13397/Shadow Caster & Panther Research

Shadow Caster & Panther Research
Date of Scene:	29 May 2021
Location:	Giles' Townhouse
Synopsis:	Bandaging, dinner, and research.
Cast of Characters:	Rupert Giles, Mercy Thompson

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Rupert Giles has posed:
Not the night that Giles had bought the panther statuette, but the evening afterward, Giles had left a message on Mercy's phone to let her know he was going to be doing some research that didn't involve magic tonight and wouldn't be much for good company. And then he hadn't been at home. And hadn't been at home. And hadn't been anywhere. His car hadn't even been there.

It's nearing midnight, now, and Rupert's car pulls into his driveway and into its parking place. He shuts it off, shuts the lights off, and releases his seat belt. Then he reaches for something about the size of a basketball, but squareish, in a cloth bag. He opens the door and gets out, slipping the strap over his shoulder.

The scent of blood can be detected on him, and burnt cloth, an earthy scent, and most disturbingly, death. Bones. And pain and fear. He closes the convertable's door and walks toward his front door, slipping the keys from his pocket as he walks. The sound of them jingles in the air as he finds the right one and unlocks the door. He removes the key, opens the door, and slips inside. The door closes quietly behind him and then is locked again, the sound of it obvious in the still night air.

Once inside, he turns the lights on and heads further into the house. The bag is lifted and sat on the kitchen table, and he leans there for a moment, head hanging. Most of his weight is, for that moment, almost all on his right hand.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The message that had been left for her had been listened to by Coyote's daughter. And she'd pondered it over for a bit, and listened to it a second time. Though the second listen was more just to hear his voice and the way his accent touched some words more than others. And it made her smile, even though a part of her might wish that the message was of different content. But, the message itself gave her an idea, and it didn't take long for a plan to form in her head.

And so, around dinner time, she made a shepherd's pie, and she made biscuits. She bundled them up then in a thermal bag, hopped into her VW diesel Rabbit, and then drove over to Giles's house. She parked sort of in front of and halfway between his house and his neighbour's house. She retrieved the food, closed up the car and locked it, and then headed for the door attached to the garage. She'd tucked the thermal bag near to the door, and then... that was when she noticed that his car wasn't there. And that? That was odd. Her brow wrinkled, and she stepped out of sight from the street before shifting to coyote. Then she started snuffling and sniffing around.

It took time, but she thoroughly patrolled around his townhouse and yard. She'd tucked herself in under the stairs after coming up with no answers. And she'd settled in to wait, and she stayed awake whilst she waited.

She hears the car before he pulls in the driveway. One ride with him had tuned her ear to the sound of it, and she lifts her head instantly, her ears perking up. Her nose wiggles, and she catches the scent of blood. And more than that, of pain and bones and death and fear. Her nose picks up the earthy scent and the smell of burned cloth. Her ears lay back and she licks her nose, a touch uncertainly. That combination of scents can't be a good thing. She waits util he's opened the door, and then she slinks out from under the stairs where she had been waiting, and there's some dust clinging to her fur and a cobweb over one of her ears.

She looks to the door, then looks to the thermal bag which has been sitting there since she brought it. And she shifts, back to human -- and the dust is still there, and so is the cobweb, not that she notices in the moment. She steps over to the thermal bag in order to pick it up, then steps to the door to knock. She could have picked the lock when she'd first arrived, but she'd dismissed the notion of violating his privacy, his home, his domain in such a way.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Well, with how he talks, Rupert's accent really does touch some words more than others. The message probably meant to convey that he wouldn't really be available and he was sorry, but of course he couldn't openly come out and admit that, now could he? When he'd parked, he hadn't seen Mercy's car, not that he'd know what it looks like even if he had. He's tired and a bit out of it and not paying the greatest attention to his surroundings. Which is a very bad habit in a Watcher. He hadn't even seen the thermal bag with the food in it when he went past it into the house. Then again, he hadn't turned on the garage lights either.

