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About z-Silvestru

  • Birthday 11/23/1994

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    Out hunting...

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  1. “In the forests of the night.” Silvestru wasn’t sure why those words had been chosen; she wasn’t educated enough to realize it was a well-known poem. He was huge, so large it made her nervous, but she still wound her arm around his. Bumping lightly against him as they walked, she murmured, “We have a house nearby for the night, then we can go on to Berlin in the morning. Can you drive?” ,, “Of course.” His answer was exactly the one she’d hoped for. ,, “Good, my driving is…” She paused to find the right word in German. Unlike Ryan, her Deutsch was marked with the softer language of Romania. “Not good,” she finally finished. There was no shame in her words. She dropped her voice lower still and whispered, “There are papers at the house, giving us identities. Married, just until we get to Berlin.” Her green eyes, washed out to silver by the moon, gave him a slight warning glare. ,, “Once there, I will show you to my friends.” She snorted, an unladylike noise. “I hope you can talk some sense into them. They do not listen to a ‘slip of a girl playing at soldier’.” She mimicked Herr Bauer perfectly, though Ryan wouldn’t realize that until he met the man. “You do not have a pizdă, so clearly you are smarter than me.” ,,
  2. The big man who came strolling into the valley via the path certainly looked like the ‘most Aryan American’ Silvestru had ever seen. His whistling was disconcerting; he was projecting casual native a little too well. It made her nervous, because he was either a native German out for a walk, or he was taking this too lightly. ,, Or he was a good actor. Silvestru mulled over that belated thought as she watched him stroll up the road. It must be her American contact, she finally decided, rolling off her tree branch in near-silence. Catching herself before hitting the ground, she lowered herself down and cut through the darkness to intercept him. ,, Just before she reached the path, she took off her pants, letting the skirt of her dress hang loose. It was only a little wrinkled, not that she cared. When she put her overshirt in her shoulder satchel, she looked like any German lass out for a walk. Slipping out of the woods, she fell into step with the man as if she’d been walking next to him the whole time. “Good evening,” she said pleasantly in German. “Where are you heading, mister?” ,, He is bigger than I thought he’d be…
  3. “Just find the most Aryan American you’ve ever seen in the middle of the forest. He’ll be friendly. And he should be able to speak German.” ,, The instructions from Wilheim had been unhelpful, to Silvestru’s point of view. The archer ghosted through the woods without a final destination or end point, without concrete instructions, without a defined timeline, and with a description that matched half the strapping farm lads of the area. ,, Worse, this entire affair annoyed her. She hated being sent out to babysit an Allied soldier who was probably coming. Probably. The radio communication had stated that he was, but this was a war. Silvestru held out zero expectation of things happening as they should. ,, She came over a hill and paused, pulling out her map. Tilting it so that the dim moonlight fell on the paper, she glanced at it and checked the position of the stars and the terrain. The valley below was the meeting place for the G.I. Joe. Silvestru thought about going down there but instead she clambered up into a tree, settled against the trunk and waited for the Allies’s miracle. ,, Maybe I’ll have someone else rail against the useless resistance with me.
  4. Silvestru put down the knife uneasily. Her own grandparents had died before she old enough to remember them, or in her father’s case, before her birth. She’d heard stories about the wondrous things that were grandparents, though, and a tiny part of her envied Bael his before she shut the emotion down brutally. “I am not his enemy,” she said softly. “I released him, and he helped me to escape.” ,, “You let him out of his cell?” Petra rose, gazing at her with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you, child. What is your name?” ,, Such was the magic of grandparents that she almost said ‘Silvestru’. “Gretel.” ,, “Ah, Gretel!” Petra hugged her, making Silvestru squirm with discomfort at a stranger’s touch. “God bless you, sweet Gretel! You have returned our little Valentin!” ,, Ernst merely offered her a hand, clasping it in both of his rough, wrinkled ones. His gray eyes thanked her with German stoicism before patting the back of her hand and releasing it. It was moderately embarrassing, how much they thanked her for being fairly selfish. She’d released Bael… Valentin for her own reasons, not to return a lost grandson. Nervously, she got out of the way of the fussing grandmother and let her coddle the flame-manipulator for a time. ,, “Where are we?” she asked Ernst suddenly. ,, “Our farm, a few miles from Frankfurt.” ,, Silvestru’s eyes widened in alarm. “We are still in Germany?” ,, “Of course, where else would we be?” Ernst asked with a hint of concern. ,, “They know that… Valentin escaped. Are you his immediate family? What of his parents? We need to get him into hiding, before they send more dynamics after us. After him.” ,, “We are his only family working speaking of. What of you, child?” Ernst asked. ,, Silvestru laughed mirthlessly. “They think I am a laundry woman. And that is what I want them to think.” She shook her head. “We must hide him or move him, or both is better.”
