps of air and massaging his chest with one hand he leans one-handedly on his knees, eyeing the stranger from between bedraggled curtains of long hair. The baseball bat is lost to the other man, but Strauss is happy just to be breathing again. ]

Go -- get out of here.

[Where Perhin had been mocking him before - aggravated, but still mocking - he is simply unhappy. The bat is thrown far away enough to force the other to run off to get it back, leaving nothing but space and the heavy rain between them for now. He waits, breathing in and out through his teeth, hair out of place, clothes stained by blood and weighed down by water. He is a perfectly disarranged picture of formality irritably thinking about how he'll have to make a discreet return to his property.]

Do you know... who I am?

more bob dylan; STORM FRONT part 1

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