That combination of scents on him is, frankly, really /weird/. And almost certainly not good. He's still leaning against the table when there's that knock on the door. Giles opens his eyes and his brow furrows. He turns his head and looks toward the door. That's an odd coincidence, someone knocking on his door not five minutes after he'd gone inside. Still, he straightens and steps away from the table, though he doesn't go immediately to the door.

No, he steps to the closet and pulls a sword from within it. Only then does he walk to the door and unlock it. He opens it and peeks out, sword held somewhat to the side and out of sight of the open portion of the door. And blinks when he sees Mercy. He sees the dust. He sees the cobweb over one ear. "Mercy? What are you doing here?" He doesn't sound displeased. Far from it. He sounds pleasantly surprised. He steps back, opening the door further to welcome her inside, and the sword comes visible in the process. Someone is clearly jumpy tonight.

On his left hand, is a bit of cloth wrapped around it. Red stains the portion over his palm. Blood. His clothing is dusty, and there are scorched patches here and there. His hair is dirty and mussed. He looks like he's been through a war zone, and nothing like the neat and tidy Giles that Mercy usually sees.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The thermal bag near to the door hadn't exactly screamed out for attention, either. And the aromas of the food were well contained within it, since it was zipped up. Even though he hadn't noticed that thoughtful gesture of hers, she's not upset about it -- he doesn't have her nose, he didn't turn on the light, and it wasn't really an expected thing. She hadn't messaged him to let him know, after all. She'd stayed to protect it. To keep scavengers from getting into it and to make sure that he received it.

Mercy didn't even think about the hour of night before she had knocked. She equally hadn't thought of what he might presume could be standing outside his door at such an hour. These things don't dawn on the coyote. All times of day or night are entirely acceptable to her. She tilts her head a little to one side as she listens to the sounds of his footsteps within the house. She knows that he doesn't come immediately to the door, that there's somewhere else he goes. But she's only been to his house one other time, and so there are only so many presumptions that she can make.

Then the door opens, and she wiggles her nose a little bit, taking in the lingering scents on him. Even as she does, there's a smile that finds her features. She appears to be blissfully ignorant of the cobweb and of the dust. "I... brought you dinner," Mercy says, ducking her chin a little bit. "You said in your message that you were going to be busy with researching, so... food," she adds. She suspected he might get distracted and forget to eat, but if food was already cooked then it would be harder to do that. She lifts her free hand to rub her nose a little bit. "I kind of decided to protect it when I noticed that your car wasn't here," she admits.

With the door being opened, she moves to step inside, the sword held in his hand being given a glance as she does. There isn't any sign of fear to her over it. She knows he wouldn't use it on her. She tilts her head a little bit to one side, taking a moment to look him over, assessing what she sees and what she smells. Her tongue flicks out to damp her lips, and her brown gaze lifts to meet his blue one. "If you get your first aid kit, I'll see about bandaging up your hand," she says softly. She's a bit worried about him, about what's happened to him over the course of the night.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles definitely doesn't have her nose. Even if it wasn't zipped up, he might not have smelled it. Not as tired as he is. It might not even be the hour that caused the sword, but more the night he's had. And the coincidence of the knock not five minutes after he'd gone inside. Most of the time, he's available at all hours if someone needs something. That's all part of being a Watcher. And generally being more aware of his surroundings.

She's right. Forgetting to eat when the food's already cooked is much less likely than if he had to actually take the time to cook it. He tilts his head curiously at what she's said, about protecting the food. "What do you mean?" he finally asks. And she's right, about the sword. He wouldn't ever use it on her. He reaches over and leans it against the wall behind the door. Then closes the door and locks it again. As he turns and is more in the light, there are smudges visible on his face, and what is probably a bruise on his forehead.

Then she's mentioning first aid kit and bandaging. "Uh?" Only then does he realize what she's referring to. "Oh. Uh. Sure," he says. Smart Giles. Real smart. He half winces at himself. "Sorry. I'm.. tired." He looks it too. To her ears, everything sounds normal though, more or less. Heartbeat and breathing are both normal. He turns away and starts toward the kitchen. As he walks, it becomes obvious that he's favoring his right leg, limping a bit on it.

