New York In The Time Of Monsters - Port Authority

[gone_byebye]

The door opens onto the corner of Thirty-ninth and Eighth streets on a bright and sunny afternoon. It's a cluster of what most Americans would consider alarmingly large buildings- strictly average for New York, you understand. Forty and fifty floors, tops. You get much taller ones further south, in the Financial District. You get more people here, though- lots of them, in and out of the buildings- and a lot more cars, most of which are being driven by desperate people all striving like hell to beat each other to the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

None of the electric signs are working. None of the street lights are functioning. The buildings' shadows are only penetrated by headlights, taillights, and reflections of sun- which is probably exactly as the creatures roaring to each other somewhere nearby like it. It's hard to tell where they are, what with the throngs of people and cars-

Well. No.

The ones who're screaming and running like hell are probably a really good directional clue.

"I got a radio for you from the Bar," says Ray. "Call me or the other Ghostbusters on it if you need anything, okay? I'm going back to the Bar to see who else can lend a hand."

Comments

[slayer_fray]

Now, that's just rocketship. Kind of like a lu...

Oh, right. Mel's running, really. Though if he knew of the title, Harth would probably be proud.

She takes the escalator two steps at a time and turns around to spear sharply at the runt of the pack as it gains.

She also wantsto see how the others are handling the escalator.

[gone_byebye]

The runt has this in its favor: it's more nimble than the bigger members of the pride. The pointed end of the scythe digs into its shoulder and some of its flank instead of its chest as it twists aside. For a moment, it manages to balance on the escalator handrail. Then it loses its footing and tumbles back to the steps.

The others are not doing nearly so well. This isn't an escalator designed for more than two people at a time to go side by side, and their forms are too broad to manage navigating it properly. They've done what every New Yorker who's ever found the escalator too crowded does instead: looked around, found the nearby staircase, and headed for that. They're planning to sprint up and corner the prey from above instead.

[slayer_fray]

That's fine, it gives Mel a chance to rotate scythe around and finish off kitten #3 while she's waiting.

Now she's standing about halfway down the escalator, and at a disadvantage - they might have found it hard to get up, but they'll find it easy as hell to get down.

So she runs back up again, determined to face them head on.

[gone_byebye]

Paff. Again the flesh dissolves and the bones are all that's left.

The sabertooths are roaring now, racing around to the escalator and readying themselves to pounce. In a wolf-pack there would be a moment when all the pack decided, as individuals, to leap at once- but these aren't wolves, and for all that they're social cats, they're still cats. Two of them spring forward. One is bound to miss, but the other's got some nasty claws on him.

[slayer_fray]

Oh crap he really does, doesn't he? Maybe taking them head on was a really really bad idea?

Too late to regret that now, because Mel's busy diving under the cat's pounce, taking a massive pawful of claws in her thigh. Which rips further when she twists in the air and stabs up.

Four.

[gone_byebye]

Gonk gonk gonk gonk goes the skull as it falls down the stairs- it might be a perfectly articulated skeleton, but there's no connective tissue left to hold it in place, just the blue dust. The other sabertooth would circle around if it only could, but it's not entirely sure where to put its paws in order to reverse direction and get a clear strike at the bleeding prey.

[slayer_fray]

Mel sucks in air through her teeth as she pulls a bloodied piece of pants leg of her leg, before looking up at the lion... tiger... huge fangy beast.

"Oh com'on, you're not going to make me do all the work?"

[gone_byebye]

If it spoke English, the response would be along the lines of: I'm a cat. We don't do cooperation.

They also don't do indecision for very long. The sabertooth braces its paws and manages to turn about, but thanks to its positioning and its generally bad luck today, it's more of a dive than it is an actual pounce.

[slayer_fray]

Mel smirks and doesn't even bother to move, swinging her weapon up with confident ease.

Five.

Mind, when the blue dust flies all over the sticky mess that is her leg, she pulls a disgusted face.

Limping up to the second floor again, she looks around for the rest of the pack. How many were there again?

[gone_byebye]

Seven or eight, weren't there? Something like that.

Definitely seven, if only because there are two others that took a different stairway, got lost, and are glaring down at the figure on the escalator from the next level up- near one of the entrances to the bus garage.

[slayer_fray]

Something like that. Mel wasn't counting.

