theresnodoor | (no subject)

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When you fight for three years, you get used to the aspects of it. The secret keeping. The sudden pounding rush of adrenaline. The constant thrum of fear under your skin. The exhaustion. The rage. The helplessness and the power.

There are different kinds of 'get used to,' though.

There's the kind where, free of those constraints, you can relax. It never leaves entirely, but it ebbs. You don't miss it exactly but you recognize that you could go back to it in a heartbeat, if you needed to - and you tell yourself you don't want to.

There's another kind. Less readily admitted to.

The kind where you relax immediately. And slowly, surely, the thrum under your skin comes back. But the fear has a different flavor this time around, more restless than anything else.

The nice thing is, the solution is obvious.

The bad thing is, it's a solution you can't admit to.

Rachel does a lot of things to channel that thrum. Waking at dawn. Gymnastics routines. Runs around the lake. Training with the punching bag. Reading with Tobias. Talking, talking, talking to people. Morphing for fun.

But they're only channels, and none of them for much purpose.

There's only one thing that's given her true relaxation, release, since Milliways.

An afternoon walk in Milliways' forest and Rachel finds herself standing before a tall rock face, more than a hill but not quite a mountain. An opening several feet taller than she is - a rock cave.

Carved into the stone, a symbol she won't readily forget.

"...Daedalus."

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Magic is debatable. Mostly, she's slowed to look around. The rough cave-like walls turning into more of a passageway, until what they're standing in could be the halls of a castle, rather than the cave they'd found in Milliways' woods.

Rachel is still looking up, studying the slow bleed of rough wall to smooth stone when Mel glances back. She hasn't stopped, still moving forward.

But also waiting.

It hadn't taken long, the last time she'd found herself here. Nothing's jumped out just yet, though.

It's Mel who hers it first - very low rumbling ahead of them in the tunnel.

A very quiet rumbling in fact, like a very small do growling.

Which as it turns out, is coming from a very small dog growling. Small with long hair the colour of Rachel's.

Still, Mel stands about ten feet away from it, and frowns.

"What is that?"

Dogs shouldn't be that ugly.

Looking over at the growl more than Mel's words, Rachel frowns. Because really, it's not that ugly of a dog. Just a fluffy little Pomeranian, hardly the sort of danger she'd faced here before.

Then it opens its mouth.

In three sections. Sharp, snake-like tongue slithering out and a tripod-muzzle filled with razor teeth.

Growling and pacing slowly toward them.

"Something that used to be a dog," Rachel replies, low-voiced as she keeps walking forward. Just enough to get in front of Mel, stand between her and this thing.

Mel has an axe. But Rachel can heal from just about anything.

Still. This is hardly the sort of danger she expected, even with the fluffy thing drooling on the rock floor.

Edited 2012-01-02 02:45 (UTC)

The only reason Rachel is able to get past Mel to be in front of her, is that Mel's stopped in her tracks to give the dog the eye.

Because frankly, that's just weird.

She pulls out that scythe and swirls it around her hand a little before holding it to her side.

"What kind of idiot lurk would turn a dog?" She muses, as she walks forward, coming to Rachel's side.

The question earns her a surprised glance, eyebrows lifted. "You know what that is?"

Okay, Milliways, people come from all sorts of weird worlds with weird creatures. But still.

Rachel glances at the dog again, frowning thoughtfully. Any number of morphs could take it but it's not actually doing anything right now. Save growling and drooling at them. The axe might be enough by itself.

Edited 2012-01-02 16:11 (UTC)

"Looks like a vampire dog to me," Mel says.

She stops, tilts her head and gives it a look.

"Yeah, that's probably a dog. Rats aren't that fuzzy."

"A vampire dog?"

Don't judge. Don't judge. Especially when the thing opens its mouth again, drooling and growling.

"...okay. Sure. Vampire Pomeranian."

Mouth still open, it barks once and lunges. Rachel leaps back more out of surprise than fear, frowning at it. "So... do we kill it?"

"If it goes at us agai..."

Mel had been passing it as she spoke, but then it doesn't just lunge, it leaps at her throat, mouth open.

She twists the scythe around her neck, and slices its head clean off before it gets half an arm's distance to her.

"...yeah," she says, as it crumbles into dust. "We can kill it."

Barely a step behind Mel, Rachel stands hunched and tense - and more than a little surprised when the fluffy thing turns into dust.

It had moved too fast for her to even think of morphing. Something she's kicking herself for now, face faintly flushed as she moves up beside Mel and nudges the dust with a bare foot.

"I said do we, not 'can,'" she points out, almost grumbling. "At least it's gone n-"

She stops when she hears more growling. A lower pitch, deeper rumble.

And a pair of slobbering rottweilers round the corner.

Still not quite what she'd expected on entering the Labyrinth, but Rachel's smile is very smug as she focuses on her bear.

"Any pointers on vampires?" she asks, blonde hair turning brown and coarse.

Mel would say they're the same thing, but she doesn't really think that.

"Yeah," she says, in answer to the question. "Stake through the heart, decapitation, fire."