  5. Silvestru had a second to choose. She didn’t ponder long; tossing away her stolen gun, she scurried to Bael’s side. She couldn’t think fast enough to come up with a story and she needed to get away from this place. I can always say I was kidnapped by him. The young woman threw the boy’s arm over her shoulder and dragged him to his feet. “Hurry,” she told him as she began to haul him across the floor. “The other guard will be coming.” ,, “Yes,” he agreed, leaning on her so heavily that she thought she might fall. Instead, Silvestru gritted her teeth and pulled harder on him, feeling her knees shake with the effort. The archer did most of the work to get them across the room to the doorway of the next; as Silvestru shoved him against the doorjamb, panting, she gasped, “Just… a moment…” ,, “No time, frualein.” Silvestru looked up to see the cloud of condensation in front of Bael’s face. It was the same for hers, she realized; when she looked back at the entrance Ironhelm had torn through, Silvestru saw the rime that was coating the edges. The Killing Frost was coming. The image of ice crawling toward her propelled the dynamic to new levels of urgency. She all but thrust Bael toward the fire, expecting him to catch himself at the edge of the dancing embers. ,, Instead, he fell into the flames—and grabbed her as he dropped. His fingers caught her around her upper arms and Silvestru tumbled into the fire. There was a dizzying sensation of movement and then Silvestru landed on top of Bael. The fire danced around their legs, but above the knees they were lying on an old hardwood floor. Actually, Bael was lying on the floor—Silvestru was still sprawled on top of him. ,, Quickly, she bounced to her feet, her eyes darting around the room warily. They were in a kitchen, a modern one and probably German given the lettering she could see on the food around the room. The entire room was tidy, and under the smell of warm, fresh bread, Silvestru could smell the distinctive tang vinegar, the universal cleaning agent. Warily, she looked around; spotting a knife, she snatched it off the counter just as an old woman came into the room. Silvestru lifted the knife—she wasn’t trying to be threatening, but she was holding the kitchen tool like she knew how to use it, and she was wearing a bloody dress. The look of fear on the old woman's face was justified.
  6. Silvestru stared at the carnage around her. She didn’t really have the urge to be sick over the bodies; she had long since learned that Germans were as bad as the Romanians who had taken over her government. The smell was something terrible though, and Silvestru paused to tie her handkerchief over her mouth and nose. ,, The girl rose to her feet and hesitantly stepped onto the smoldering stones. The skirt of her dress shifted and moved in the updraft from the stones, and her feet were unpleasantly warm in seconds. The young archer quickly left the room, heading into the cooler hallway. That was relatively cooler, but at least her shoes weren’t in danger of melting off her feet. ,, The youth was walking up the hallway, casually setting fire to everything. Silvestru erred on the side of caution and made herself invisible again. It seemed like a wise idea; though the boy—the Bǣl?—had named her ‘not an enemy’, he seemed to be missing a few eggs out of his nest. Ghosting invisibly behind him, she stepped over the gruesome bodies he left in his wake. ,, When they reached the more populated areas of the prison she started to worry. There were people here—staff and prisoners—who had done nothing wrong, but the boy wasn’t slowing down in his assault. He’d burned through all of the guards who’d responded to his presence. It was a hell of a diversion, and no doubt that her would-be rapist was a cinder by now. It was all working out in her favor, except for the fact that she wasn’t sure the boy was going to stop with the guards. Guilt rose in her; Silvestru knew better than most that there were innocents in war. Her mother had been one. ,, As she was trying to figure out how to try to talk to him, the sound of something metal smashing on stone rang through the air, and the building rattled. “That’s Ironhelm,” Silvestru said when the boy paused. “He’s one of the prison’s dynamic guards.” ,, “Enemy.” The burning youth knew one word, that was sure. ,, “Probably.” Silvestru checked her magazine, scowling when she realized she was almost out. She’d been watching for another gun or more ammo, but her flaming companion didn’t leave much useable behind him. “I’m sure he’ll see you as one. I won’t be much help against him, but if the other guard shows up, I’ll be able to hurt him.” She glanced up at him, assessing his frame of mind. “Do you understand, boy-of-fire? You’ll be alone against a man who’s nigh-invulnerable.”