Now she has the disadvantage of height, again, and she's injured.

So she does what any crazy injured person with a death wish would do. She stands back, waves her red blade around excitedly and yells.

"Hey! Vampcats! You wanna know what I think of your Moms?"

[gone_byebye]

Did they understand? Maybe.

Did they roar in response? Sure.

Are they running pell-mell for the staircase to try and make their way down to her level again? Hell yeah.

Don't insult a big cat's momma unless you plan to follow up on it.

[slayer_fray]

Mel rocks back on her leg, decides that it can and will take her weight, and runs forward to meet them, waving from side to side to create a moving target In the end she aims for a point dead centre between them, and puts on one final burst of speed.

[gone_byebye]

The sabertooths try to match her speed, but for them that would involve slowing down. It's not a good thing to do at full gallop. It throws off your pacing. The cat on the left stumbles, and the one on the right makes an awkward swipe at Mel's leg- or at the place where it assumes Mel's leg is supposed to be.

[slayer_fray]

Mel's leg was there until a fraction of a second ago. Now she's leaping over, diving and rolling and slices to the right with her scythe.

Not a deathstroke, maybe, but crippling?

[gone_byebye]

The scythe slices right through the cat's forelimb's major tendons and it yowls, crashing to the ground on that side. It tries to get up again and the leg dangles uselessly beneath it. As for the other sabertooth, the one that stumbled, it's found its footing and it's watching Mel warily.

You do that when you're all out of backup.

[slayer_fray]

That one's the problem, though, isn't it?

Mel leaves the crippled cat alone for now, taking a few steps towards the one remaining.

Then she grins ferrally, and races forwards towards it.

[gone_byebye]

Cats are many things. Stupid is not one of them.

Good at backing up with any kind of speed when the ground beneath their paws is smooth hard tile? Also not on the list.

What? It can see death coming. It's a cat.

[slayer_fray]

Something bright shines in Mel's eyes as she takes off from her good leg and leaps high in the air, curling around her scythe as she points it downwards and bombs towards the cat point first.

She likes it when things are simple.

Six

This time she can take the time to stand, brush dust off her, and pick up the skull.

Steph'll love it.

[gone_byebye]

The last remaining cat is doing its best to limp away enough to lick at its wound. It won't help, of course. They might go to dust like lurks, but that's only at the moment of death. While they live, they bleed, and they're ordinary animals of their kind. no healing powers whatsoever.

They do, however, have really bad tempers if they're approached while hurt. There could be claws involved.

[slayer_fray]

Mel's not really one for attacking injured creatures.

She mulls this over in her mind before putting her scythe away, pulling out her gun and shooting the cat fully in the chest. That'll knock it out long enough for her to slive its head clean off.

Seven

Shame about the dust thing. She was thinking about saving a coat or two.

[gone_byebye]

It's a by-product of the spell involved in resurrecting the animals. As a matter of fact...

"...that I could give them bodies. Real, living, breathing bodies," squawks the radio Ray gave Mel. "for as long as their spirits inhabited them. I could see how they lived. I could know what they were really like. It was everything a paleontologist like myself could dream of...And then I thought, my high school is having its fifteenth reunion this month. And you know? I never liked anyone I went to school with. At all."

There's a burst of static.

"-Rico! Come, Patsy! We have an appointment to keep at Chelsea Piers!"

[slayer_fray]

Chelsea Piers. Chelsea Piers.

See, the problem is, that all the names of places have changed in two hundred years.

Mel has an inkling of where it might be, though, and straightens. A gentle jog down to finish the clean up before going home. She could use a shower now.

[gone_byebye]

Probably a wise idea. She's been exerting herself, and she's bloody in places, and blood makes for a great scent trail.

Just ask the sabertooth that dropped out of the chase early on to pull down the rotating skewers of unattended gyro and shawarma meat at Ibby's Falafel Palace, on the ground floor. Cooked meat's all right, but fresh is best, and the prey doesn't seem to be paying attention. The cat drops the skewer and pads into the bus terminal proper.

[slayer_fray]

Mel is back on the first floor, now, idly swinging her trophy skull as she proceeds towards the exit.

Part of her's idly curious at the state of this antique. The rest of it is dreaming on what Mike's going to make for dinner. She doesn't turn a head to the cat.