[log] Event: Howl [open]

[snowblindmods]

Characters: everyone
Location: The sort of location M.C. Escher wishes he'd thought up.
Date: nights 211 & 212
Summary: I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground
Warnings: potential for violence, death, and psychological horror; please note in subject lines if any specific warnings come up!

like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
I want to find you tear out all your tenderness

Comments

[godsspeed]

That wasn't a request. It isn't safe out here, and I will use force to return you to the temple if necessary.

[ Castiel's grip on Sherlock's shirt tightens and he runs through all the ways to safely disable a man of his size in his mind, in case the Prophet attempts to run again. It will be more difficult without the benefit of his angelic strength, which is to say it will require some effort instead of none. ]

Are you going to cooperate?

[howdull]

[He quickly deduces how tall he believes this man is based on the size of the hand currently gripping him and the relative location of his voice when he speaks. He then uses that deduction to aim a truly vicious headbutt in what he believes in the direction of his nose.]

I rather think that I'm not.

[godsspeed]

[ Castiel notices the Prophet rearing back to strike him, but makes no move to brace himself or indeed move at all. He is an Angel of the Lord: no creature of Earth could ever hope to cause him harm or even move him, if he did not wish to be moved.

Usually. It occurs to him as he's stumbling backwards, tasting the rich iron of his vessel's blood, that these are some rather exceptional circumstances. Unfortunate. This is not a mistake he'll make again. ]

Very well.

[ He lost his grip on the Prophet's shirt when he headbutted him, having been so startled by the effectiveness of the attack, but it is no matter. A minor setback. Fighting unseen foes is nothing new to him - these circumstances may be more trying than most, but not so much as to make him falter.

With all the speed and power his body will allow (a considerable amount still, by the standards of mortal men), he lashes out with a low kick, aiming to catch the Prophet's legs and bring him to the ground. ]

[howdull]

[Excellent.

His head throbs with the impact, a headbutt is never a painless choice, but he immediately pushes backwards and turns to start to run. He doesn't make it far before a kick catches him in the right leg, buckling it underneath him.

Sherlock stumbles a step, but tries to recover and keep moving.

Silence is his friend here, so he tries to keep himself as quiet as possible while scrambling away so that the cultist can't track him.]

[godsspeed]

[ There's no telltale thump of a body hitting the floor, just an unusually heavy footfall. He caught him off balance but didn't knock him over, then. Castiel goes quiet, standing perfectly still and listening carefully because at this distance the red light that's all he can see of the Prophet takes up the whole of his field of vision. Useless for locating him, except in the most general terms.

Human hearing is not nearly so precise as Castiel would like - poor directional sense, dull, narrow range - so finding him again takes a moment, during which the Prophet is able to get an unfortunate head start. It is not a long moment, however, and soon he locates his quarry again, taking off running after him with the intent to tackle him to the ground.

cw: mention of drug abuse

[howdull]

[Sherlock is a good sprinter, he has long legs and excellent endurance from his years of running around London after criminals. Unfortunately, he is also in terrible shape at the moment from an unfortunate drug habit as well as malnutrition, meaning that he's not quite as fast as he should be.

He makes it a fair distance before all of a sudden he's hitting the floor hard, breath knocked out of him and a weight on top of him. He does his best to twist beneath the cultist, fingers trying to grab a leg in order to attempt to flip him off.]

[godsspeed]

[ There's some satisfaction in being able to successfully catch up to the Prophet - at least he knows that he isn't completely useless, he can still preform tasks as simple as this. Less simple is avoiding the attempted grapple, but he has ample experience in this - it is fortunate that demons generally choose to fight in human guise. The hand on his leg is a surprise without being able to see how he's twisting under him, but it gives away his position and allows Castiel to slam his knee hard into the Prophet's side. ]

[howdull]

[All of the air expels from his lungs with a pained grunt, and Sherlock is relatively certain that at least one of his ribs has cracked. Doesn't matter, not right now, when the adrenaline is keeping him moving. He tries to clamp his hand tighter on that leg and pull with all his force, attempting to topple his assailant.]

[godsspeed]

[ Before Castiel can get both feet planted under him again, he finds the one he'd been balancing on while striking with the other yanked out from under him. He lands gracelessly on his side, elbow first, and hisses at the pain - expected this time, but still not familiar. ]

You are only making this harder than it needs to be.

[ Again, he kicks, though this time he doesn't have the benefit of being able to aim having lost his mental image of where the Prophet was when he hit the ground. It doesn't matter, though. If he was close enough to grab him, something will still be within reach. ]

[howdull]

I've never been known for making things easy.

[Now really isn't the time for smart alec quips, but apparently he just can't help himself even in the middle of a fight.

Sherlock tries to keep hold of that leg, but it's yanked out of his grip when the kick comes, catching him full on in the side of the head and knocking him to the side, utterly dazed.]

[godsspeed]

[ It's really not, especially when knowing that words generally come out of peoples' mouths is what allows Castiel to kick him in the head. That accomplished, he takes the opportunity to get back to his feet and try to haul the Prophet over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. It's difficult, given their respective heights and his aggressive non-cooperation, but at the present time it seems like the best available option. Any other means of leading him along would give him too much leverage to break free. ]

[howdull]

[He's still dazed as he's lifted up and onto Castiel's shoulder. It's not ideal, and he knows that he needs to move, but all his limbs seem just a little too heavy at the moment.

At least it's only another twenty seconds or so before he manages to come around enough to try and throw himself off to the side.]

I LOST THE NOTIF FOR THIS OOPS

[godsspeed]

[ It's just an unfortunate fact of physics that if one adult man is carrying another adult man of similar size at shoulder height and the latter starts thrashing around, it's going to be extremely hard for the former to keep his grip and his balance. Castiel is used to having sufficient strength to entirely trivialize physical tasks like this, and while he is adapting quickly to that no longer being the case there's only so much he can do.

He stumbles - doesn't fall, but he's thrown off-balance enough that the Prophet slips out of his grasp. Castiel manages to keep a hand on his coat and hold on, but this is another delay that they cannot afford. Irritating. ]

It is in your and everyone else's best interest to cooperate.

[howdull]

[The sensible thing to do would be to shrug off his coat and leave it behind, but Sherlock is very attached to this Belstaff and refuses to let it go without a fight.

Which is why he uses his momentum to swing around and lash out with one of his legs, trying to catch his opponent in the midriff. Hopefully to wind him for long enough to let Sherlock get away.]

I sincerely doubt that.