  7. The guards outside the secure area were clearly bored; they had mastered the art of leaning against a wall without actually appearing to slouch. Both of them had the slack-muscled expression that suggested that they were moments from falling asleep on their feet from sheer boredom. There was nothing down there; the hallway ended at a corner. There was nothing interesting to see. ,, Until the laundry girl appeared from thin air and lodged throwing knifes in their throats from twenty feet. Both men went down with only the clatter of their twitching bodies. Silvestru retrieved her blades and cleaned them on the men’s uniforms before digging through pockets for the keys. Then she opened the door to the secure area. ,, She’d never been allowed this far before. The guards brought the linens to the door and left them outside for her and the other laundresses to retrieve. When cleaned, they were left in the same spot. Silvestru had always wondered why they didn’t allow anyone other than the guards back here and her first glimpse of the area didn’t explain matters. It was just a long hallway, lined by doors on either side. The doors were dozens of feet apart, implying massive rooms or suites of rooms behind each. ,, Silvestru didn’t have time to ponder. The sound of approaching feet required her to cloak herself again and press herself against the wall. Four men in the Gestapo uniforms exited a room and paused when they saw the door was open. One of them stepped past Silvestru, his expression confused until he saw the bodies. “Intruder!” he cried in German even as Silvestru winced. “Sound the alarms!” ,, Klaxons rang in the air, which was to her advantage. Under the aural cover of the sirens, Silvestru turned and dashed deeper into the complex, seeking the prisoner’s cells. The rooms in this area were interrogation cells and so reminiscent of her time in her cell that she shivered and fought nausea. The Nazis were no better than the Romanian Fascists. ,, A door right in front of her opened and Silvestru slammed into it. Another second either way and she’d have been fine, but the timing didn’t allow her to compensate and dodge. She tumbled to the floor, visible, and the guards who’d been emerging from the other side blinked at the sight of the blood-splattered laundress lying on the floor. ,, Silvestru kicked up while the first of the three was still gaping, slicing his throat and turning the splatters into a spray of gore across her and her clothing. With the other hand, she grabbed his submachine gun and turned it on his companions. Blood clouded the air in a mist as the bullets minced their flesh and bone and Silvestru turned as the Gestapo she’d been fleeing heard. They were leveling their guns at her as she sprayed the hallway again. When they returned fire, she ducked behind the heavy metal door, glad that it stopped bullets. ,, They were alternating shots, trying to keep her pinned down while they advanced on her. Silvestru scowled a moment before moving to the gap in the door formed by the hinges. She nudged the barrel of her gun into that opening and rapidly picked them off, each burst of fire taking out a man. ,, Silence followed her last shot and the young dynamic peeked out carefully. There was no sound or motion from the men but Silvestru sprayed the bodies again, just to be sure none of them were playing possum. She quickly exchanged her used gun for a fresh submachine gun. ,, Satisfied she’d protected her cover thus far, Silvestru jogged down the hall. Where did they actually keep the dynamic prisoners? That thought made her cloak herself again; where were the dynamic guards? ,, The last door in this hallway had a name on it: ‘Bæl’ Silvestru frowned slightly. What was a Bæl? With a shrug, she found the right key and opened the door. ,, The two guards in the control room were surprised to see her when the door swung wide, as surprised as Silvestru was. But she recovered first, the submachine gun rattling loud in the small room. The men were good; one of them returned fire as he went down, and Silvestru’s chest sported three holes. At least one of the bullets was in her lung; when she pressed her hand to her chest, it was easier to breath. The girl felt her stomach twist with fear. She wouldn’t die, not here. Not so far from home. She needed to heal, but she was low on energy after the cloaking, and she had a long walk out yet. Hesitantly, she forced the bullets out and stopped the bleeding, but that was all. ,, A thump bought her attention from the hole in her chest. A waist-high window peered into a water-filled room. A man was floating in a diving suit, but he was no ordinary man. His eyes burned like fire behind the faceplate. His hands were pressing on the glass, the source of the noise. He didn’t need to gesture to make his desires known; they were writ large in his face. ,, Struggling against shock and dizziness, Silvestru went to the control panel. Most of it was monitors and dials; there was only one button, leeren. Draining seemed logical when you had a man trapped in a room of water, and she pressed the red switch.
