Croydon territory claim

[detectiveofthewest]

Likely Circle Daybreak had been anticipating a clash with the fae ever since they'd first appeared in London in force: it was only, as they said, a matter of time. Yet that anticipation had the potential to work to either side's benefit. The Daybreak witches would be prepared, true, but they wouldn't know the exact time of the offensive. And if they failed to protect their territory despite the forewarning, the blow could be a significant one.

The name of the fae's strategy this evening was guile, reflecting the personalities of the fae organizing the effort -- they took advantage of blind spots and bottlenecks, staged decoy attacks, made use of illusion magic and fae glamour to pit unprepared witches against each other. These attacks were designed to bring about a swift end, minimizing casualties on both sides. Whether this would be a successful strategy or not would reveal itself soon enough...

Comments

[knightscode]

It's somewhere between, really. He'd been holding a silver knife, after all -- Lancelot is aware what works against a fae. When he'd picked up the bin he'd hoped it might have at least a little iron in it, but it's pure dumb luck that it seems to. Luck he is very glad to have on his side right now.

The disgusting stuff splashes toward him and he catches it on the lid, makes a face as it starts to burn through the metal and the thing starts to scream. It makes his ears ring and he's disorientated by the sound a moment, recovers just in time to drop the lid before it burns through too close to the handle he's holding.

His ears still hurt, but the thing is running away and he's not about to let it go throw horrible acid at someone else if he can help it. He shifts to grip the actual bin itself and darts after the creature to take a swing at it. He is going to trap the horrible thing in this bin if it's the last thing he does.

After that, he's not sure what the plan is. He'll work on that bit if he gets that far.

[rules_winter]

The creature tried to get back to the water fountain, and it made it about halfway there when the bin takes it across the back sending it to the concrete with a pained yelp. Rolling once it lashes a sloppy foot out at Lancelot desperately trying to distract him from hitting him with firey bane again.

Mab's lips set in a thin line but she doesn't step in. If the creature could not handle this itself it really wasn't much use in the long run anyway. Though the excessive use of metal was ... troubling.

The creature on the ground swipes out a terrible hand and amongst the gloopy mess there seem to be sharp claws as well.

[knightscode]

It swipes out and Lancelot reels back a little, trying to avoid claws and the horrible acidic burn of its slime.

"Come on," he growls, and drips of the stuff are starting to make it difficult to step safely. He nearly treads in a blob of it and stumbles back just as the creature's hand swipes out, reels again and flails out with the bin.

This fight, he thinks absently, is quite possibly the strangest fight he has been in. If he survives the day he'll just have to hope it doesn't earn him some ludicrous nickname.

[rules_winter]

The creature's hand connects with the bin and it shreiks again looking somewhat desperately for escape from that horrible burn. It climbs to it's knees and lumbers up again, trying to get away.

It is not nearly as lovely to watch as his last fight but it gets points for creativity at the very least. Mab's expression is passively intent. Watching as the creature sways above Lancelot moaning horribly and clutching it's arm to it's body. It starts to tip in his direction.

[knightscode]

It starts to try and lumber away, sways and tips and Lancelot feels bad for a moment. The creature is alive, after all, and the horrible knowledge that he may have effectively beaten it to death suddenly connects and begins taking hold. He scrambles away as it falls, dragging the bin with him before noticing a part of it is beginning to rot with sludge and quickly letting go.

Has he... killed it? How would you even be able to tell? He can hardly take the pulse of something that appears to be largely sludge.

The adrenaline begins to fade and he hesitates, glancing around for anyone who might have seen. Well, equally he supposes he should be worried about leaving a sludge-ridden fae lying about even if it is dead. He picks up the bin again and very delicately pokes it with the corner of it. It's a particularly scientific test for life with fae, since they seem to hate the touch of this stuff.

If it's dead, he supposes he could try and scoop it up. When his life became such an awkward black comedy he really doesn't know.