The bag on the table has fallen partially open to reveal its contents. It appears to be made of metal or maybe stone, but it's old and hard to say. It looks like a demon with a forked tail, getting ready to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting soul. "Dinner, you say? I was.." He pauses in the open doorway leading to the kitchen. He glances back over his shoulder at her, his left hand lifted and resting against the arch of the frame. "Researching. It was.. interesting." By which he probably means dangerous. He turns on and goes into the kitchen.

He appears again in the open frame of the bar between kitchen and livingroom. There, he disappears again as he crouches down to retrieve the first aid kit from the cupboard there below the bar.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
In this particular situation, it's less that Mercy needs something and more that she had perceived that he had a need. Perhaps she's noticed that there's seldom ever a smell of food within the Magic Box or that the times there are happen to coincide with when either herself or Willow brings food. Food smells have a tendency to stick around. And even though she didn't really have more proof than that, she suspected that he didn't take lunch very often when he was at the shop.

One of her eyebrows quirks up a little bit at his question, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "There are a number of nocturnal creatures that would be drawn by the smell of food, especially when there's meat involved. And I didn't want any of -them- to get it when the food was meant for you," Mercy says, the barest hint of amusement to her voice. "Me doing a walk-about your yard isn't going to keep them away," she adds. Then she ducks her chin a bit, perhaps realizing how that might end up sounding, and she sets the thermal bag down before crouching in order to untie and remove her shoes there near to the door.

Sock-footed, she picks up the bag of food in order to carry it over to the table and place it there. The bag already on the table earns a bit of a look simply because curiosity is a hard thing to resist, but not a long one because she respects him and his privacy. Her gaze turns to him, and she tilts her head a little to one side as she notices the smudges, and the indication of a potential bruise on his forehead. And for the life of her, she doesn't ask. She could ask any number of questions, but she still doesn't.

"I've had enough wounds be bandaged that I've picked up a few things," Mercy says. That's not the best way of putting it! And probably not very reassuring, either. "A doctor friend of mine taught me the basics," she adds. Then she gives a small shake of her head. "There's nothing to apologize for. It's late, and you probably started your day early. And I'm guessing it's been something of an evening for you," she offers, her nose giving a slight wiggle. Based on what she can smell and see, at least, it hasn't likely been a quiet evening for him. And then she notices that limp of his, as he heads towards the kitchen. "What happened to your leg?" she asks, giving in to at least one question to satisfy the barest edge of her curiosity. She wants to know what happened to the rest of him, too!

"Mmhmm," she affirms. "Dinner. I figured that you might get a bit involved in your research and possibly overlook eating. It happens with me sometimes, when I'm working on one of the cars," she says, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. And there's a brief glance towards the demon with the forked tail before she picks up the thermal bag to follow him towards the kitchen. She sets it on the counter, and she unpacks the biscuits first, then the shepherd's pie in its casserole dish, and an apple crisp. "Why does it sound like 'interesting' is synonymous with 'dangerous'?" she asks, one of her eyebrows quirking up a touch as she steps over towards the bar to rest her forearms on it.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Food smells only have a tendency to stick around for people with noses like hers. She might be right, though, about him not eating lunch, or much else, at the Magic Box except on the occasions someone brings tasty treats. "Oh, I see," he says. "Racoons can be a problem." Seems there's agreement from him on that. And he sounds a little pleased. He nods to what she says. "You're right. It would take your presence to keep them away. Giles tilts his head at her curiously as she removes her shoes. "You can wear your shoes in here if you like." Giles doesn't take his shoes off. He's still wearing them in fact.

Giles doesn't even notice her glance at the bag. And if she were to ask, he'd probably just tell her. "These things have a way of being absorbed through osmosis," he says, tone dry, as he rises back to his feet with the first aid kit in his right hand. But shortly after, she'll be able to see his eyes sparkling with amusement. He sobers and nods. "'tis late. And I did start my day early. And you're right. 'tis been something of an evening. There was.." He trails off for a moment, eyes going distant with memory. "Fire. And the place shook and tried to fall apart. Wind and water. And reanimated skeletal vampires." And blood. But he didn't mention blood. Maybe he wanted to gloss over that part.