  8. The plan was easy, though his wife didn’t like it. Huber didn’t care for it either, but he wanted to capture the Hood more than he wanted to please Letta. He was to go to the prison, rough up one of the laundry women, strongly imply that he’d rape her, then retire to his rented room next to the prison and wait. He had a transceiver; Ironhelm would be there in seconds once he called the dynamic. It was a terrible plan, with many possible holes. But Huber wanted the Hood; he wanted to be the man who caught him and he was unwilling to risk anyone else on this scheme. It was likely to land him in serious pain, but Ironhelm was sure he could save Huber’s life. “Well, ninety-nine perfect sure,” the big dynamic had said with a grin that Huber didn’t find reassuring. The three laundry women were busy today; it took Huber a while to find them. He managed to miss them while they were on their rounds, locating them only after they had stopped moving through the building. They all looked up as he entered the washing room, not even pausing in their energetic cleansing of the linens, uniforms, towels and other clothing required to make a prison function. Huber looked over them, frowning at his options for this distasteful task. The eldest of them was plump with a narrow face and graying blonde hair. She looked too much like Letta; it would upset his wife if she found out. Also, Huber didn’t want to hurt a woman who reminded him of his dearest. The middle in age was mousey but he didn’t like the way she kept sneaking appraising peeks at him. A golden band was hanging from a chain around her neck and Huber promptly decided that she was married. He would not defile another man’s wife, even if it was only a suggestion instead of a fact. Huber knew that he’d be enraged if another man threatened Letta. That left the youngest. That was better; young women wouldn’t fight as much as older women. They were more easily cowed. The oberleutnant moved around the room, aware that the women were covertly watching him. He stopped next to the young one, watching as she pulled linens out of the steaming water and pushed them into the mangler. The rolling pins squeezed the excess water out of the cloth and dropped it into another tub of water to rinse. “You,” Huber said, drawing her attention to him for the first time. She must be simple, the man decided after a moment. Those green eyes met his without fear or flinching, with a confidence that went beyond stupidity to excessive naivety. Something about her sullen gaze angered him. “Come with me.” He seized her arm, and the girl lashed out with her free hand, grabbing a wicker basket. “You won’t need that.” The girl stared at him silently but didn’t comply, leaving Huber with the option of ripping it from her hand or letting her bring it. He saw no reason to force the issue; the basket was no shield. Impatiently, he marched from the room, dragging her behind him like a child. She was little more than a child but Huber tried not to think about that. I’m not really going to hurt her. Rough her up a bit, scare her. That’s all. Still she was silent as he pulled her into the lower levels of the prison. It was logical to go here; there were few people about to catch him. It was closer to the special prisoners but Huber stopped before reaching that restricted area. Scowling, he opened a cleaning closet and thrust the girl into the room. She stumbled in and turned to face him. There was no fear on her fact, and Huber felt disgust at himself and her as he backhanded her. This time he saw the surprise just before his fist cracked across her cheek. The girl staggered and went to one knee, clutching at her basket. “Just relax, girl,” he ordered brusquely. “This won’t be so bad unless you fight me.” Huber grabbed her by her hair and jerked her upright, spinning her around to face him. His fingers closed around her chin when he felt a searing pain in his chest. Confused, he looked down to see her small hand pulling loose a knife. Huber opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out of his mouth beyond a bloody froth. His legs collapsed and the oberleutnantrealized he was dying. Who will care for Letta? Helplessly, Huber stared up at his killer, trying to understand. With the lighting behind her, and the angle, and the cap she wore--he finally saw the Hood. A woman... the Hood was a woman? Darkness claimed his vision, even as he fought to live. Letta needed him to come home. He couldn’t leave her alone in the world. He’d promised her he’d be all right... Letta... * * * * * Silvestru cursed softly as she stared at the German’s body. This was not part of the plan--not that she’d had a plan, really. It had been practice to kill the soldiers who molested her friends in the laundry service. Then that blond dynamic had started to stalk her, and Silvestru had begun to fight for her life. Some prideful part of her believed that she could have taken that hunter if the other dynamic hadn’t interrupted. Regardless, her days of hunting in the city had been over. It was dangerous without a goal or the support of the resistance. From what she’d heard of the German resistance, they were spineless, preferring to discuss legal means of achieving their goals instead of violence. But now she needed to find a way out of this. Silvestru paused, considering where she was--and a plan to beautifully obvious came to her. Quickly, she pulled out the other knife she’d hidden under the base of the basket. With conscious effort, she twisted the light around herself and became invisible to sight. Carefully opening the door, she slipped into the hall and began to work her way deeper into the underground of the prison, moving unseen and unheard. To be continued in Focul Iadului
  9. Mencken slumped into his chair and removed his hat with a sharp tug. Walpurga noted his familiarity in her presence; she’d gone to great lengths to assure the Oberstleutnant that he could relax around her. Walpurga had found that relaxed men were more likely to be giving men. “A week and nothing from the Hood.” His voice was tired. ,, “No, there’s been nothing. No sign of him but no attacks.” Walpurga allowed herself a tight smile. “I think I injured him.” ,, “Do you think the attacks are done? That we can claim that the Hood was so badly injured that he has died?” Mencken had such hope in his voice. ,, Walpurga sighed and the officer knew what she was going to say before she spoke: “Swain, you can say as you like, but there’s no body. If you say he’s dead, and he pops up again…” She let her words trail off, because Mencken knew better than she did the penalty for failure. ,, “I’ll end up like Jäger.” Mencken sighed, shook his head and amended, “Worse. They’re trying to rehabilitate him. I’d just rot in a gaol for the rest of my life, or until my superiors decide I’ve rotted enough. And then they’ll haul my broken carcass out of the cell and prop me up at a desk where I can’t do any harm.” ,, Walpurga was quiet for a moment. “I doubt they’d put you back to work.” She was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t really successful; Mencken just sighed at her. ,, He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do, Gretchen.” ,, She let the use of her first name pass