She doesn't look at Rachel, because she's giving the Rottweilers the side eye, waiting for them to attack first.

It's only because she didn't see Rachel with anything flammable or wooden, that she amends that to, "decapitation, I guess."

She doesn't take her eye of the dogs. Try it, Fidos

"Decapitation," Rachel agrees, her voice rough as vocal chords change.

Behind Mel, bones are cracking, organs sloshing into place. Which reminds her to add, her voice clear in Mel's head, <By the way, I can change shape.>

I'm a shapeshifter.

I'm a morpher.

I turn into animals.

I'm an Animorph.

There's really no cool way to say it.

The dogs are large, standard for their breed, but with the defined muscle of dogs trained for a purpose. They, too, open their mouths in trifold, teeth gleaming.

And they lunge, one for each woman.

"Oh!" says Mel, even as she steps forward, jamming the wooden end of her weapon into the heart of the dog that's bigger than her, on its hind legs.

"You're the bear!"

She remembers that. And she's glad to figure that one out.

The matter-of-fact way Mel finishes her dog is something to be admired, respected.

Rachel's brief moment of both allows the dog lunging at her to knock her off her half-formed feet. But a bear, even not fully morphed yet, is faster than most people think.

The massive bulk of her twists sharp and a bar the size of a frying pan swings hard to smash into the creature's head, knocking it into the nearest wall. When it tries to regain its feet, dazed, she slams her entire weight down on top of it, one paw and all her claws focused on the back of its neck.

It's not decapitation, exactly, but the sharp crack of a broken neck gives her time to close her teeth on it and wrench.

<Yes.>

Edited 2012-01-03 00:32 (UTC)

Mel gives the bear the space it needs to do this work, watching the fight with quiet respect. It's helpful to see what the bear can do.

"Spled."

(Tone implies it means cool)

"Though now you've got a mouthful of dust."

<Yup.>

And a bear really does not have the mouth or tongue to spit, much to her annoyance. There's a long moment of hesitation, staring at the dust and snapping her jaws, where Rachel actually considers how wise it would be to demorph already. How often she might have to do it.

<You don't have a watch, do you?>

Mel glances down at her wrists, and spread them, shaking her head.

"Nah. Gets caught on things."

Which doesn't stop her wearing jewelry, come to think of it.

"You need the time?"

Rachel doesn't - really, can't - wear either. Which is why the bear sighs softly before backing away from the dust and closing her eyes.

As frequently described, the process of morphing - or demorphing - is unpleasant. Rachel is far more concerned with the difference between exhaustion and trapping herself in a single body.

"I'll get tired if I do that too often," she says, once her voice works again. Still rough, dry.

Then makes a face and spits dust at the floor, at least with the decency to turn away from Mel as she does it.

Edited 2012-01-03 01:11 (UTC)

"There a reason not to stay in shape?" Mel asks, having watched the process with only the smallest twinge of what the hell?

"I mean, I'll watch your back, but sounds like bear'd stay useful."

There's not much she's managed to keep secret so far, but this is one of them. Rachel keeps her face turned away, spits again, then shakes her hair out as she faces Mel again. "I'll go back to it if I need to. Are you ready?"

Mel shrugs, easily indifferent.

"I'm always ready, me," she says, flexing one shoulder to keep it supple.

She doesn't need to transition to fighting mode, after all.

"I'll let you know if it's needed."

And she doesn't mean she never will. She's already factoring a grizzly bear into her mental inventory of potential weapons.

With a grin, and pushing her bangs out of her face, she heads on in the direction they'd been going.

What annoys Rachel most about the statement is the assumption that she'd need telling to know if a morph is necessary. Mel is given a glare.

Even if it's as ineffective as those past had been.

Kicking her feet to free them of more dust, Rachel follows - then hurries a couple of steps to walk beside Mel, not behind. "Are they always that messy?"

Edited 2012-01-03 01:31 (UTC)

Well, Mel doesn't know how much Rachel knows about what she, Mel, can do. Mel is also the one here with the Special Destiny, and thus has a tendency to assume she's in charge.

Which is almost certainly annoying

"With the dust?" she asks. "Yeah, usually. Still call that less messy than demons. Less gore to wash out."

As annoying as it is comforting. Though Rachel would only admit to one aloud.

Or at all. Even to herself.

"Blood is easier to get rid of," Rachel points out, wrinkling her nose - before glancing, sharply, at Mel. It's a comment that wouldn't be taken well by most people she knows.

Especially her teammates, who knew equally well the taste and texture of blood.

Edited 2012-01-03 01:39 (UTC)

"You think?" Mel asks. "Dust'll rinse off with first shower. Blood needs to be scrubbed.

"'Specially demon blood. That comes in all colors and consistencies. Sometimes it goops."

Matter-of-fact. If Mel keeps up that attitude, she runs the risk of Rachel actually liking her.

"...alien blood is like that. I don't usually have to worry about showering it off, but if it gets in my mouth, it's a problem."

Edited 2012-01-03 01:48 (UTC)