As she finally asks a question, he glances down at the leg she'd asked the question of, then back to her. "You know, I'm not entire sure. Probably when I was fighting the dead vampires." Dead vampires? Isn't that saying essentially the same thing? "I did. Get involved in my research. And you're right. I haven't eaten." And something says he wouldn't have, if she hadn't come with food. Of course, he still might not. He grimaces faintly. "Because it was dangerous." He sets the first aid kit atop the bar and slides it over to her.

Giles sets to unwrapping the strip of cloth from his hand. Once it's off, there's a neat cut sliced right across the palm of his hand. The cut seems quite practiced, and the blood has already dried and formed a scab over the wound. Still, giving it proper treatment, like some form of medication to prevent infection, and bandaging it better than with cloth wrapped around it, might be a good idea.

Giles steps away at this point, and over to the sink, to turn on the hot water with just a touch of cold water added in. He shoves his hands under the stream and proceeds to wash them. Once wet, he squirts soap from the dispensor there at the back of the sink onto his hands and lathers them up good before rinsing them off again. The only indication that it hurts that he gives is after he shuts the water off and starts toweling his hands dry. The right, he dries like normal. The left he dabs the towel at carefully. He doesn't want it to start bleeding again.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Mmhmm, raccoons can be. There's one that likes your yard, by the way," Mercy comments, quirking a smile. "They're crafty little buggers, and they're good at opening things to get at what's inside. A little bit of coyote scent around your place might dissuade it. And the space under your stairs is big enough for me to have kept an eye on the food from," she adds, sounding a touch amused at that. Which at least explains the dust and the cobweb clinging to one of her ears. She's started getting in a habit of doing a tour of his yard on her nightly wanderings, a sort of 'check-in' to make sure everything seems in order.

"Sometimes the treads pick things up in them, metal bits in the shop and what have you, and I'd rather not be tracking them through your house," Mercy says. Her turn to be logical, perhaps. She quirks a bit of a grin and gives a light laugh, her brow eyes reflecting a sparkle. "I'm pretty sure osmosis has less to do with it than repetition," she comments, winking at him. Then she tilts her head a bit to one side, listening as he gives at least some information about his evening. Her brow wrinkles, and she gives a small not at a couple of points. "Why does research sound like a puzzle that's waiting to be solved?" Mercy wonders aloud. Then she gives a small shake of her head. She glances towards his hand, and one of her eyebrows quirks up. "And blood," she adds, giving a small nod towards his hand as well. That's not really going to escape her notice anytime soon. "There was something earthy, too. I smelled it on you. I'm not sure what it adds up to that there were so many elements involved. I suspect it's not coincidence," she comments, studying him. "Reanimated skeletal vampires... because regular vampires just aren't enough trouble, sometimes. I wonder if there's a such thing as a seethe graveyard?" she wonders, thinking out loud.

"Maybe I should start tagging along when you're doing research. Especially if dead vampires are a thing. Though they're probably not susceptible to silver bullets or any kind of wooden stake, but maybe removing their heads would work... it probably depends on the type of vampire," Mercy comments, raising an eyebrow slightly as she considers a thing or three. Then she quirks a grin at him and gives a nod. "I suspected," she says, about more than one part of what he says. She reaches to the first aid kit and opens it before starting to pick and choose what she needs from within it.

There's a glance towards his leg, and she gives a small nod. "Sometimes injuries happen in fights and you don't realize about them until after it's all said and done. She watches as he unwraps his hand, and she tilts her head a bit to one side at the look of it. Her gaze flicks up to his features, and then she watches as he washes and dries his hands. "It's not actively bleeding, at least, which is a fair sign," she comments, her tongue flicking out briefly to damp her lips. She gently reaches out for his injured hand in order to have a bit of a better look and smell of it, though if there's nothing that seems amiss with it then she'll apply an antibacterial medication before putting a gauze pad on it and wrapping it -- a bit snug, but not tight.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles grimaces faintly. "I know there is. I've tried everything short of spells to keep him away. And I had to use a spell to keep him from the garage." He blinks at her about her shoes, and then nods slowly. "Ah, I see. Carry on then," he says, one of those smaller but heartfelt smiles appearing. That really is logical. He grins at her comment about osmosis and the wink. "Osmosis through repitition," he says. "But being taught and pracitcing might help." He seems in much better spirits than he had when he'd opened the door with a sword in hand. "Because research /is/ a puzzle waiting to be solved," he says. He glances down at his hand as she mentions blood, and then over to her. "Well. Yes. I was trying to deactivate a trap, but it wasn't my blood the trap needed to appease it."