without comment. “Tell the truth.” ,, “They’re going to reassign you soon. Particularly if the Hood doesn’t surface again.” Mencken looked sad, and Walpurga realized he was going to miss her. ,, “I’ll miss you too,” she told him, leaning over and patting his arm. “You and our late-night talks.” ,, He gave her a wan smile and she saw him ask himself if he should pressure her to stay. She’d see that before; part of the problem of getting friendly with the men in power was that they would sometimes want to be more than friendly. But Swain didn’t ask which was good. She wouldn’t have to turn him down or risk that her paramour would come after him. Theda was a wonderful lover, but she had some extreme jealousy issues. ,, * * * * * ,, “Frauline Walpurga!” The shout was masculine, and Walpurga turned to scan the courtyard, wondering who was yelling at her. There were a number of men watching her, but men always watched her and fancied her red hair, or green eyes, or breasts, or any other of her übermensch traits. However, only one of them was all-but jogging toward her. He did not make a physical impression; he was average height and weight, with brown hair going gray. The only remarkable thing about him was that his arm was in a sling. ,, “Yes?” she inquired as she faced him. She noted that his eyes didn’t drop to her cleavage; either he’d already checked her out to his hormones’ satisfaction or he was one of those men who didn’t stare at beautiful women. ,, “I am Oberleutnant Otis Huber.” The man touched his hat politely but didn’t offer to shake. She wondered if that was because his right arm was the injured one or if it was because she was a woman. But she was more curious about his name. She’d heard it somewhere recently. “May I talk to you?” ,, “Of course, Oberleutnant.” Walpurga had made it a rule to never assume she knew what someone wanted of her. It was fine to guess, but she only had to be wrong once to rule her chance to make a good impression. “Is this a matter to be discussed in private?” ,, He paused, considering her question. “It is a matter of the Hood.” ,, “You’re too late. I’ve been reassigned from that mission.” Walpurga gave him a wry smile. “In fact, I’m about to leave Berlin for Warsaw.” It was actually to Ostrow, but her orders had been clear that no one was to know her true final destination. ,, “Yes, I know, but you…” Huber thought better of what he was going to say and took another angle. “I have a thought on the Hood, and why his activities have ceased, that might give us insight into catching him. I wanted to speak to someone about that, and you are a dynamic.” ,, Walpurga hesitated. The Hood was literally no longer her problem but she was curious about him. “Very well. But I warn you – dynamic or not, I may not have the answer.” ,, “I’m aware, and I do thank you for your time.” Huber gestured to a nearby bench and they sat down together. “Many people have been looking for a pattern to the Hood’s attacks.” ,, “And none were found. He was targeting small groups of our soldiers as the opportunity allowed.” Walpurga kept her voice even instead of letting annoyance leak into it. “There was no pattern beyond that.” ,, “I disagree.” Huber clearly wasn’t comfortable contradicting her; he was a good soldier. “There is a pattern. One of the men in each group had assaulted the headquarter laundry maids at one time or another.” ,, The pieces clicked for her immediately. “The Hood knows the women.” ,, “Or one of them.” Huber smiled grimly. “So you think the idea has merit?” ,, “I do. You should give that information to the man in charge of finding the Hood after me,” Walpurga urged. ,, “Ah yes. Well, that would be me.” Huber gave her a taut smile. “Lucky for me, eh?”
  10. “Filthy animal!” The Hood’s voice was taut with strain as she struggled beneath him; her German was accented with a softer language. ,, Jäger laughed and ground against her, enjoying the thrill of her body against his. “Be still, my mate,” he whispered in her ear. “I have been looking so long—” ,, It was hard for Jäger to say what happened for a moment; something snatched him into the air by an ankle. The response to twist, pull himself up and slash through the vine holding him was done instinctively and without hestation. With another twist of his body, he landed on his feet, looking for the attacker. The Hood fired at him, forcing Jäger to roll backwards out of the way. Just as he thought he’d cleared the arrow, a tree limb swung around and slammed into him, knocking him over the rock he’d climbed. He didn’t even see who was yielding it! ,, The hunter twisted and came to his feet as an arrow slammed into his arm. Grunting with pain, he went to remove it, as another limb swung at him. This time, Jäger saw that there was no one moving the limb; it was the tree itself that was moving. He leapt over the next branch that tried to snag him and an arrow lodged into his chest. That threw him to the ground as he struggled to breathe around the projectile in his lung. He’d be fine, if he could just get it out. ,, A tree bent over and pinned him to the ground; as Jäger rallied and tried to free himself, he heard the Hood come closer. The tree held him in place even as the branches parted for her. He stared up at her as she notched and pulled an arrow, the head zeroing in on his eye. She had him, dead-center. ,, He was more aroused than he had ever been in his life. ,, A flume of incandescent green flame slammed into his lady’s side. She tumbled out of his sight, crashing into the trees, which weren’t holding him down anymore. Grunting, Jäger pulled himself out of the mass of branches, already snarling. He knew who used that green fire. “Walpurga!” he roared as he threw himself into the air. ,, Jumping was a fine means of travel, but flight had the advantage of changing direction. The bitch swerved away from him as gracefully as a bird. A mocking smiled twisted her full lips, and Jäger wanted to fuck her like an animal, brutal and mindless. His second hunger was rising and he hated her anyway. Bringing her down a few pegs with his cock sounded like a valid lesson to him. ,, She twisted away, sending a gout of flame for him, and Jäger knew he was going to have to ground her to get the advantage. Walpurga knew this too; they had never fought before, but Jäger had known that he might need to, someday. So when she refused to come within range, he knew what to do. ,, Seizing a nearby bench, he hurled it at her, forcing her to duck. Without waiting to see the result of his first throw, he grabbed the next item and threw it at her, and the next and the next. He knew she’d be too busy dodging them to worry about him— ,, The tree pounded him a second after an arrow pierced his back. Jäger staggered, feeling a flash of rage that she was interferring. But the Hood was fighting too well for him to be too angry at her. She was doing exactly as he would: taking advantage of a new fighter on the field. ,, There was a reason only she was good enough to be his mate. ,, That thought proved the fatal distraction. Jäger, the hunter, the dynamic who never lost his prey or allowed himself to lose sight of the goal, was seconds late in moving to the side. Green fire roared over him and left him in darkness.
