Spirit Bazaar

[Solomon Quicksilver]

"Holy crap, where'd he come from?" He rolls his wrist around, the faintly glowing blade of the kukri almost singing in his ears. Then brings it slicing down on the spider-boy's lump shaped body on fly-guy's back.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 [Init+7]

[Spirit Bazaar]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 Fly-headed-man +4

[Spirit Bazaar]

Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 Ghost kids +4

[Spirit Bazaar]

The lump squirms suddenly. Shifts in position under the jacket, which tears as Solomon's knife slices through and quickly begins to soak with blood. Yet, it's the man that screams! He reaches out, clutching suddenly at Solomon's pant leg. "What the hell are you doing?" He buzzes. And buzzes, so that the sound permeates the air. It buzzes loudly, too loud for Solomon to have heard the scampering. But there they are, scampering from under hedges, hanging from the sides of walls, approaching on all fours as if prowling. Their eyes are still filled with fear. Terror in fact. Terror...and hunger. ((Count this as round 2 Solomon 16 Barfly 13 Spirits 9 Declaring in reverse.

[Spirit Bazaar]

Spirits (Three acting in concert) Action: Grapple Solomon

[Solomon Quicksilver]

[Die bitches, die! Hurl a fireball, cause those never go outta style.]

[Spirit Bazaar]

((Sorry, forgot to mention Fly-guy's declare which is: Cling to Solomon screaming 'WHYYY?!?'))

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP] [Blow shit up rote + unique focus/personal focus]

[Spirit Bazaar]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6) ((Soak fire? Right.) Grapple Solomon +1

[Spirit Bazaar]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6) Grapple Solomon +2

[Spirit Bazaar]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) Grapple Solomon +3

[Solomon Quicksilver]

"Burn in hell spider demons!"

[Spirit Bazaar]

The hermetic waste's no time in exerting his will. The univverse, reality, was his to control. And should he decide that a thing will burn then by god... Only...they don't burn. They hardly balk at the flames. The boy's see them, certainly. For a split second they shield their eyes from the light. But while the pavement flickers lit with flame, they prowl right on through it and leap at Solomon. One on each leg. The other on the arm wielding the blade. They're weightless, which doesn't seem like a problem at first. But their touch is ice cold and freezes his bones stiff. For the first time they make a noise. They scream hoarsely and squeeze tightly. And the fly buzzes. And buzzes. And buzzes. And in the background there's something that sounds an awful lot like...singing. (Solomon's limbs are held. He can roll Str+brawl to try and get the kids off of him)

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He squirms and wiggles. The ice cold feeling seeping into his bones. This ain't quite right. Gotta fight the little blighters off, free his arm anyway. He tries to shake that one loose.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Why shake 'em off when you can slice the buggers? Knifey knifey.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) [Knifey knifey]

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6) [Knifey knifey dmg]

[Spirit Bazaar]

The gleaming Kukuri hops from one hand to the other and Solomon uses his free hand to swing at the...whatever it was, clinging to his other arm. It works. It works all too well. He can see the blade opening the ratty t-shirt --This one wasn't the spiderman he'd seen before-- and the boy screamed hoarsely, looking up at Solomon in with a hurt 'how could you' expression before falling off his arm and cowering. He can also feel the blade, slicing into his own arm. See the blood already seeping up toward the flesh. And he can hear the singing. Growing louder now. Louder than the buzzing, even. There are no words to it. There's just the sound of a voice, singular at times, joined in by some other spectral choir at others. It gains a direction. Its coming from the streetside. From an idling car. No, from someone standing near the car. His black, full length coat obscures him at first, makes him a shadow among the mist of the exhaust. But the crisp white dress shirt he wears underneath makes him more apparent. More solid. How long had he been standing there? How long had he been singing? The Fly-headed-man hears it. The fly buzzes fervently in response and the mans arms come up to hover just near the wings. The spider children hear it. First, their grips seem to loosen. Or perhaps not their grips, but the strange effect it seemed to have. Their touches were less cold. Less paralyzing. Solomon could actually feel his limbs beyond the cold. He could move them. They hiss hoarsely and in their faces where fear and hunger had been battling since he'd first seen them, fear finally won out. They detach, leap away from Solomon, and huddle together, backing away slowly.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He looks down at his arm. Winces. What were these fucking things? He was slicing them, but he was cutting himself too. At least when they were latched on. He stares at his arm where he feels the pain for a moment. They leapt through the fire like it was nothing. But the knife seemed to hurt them. He flicks the knife to the other hand and weilds the kukri. Not willing to let up just because they were. Not until they broke and fled entirely. "Back, demons!" Shouted in Enochian. Closing on them and slashing at them again.

[Spirit Bazaar]

They scream, though it hardly rises above a whisper, and collectively scamper in retreat, up a wall, and out of sight. Meanwhile the man in the black coat has drawn closer. He's kneeling over the fly-headed man with a hand on his back, where the boy-shaped lump still remains. And it appears that the car exhaust has either followed him, or was never really there. Just a miasma that surrounds him. The man sings. The fly buzzes and groans.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Solomon grunts faintly as the spider boys run off. Shaking his kukri at them irritatbly. Glaring. And now there's someone new. He turns towards them. Stalking forward. "What're you doing? Who are you?" A wild look in his eyes under his shaggy loose brown hair. He's a man who's been stretched beyond his normal bounds tonight. With weird critters and other freakish things.