Giles nods about earthy. "Yes. The earth happened when the place shook and tried to fall apart." That's likely where the dirty dusty stuff on his clothing had come from. "They were traps. Elemental traps set that we had to solve to open the box at the center of the maze. Essentially." He goes quiet for a moment, studying her as he walks over to the bar. "I'm not sure. What do you mean by seethe graveyard?" He's not sure! "No. They were not easy to deal with. Removing their heads did seem to work. I only managed that once.."

Rupert nods about injuries. "Yes. Either one of their blows landed, or I landed on it oddly. I'm not sure which. There's no actual wound, just a bruise." And it aches like mad! He nods about his hand. "That stopped hours ago." He winces as the antibacterial medicatino is smeared on, but doesn't complain, and holds his hand out steadily so she can do the thing and wrap it after. "The food smells good," he finally says.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a bit of a grin that teases the corners of her lips when he admits awareness of the raccoon, and she can't help but to give a light laugh. "They can be persistent, raccoons can. Trash bandits. I'll see what I can do to give him a reason to not come visit your yard," Mercy says, giving a nod to him. That he approves of her reasons for removing her shoes seems to please her. She wouldn't want to make a mess of his house or scratch up his floors or what have you. "Practice makes perfect, or so I've been told. Though I think I'd prefer to practice things like bandaging on those first aid dummies rather than myself or friends," she adds, a touch wryly. Which isn't to indicate she minds bandaging him at all, but she minds seeing friends hurt. "If it wasn't your blood that the trap needed, then what kind of blood did it need?" she asks, curious. Because Mercy is always and forever curious about something or everything! "The trick is putting the pieces in the right places and then making sense of the picture that you're left with. Generally."

"That tracks," Mercy says, giving a small nod when he explains the earthy smell. "A labyrinthe with a box at the centre of it? That seems a curious thing. What was in the box?" she asks. Then she blinks at him, when he asks about the seethe graveyard. "Umm... well... I don't know if a seethe graveyard is actually thing or not. It might be, it might not be. It was just a weird idea that crossed my mind. A seethe... well... vampires, as I know them, live in groups called seethes. A seethe is usually made up of a number of vampires and their... well... their sheep, as they call them. And I thought that they might have a spot or a place or something where vampires would put what remains of their dead, but I don't know if that makes sense or not," Mercy says a bit sheepishly, ducking her chin slightly. Because that won't raise more questions at all. "A mace. Or a baseball bat," she comments, quirking a bit of a grin. "As a blacksmith in a game once said, there's nothing better for smashing skinny little skeletons," she adds, her eyes reflecting a touch of amusement.

Then she glances towards his leg before giving a small nod. "That sounds likely. An ice pack will help. It'll decrease the swelling and might ease the bruise some, too," Mercy offers, one of her eyebrows quirking up. Once she finishes up with his hand, the bandage secured in place, she takes a moment to survey her handiwork before giving a small nod. "That's the best my knowledge can do, which doesn't look terrible," she admits, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Then a bit of colour comes to her cheeks, and she gives a brief glance towards the counter where the food is before looking back to him. "Thank you. It's been a while since I've made shepherd's pie... so, hopefully it tastes as good as it smells," she says, a little bit shyly.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles shrugs a little bit. "Doesn't really matter if he visits my yard. He can't get to the trash bins with the ward in place. If you wish, though, I won't argue." He nods agreement. "Bandaging first aid dummies is always preferable to bandaging real people," he says. "Dummies don't get hurt." Oh yes. He understands. "Slayer blood." He looks toward the table with the bag atop it. "I have most of the pieces figured out, now. Just missing a few." He considers. "Well. Sort of a labyrinth. More of a puzzle with the box in the middle of it." He nods toward the table with the bag and the demonic looking thing. "That was in it."