  11. The night was alive with sounds and smells, but tonight they brought no comfort to Jäger. There were too many people around in him, hiding his prey from him. It was no longer a game for Jäger but a necessity to finish the hunt. The Hood would have to die before the boot-licking dynamic they tried to replace him with showed up and found him first. ,, The gnawing in his gut that signaled the rise of his hungers was growing. Jäger knew what that meant; if he didn’t feed his hungers, he’d slowly become more and more animalistic, until his urge to hunt overcame his rationality. He’d always been careful to keep his two hungers sated, so that the Germans wouldn’t find out what a liability he could be. ,, Food was easy; he ducked into a kitchen and snatched a loaf off the counter. As the house frau screamed, he ran, fleeing the complications of being caught thieving. He didn’t care if they knew he was there; they knew he was in the city. By the time word had gotten out that he’d been there, he would be long gone. ,, The bread filled his belly, and helped his first hunger. But it did nothing for his second hunger. That was harder to feed and harder to sate; it required more than a quick snatch from a kitchen. Though, he ruminated as he filled his belly with warm bread, if he risked slipping into madness, he could snatch what he needed from a young woman’s bedroom. Just the thought made him hard with need but Jäger wasn’t there, not yet. He had some time: a night, perhaps. Enough time to truly hunt the Hood. ,, Jäger scented the wind, attuned to the city completely. The smell of the people agitated him and he used that, driving himself into higher states of awareness. He didn’t let anything distract him as he leapt from shadow to shadow. Every sound, smell and sight was assess and examined for signs of his prey. ,, The rational part of his brain still operated; it was mostly occupied with testing the information his eyes, ears and nose were collecting. But one part was toying at something else – the mystery of why, beyond that first night, he’d never seen the Hood again. Jäger was sure he’d been close, more than once. His nose couldn’t be lied to, and it had plainly told him several times that his target was near, somewhere. Only he’d ever laid eyes on him. ,, The hours rolled on as he scented and pondered. There was a trap out here; the Hood made one every night. They were getting quite good at their little dance but Jäger didn’t have time to play any longer. He had to kill the Hood and decide where to sell his services next. Perhaps the Russians—He shook off the distraction of worries for the future. He had a bigger puzzle to solve— ,, It hit him so hard he actually missed a step and nearly fell off of the roof he was crouching on. He’d lied to Jäger’s eyes; the Hood could be invisible. It didn’t matter how as much as how to circumvent it. “I will be as a blind man, so it’s time to stop looking for him,” Jäger murmured to himself. ,, When he caught that elusive scent, it was near the edge of Volkspark Friedrichshain. The massive park was the oldest park in Berlin and Jäger could hardly believe his good luck. This was going to be an easy hunt, and he wondered why his prey had chosen an environment that favored Jäger so much. Of course, the hunter realized a moment later, his prey likely believed he had some advantage in the park. This was Jäger’s place, the green spaces where men were thinned in numbers everything was a bit wilder. ,, The path of his target led deeper into the park, but Jäger didn’t allow his excitement to cloud his mind. Instead, he picked his way cautiously, using his eyes only to find his way. He didn’t trust them to find the prey. ,, The scent grew stronger and stronger as he worked his way into the greenery of Volkspark. Jäger didn’t approach directly, but slipped up into a tree and crawled silently over a rock outcropping to find an indirect route to his target. His eyes didn’t see him, but his nose told him exactly where he was. Pickng up a small rock, Jäger tossed it into the dark. In the copse below him, he heard the softest of movements. In a movement that was just as soft, the hunter dropped off his rock and onto his prey. ,, The target let out a startled yelp when Jäger landed on him. The prey didn’t stun for long; he twisted and slammed an elbow into Jäger’s face. The blond dynamic was laughing as he wrapped his arms and legs around the struggling target and pinned him face down on the forest floor. “You were a good hunt, but now you die,” Jäger whispered. ,, Then he realized that his hand wasn’t resting on a hard chest, but something softer. He squeezed it slightly and heard the unmistakably feminine noise the prey made in response. The ass pressing against his hip was too soft and lush to be a man’s. ,, The Hood was a woman. ,, The Hood was his perfect mate. Jäger pulled on the knot of her hair, spilling the dark strands out into the night. Her scent filled his nose – filled his world. He was so hard that it hurt, and he knew then why no other woman had satisfied him. None were good enough to bear his children, but this woman was. ,, Coiling an arm around her neck, he used his other hand to pull at her pants. His one thought was to consummate this match, to claim this woman once and for all.