[Spirit Bazaar]

"...Jesus." Says the man in the coat, which cuts off the sound of that singing. That singing that seemed to come from everywhere. And with it, so do most of the other sounds. The buzzing stops. Solomon sees now that it has stopped for quite a while. The fly that is the man's head lays prone, wings spread. His chest rises and falls steadily as if in sleep. "I'm just trying to help but...that's a big as knife. Could you...uhm...could you not point it at me? Please?"

[Solomon Quicksilver]

Solomon looks all around him. Suddenly aware that the... visions or hallucinations or whatever the hell they were... weren't there anymore. The kukri wavers for a moment. Lowers. "What..?" As though what he'd said was incomprehensible. But maybe this was just another trick. He raises the kukri again. "who the hell are you?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

He leans back this time, still bent slightly at the waist but with both hands in the air in a classic 'I surrender' motion. "Uh...I...Uh...Seriously, I don't know how to answer that with a fucking sword in my face. My name's Wharil. I...I saw the grief-mongers giving you trouble and...fuck man. Put the...put the fucking knife away please?"

[Solomon Quicksilver]

The knife point wavers at the man for a moment. Then he finally slides it around behind him and tucks it up into a sheath on his back. Looking from not-flyman to Wharil and back. "Right. Was I hallucinating back there or what? What the fuck was that? And what are grief mongers?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

"That depends on your definition of a hallucination. I'm sure they're not called grief-mongers but...that's pretty much the only name I have for them. They're...a little hard to explain really. They feed on negative emotions. They are negative emotions. Manifestations of..." He stops himself, looking down at the unconscious man in front of them. "This...might not be the best setting for this. Know what I mean?"

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He frowns. Eyeing the man critically for a few moments. Adrenaline still pounding in his veins. "Well, some whackjob blew some whacky tabacky in my face and I started seeing those blighters." He steps over to the man. Kneeling down. Letting out a sigh and eyeing him. "How bad is he?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

"A flesh wound. In the truest sense. But...the things that are really wrong with him are things we can't really fix." Wharil pats the man's back. His sides. His buttocks. "Ah. Here we go." And he proceeds to slide the man's wallet out of his pocket and flips through it.

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He lifts one eyebrow. "Are we robbing him now?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

"We? I just met you, guy. And if I was gonna rob somebody I wouldn't bring you along. Nice flames, by the way. I'm surprised you didn't just fire up a magical flare." He pulls out a few cards, checking them side by side to compare the information, then put everything back and stuffed the wallet into the man's pockets again. "Besides. Mr. Weinberg here doesn't have anything to steal. Probably spent it all on hookers and blow."

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He glares down at the man for a moment. "Well fuck, I had little beasties trying to eat me and fuck if I know if I was hallucinating or whatever the hell that was. When you got a buncha guys coming at you, sometimes you need to torch some shit." He turns his attention to the man again. Glancing at his wallet. At the wound on his back. Looking it over with Life senses for a moment. "So what the hell are you checking for?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

Indeed, the wound on his back didn't look too serious. Not at first glance at least. But Solomon can also see that the damage he'd done meant that there might be quite a bit of scarring involved in the healing process. Aside from that, there was nothing critically wrong with Mr. Weinberg. "Nothing." Wharil says, standing in full. "Nothing to worry about." And he flashes a smile, one that seemed entirely out of place given the situation Solomon had previously found himself in. But even he would have to admit it was a nice smile. Nice and comforting. And now it came with him jutting a hand forward to shake. "That was one of my least favorite introductions ever. My name's Wharil Choc. I didn't catch yours."

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He draws himself up. Nothing huh? He'd see about that. He was constantly curious. Extending his slightly bloodied hand. "Solomon Blackstone Quicksilver..." Flicking his eyes back down to the man's wallet again. "Now what were you looking for?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

Wharil smiles still, this time sardonically and coupled with a shaking head. "C'mon. If you saw the mongers, you saw that there was something wrong with that guy too. I just wanted a name and I'm not about to wake him up and ask him."

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He nods. Apparently satisfied for now. He flicks his eyes up and down the little set of stalls they're in. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, particularly. But he was bleeding a bit, afterall. A minor flesh wound. Might leave a knick. He'd have to put some neosporin on that sucker. "Yeah. He looked like a giant fly. What the fuck was that about?"

[Spirit Bazaar]

"I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you." He says with a smirk. Wharil reaches into an inside coat pocket pulling out a card. "I'm gonna call him an ambulance. You might want to save yourself some uncomfortable explanations and clear out. But...take this." The card isn't very nice. It isn't very glamorous. Its very plain in fact, and bills Mr. Choc as a freelance reporter. "My number's on that. Those mongers can be very persistent. If you start to feel...strange...at any point, give me a call."

[Solomon Quicksilver]

He eyes the man critically again. "There's a lot I can handle." He eyes the card for a moment. Then slips it into a pocket. "But if those buggers come by again, I'll thrash 'em... somehow..." He glances around again. Yeah. Sirens. Police. He didn't need any of that intersecting with his life. They usually led to lots of bad things. "Great. You see to saying his attacker was some guy on drugs that looked only vaguely like me and I'll appreciate it." He pauses a moment. Looks the man over one more time as though affixing him in his memory. Then turns and starts off towards his car again. Fucking Haqueim. He's gonna have to blow up that market stall some day.