He listens as she talks, and then nods slowly. "Ah. I see. No, generally there are not seethe graveyards. Vampires when they die go up in a gloud of ash. Poof. No more vampire. No evidense for mortal authorities to discover. I imagine their.. sheep, as you call them, are probably disposed of like trash when they're done with them, or the bodies dumped. Vampires.. aren't generally that caring of their food."

He chuckles. "A mace might have been handy. Alas, I didn't think to bring one." Rupert shakes his head. "'tis not really bad enough to warrent the use of an ice pack." Which says he probably doesn't have one. He flexes his hand once the bandage is in place and secured. "Seems good to me. Better than I'd have left it," he says. He glances to the food and nods, then turns into the kitchen. He walks to the cupboards and retrieves plates, then a drawer to get out utensils to eat it with. Once they're in hand, he returns to the bar and sets them on top. Then comes out of the kitchen to sit on one of the stools next to Mercy.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Usually where there's one, there's more than one. And he could start bringing things to your yard, or decide that your house looks good for nesting in. It can get to be a bit... messy, if that happens," Mercy says, a smile tugging her lips. It's easier and perhaps better to dissuade the raccoon earlier than later. She wrinkles her nose slightly and then gives a small nod. "Dummies don't bleed real blood, either," she comments in a soft tone. She looks over towards the bag on the table, with its strange contents, and she tilts her head a little bit to one side. "Is it anything that I might be able to help with?" she asks, curious. She doesn't head over to it, choosing instead to stay near to him.

Then she gives a nod to what he says about vampires. "Yeah. If there's a body, then it'll come back, generally speak. Fire works well on them. Holy water, too, but it takes a lot. It's easier for the mortal authorities, as you put it, to have nothing left as evidence," Mercy says, her brow furrowing a little bit. "The bodies of the sheep are somehow disposed of, I'm sure. I don't know, I've never asked," she adds, tilting her head a little bit to one side and thinking for a moment. "It's very rare to find ones that do care, but sometimes it happens," she muses, lifting one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug.

"Well, it can be hard to prepare when you don't know what you might be facing," Mercy comments, quirking a smile. Then the smile turns into a grin. "Frozen peas or other vegetables work in a pinch," she adds, her brown eyes showing a sparkle to them. "I'll have to bring one of those flexible gel ice packs for your freezer the next time I come by," she comments. While he sees to fetching plates and silverware for eating with, Mercy uncovers the biscuits and lifts the lid from the shepherd's pie. They are, it seems, still warm enough. And once he's returned, she lifts a hand to gesture towards the food. "After you," she says with a nod to him and a warm smile.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles shakes his head. "He can't nest in the house. 'tis warded," he explains. "The yard, yes. I haven't warded it. I didn't want to keep the sparrows and other birds out." He nods about dummies not bleeding real blood. It's true. They don't. He considers Mercy and then shrugs a little bit. "I don't know. Perhaps?" He stands up again and walks over to the bag. He retrieves what was within and brings it to the bar and sets it in the middle. It's in the shape of a pentagon. "It seems to tell a story, but until I do some research with it, I won't know for certain. And probably a divining spell. For that and the panther." He hasn't had time to do that as of yet either.

Rupert sits back down on the stool he'd vacated a moment before. "Fire. Staking. Holy water only burns them, it doesn't destroy them like fire or staking or cutting their heads off." He nods about vampires and caring. "Generally speaking, the only vampires that care are those with a soul. And that doesn't happen very often."

He nods. "And I didn't know what to prepare for." He considers. "I think there's a bag of frozen peas in there." He doesn't argue about her maybe bringing an ice pack at some point. He considers her offer of after him, and then nods. "Alright." And he does. Sort of. Or, at least, he gets food to set on a plate. But then he slides the plate over in front of Mercy, thus serving her first. Only then does he serve himself a portion of the foods.