  12. Walpurga sighed as the last of her little children skittered away into the night, feeling the loss of the energy she’d used in their creation. The small spider-creatures were nearly invisible due to their dark mottled gray-brown carapaces and their small size. They were weak and easily killed but their value lay in their spycraft. They would find both culprits and report back to her. ,, Oberstleutnant Swain Mencken watched her closely, the light from the overhead lights making him look sallow. “How long before we know?” he asked. ,, “When we know.” Walpurga shifted slightly, feeling her corset press against her skin. “The spiders will return to me when they have intelligence. What about the rest?” ,, “Yes, we’ve got men watching the rooftops, his preferred method of travel, and we reassigned all the laundry women he showed interest in to the prison outside of town. He won’t know where they are.” Mencken glanced around at the darkness, looking uneasy. Walpurga knew Jäger wasn’t here, else her spiders would have told her. “We’ve cleared out his room, too. He has nowhere to go and no one to help him. He’ll be caught soon.” ,, Walpurga nodded, but she wasn’t so sure it would be that easy. “Jäger is good at hunting. He knows our tricks. He knows me-” If not as well as he would like. “-and my tactics. He will not be easily caught.” Perhaps it’s not him I need to catch. Tossing her red hair over her shoulder, the woman turned to the Oberstleutnant. “Also, he is a good enough tracker that he could find those women, if he really wanted.” ,, Menchen shifted uneasily, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm nervously. He was a handsome enough man, if one liked them tall and portly. Walpurga knew that his darker complexion and black hair was a sore spot with him; he didn’t match the Aryan ideal. His tendency to pudginess couldn’t help his self-esteem. But Walpurga had heard enough about him to respect the mind behind those less-than-perfect features. “Hmm. Well, at least at the prison, there will be more guards. Ironhelm is the prison’s long-term guard, and he should physically be more than a match for Jäger. Assuming he can catch him.” ,, “That’s always the problem with Jäger.” Walpurga sighed again. She prayed that he remained so focused on the Hood that he forgot about any other potential prey. ,, “No, the problem is that he’s always been a loose cannon. Now he’s just finally exploded.” The Nazi officer put his hat back on his head and glanced down at her. “Do you wish to wait at the barracks? We can feed and house you, while we wait word.” ,, Walpurga nodded. “That sounds good,” she replied, her green eyes sparkling as she took Menchen’s arm. He flushed slightly but didn’t free himself from his grip. “I can’t do anything until my spiders return.”
  13. We don't need a roll call. This game exists for people to post when they can or when they want, and there is no expectation for them to post. Just let people do their own thing, including those left in Greeks - since you are no longer in that story. Let them finish or not, as they want.
  14. Major Sigfrid Willaperht stared at the monster across the desk from him, and hated him. Willaperht admired the majority of the ubermencsh; they were the backbone of the Third Reich. They were going to build the future of Germany and the world. But the monster sitting across his desk was not part of that future. He was barely a man. ,, Jäger was smirking, with no good reason for him to be smiling. For over a week, the man-shaped monster had gone out each night hunting the Hood, and for over a week, he’d come back empty-handed. Every afternoon, he’d reported to Willaperht, producing an ever-growing litany of excuses and failure. ,, Today, the hunter dynamic had come in and sat down, saying, “No, I still don’t have him. Last night, he slipped onto a passing train. I wasn’t able to keep up on foot.” ,, “Another excuse.” Willaperht saw Jäger stiffen. This was the first time that Willaperht had really unloaded on him. “Another failure.” Now those dangerous blue eyes were focused on him, narrowing in anger. “The Fuhrer is displeased.” ,, “Then the Fuhrer should come and try to hunt the Kapuze.” Jäger was scowling now, his smirk washed away by the conversation. ,, Willaperht stiffened at the blasphemous words, his nostrils flaring. “The Fuhrer gave you the task to find and kill the Hood, this murderer of our soldiers. It is your responsibility to stop him!” ,, “And I will. It has proven harder than I thought, but I will capture him.” The blond man curled his fingers as if his claws were forming, but he was not so foolish to threaten the Major. ,, “No, you had your chance.” Willaperht had been given complete control over this situation. He’d been disappointed with Jäger but was willing to let him try another night or two. But the comment about the Fuhrer had tipped the scale the other way. “You are being reassigned, Jäger. I will find another dynamic to succeed where you have failed.” ,, The smirk was gone. “No.” Jäger sat forward, his hands gripping the arm of his chair. “No, this is my hunt!” ,, “It was,” Willaperht sneered, gratified at the monster’s reaction, “until you failed utterly at it. Now, it will become Rhinelander’s job, or perhaps the Fuhrer will give it to Walpurga. I understand that she’s had great success hunting members of the Hungarian Resistance. I’m sure she will appreciate the opportunity for an assignment in Berlin.” ,, “You will not allow another to have my prey.” Jäger was scowling, his teeth bared in anger. ,, “You should have caught the Hood, then.” The major started to rise, feeling vindication like a warm heat throughout his body. “I do not tolerate fai—” ,, The blond hunter was blindingly fast, and Willaperht was still speaking as the claws slid into his gut. “This is my hunt.” Jäger sliced up with the claws. “And no one, not you, not that cunt-licking bitch Walpurga, will keep me from my prey.” The human struggled to speak, but only blood rose on his tongue. The claws of Jäger’s other hand rose above Willaperht’s head. The man tried to scream as the claws descended, filling his vision and ending his life in one stroke.
  15. The moon was smaller than last night, a mere line of silver in a star-crusted sky. Jäger inhaled the night air with sensual pleasure; the smells of the somnolent Berlin were not the source of his delight. It was the knowledge that his prey, the most delightful prey ever, was out there. ,, With a grunt of exertion, he started to run across the rooftops of the city, his height allowing him to filter the scents of the city with ease. Jäger wasn’t sure where the Hood would be tonight. His prey would be frightened and cautious after the ambush last night; tonight would be hide and seek. Jäger grinned cruelly, feeling his heart pick up its pace. This is what he lived for – the hunt and he’d never had a hunt like this. ,, The hours trickled away as he searched the dark corners of the city, focusing on the places where the soldiers went. The bells had just chimed three when he caught a familiar scent, one that brought his head around in a quick snap. His prey – the scent borne on the wind was the one he’d sought all night. He could smell fish, too and laughed to himself as he understood where his quarry was hiding. The fish market would mask his smell until his trap was set. And of course there was a trap set – it’s what Jäger would do, and his prey was worthy of his interest, and so would think of it. ,, Jäger swung around upwind and approached the market carefully. The place was deserted, save for a single man carefully painting one of the booths. One of the vendors, no doubt, touching up appearances before the market opened. Jäger ghosted through the aisles and walkways, his nose and ears seeking in the shadows where his eyes couldn’t see. ,, The smell of his prey was thick in the area. It smelled as though the man had crossed the area several times. “You were finding a hiding place,” Jäger remarked to himself, touching a wall that smelled strongly of the Kapuze. After a moment, he leaned over and touched his tongue to the stonework. The sweet taste of his prey combined with the scent, exploding over his tongue. Yes, he could taste the stone and mortar, too, but the dominant taste was his prey. ,, He was here. Jäger lifted his head as he crept from one shadow to another, a cat after a mouse— ,, The arrow’s hiss was the only warning he had. It was barely enough, and Jäger choked back a cry of pain as the projectile seared his arm. He was angry, but only for a second. Elation chased away the outrage as he realized that he’d been successfully injured! His prey wasn’t a chase with a depressing end; it was a true challenge! ,, Even as his mind processed that, he was rolling into another shadow, tracking the arrow’s flight back to a shadow. Jäger could hear him move, a near-silent slither of sound to the north, and close. Grinning, Jäger hurried after, swinging wide enough to move between the prey and the river. The Hood would find no solace in the water, though Jäger was sure he’d find it elsewhere. It wasn’t that Jäger doubted his ability to bring him down; it was his desire to bring him down. Command wouldn’t like it, but it might take Jäger a few more days than he’d planned to kill the Hood. ,, Of course, he conceded an hour later when he lost the trail of his prey in the cattle lots by the rail road tracks, it wasn’t all about his willingness to let the prey go. “Clever boy,” he murmured as he crouched on the fence rail and tried, in vain, to smell anything other than cow shit. He might be able to find the trail again but it would take investigating every trail past the point where he could smell the feces. By the time that was done, the villain would long be gone. ,, “Oh well.” His voice caused the cows closest to him blink in surprise. With a shrug, he hopped backwards off the rail and turned toward the barracks. Besides, he was hungry, and there was a green-eyed girl to find.
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