13432/It's like I'm cursed or something

It's like I'm cursed or something
Date of Scene:	04 June 2021
Location:	The Magic Box, Sunnydale
Synopsis:	It turns out that the Apophis stone has guardians. The Scoobies and Sinister discovered who and received some assistance from Phobos, in an olympian capacity.
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Rupert Giles, Mercy Thompson, Phobos

---

Sinister has posed:
It's still light outside, but it's waning and it's perhaps been a slow-ish day at the Magic box. Customers came and went, but mostly small restocking and such like that, no doubt giving the mystically minded plenty of time with the books to get excited about ingredients and/or other things such as dark and terrible histories. This is a coterie of individuals after all that call this place a safe house, that have had to find out the plural of apocalypses.

It's overcast and has been raining rather constantly today, foot traffic and actual vehicular traffic rather quiet and... well, that's never all that good is it? Certainly not when mystical noses can smell trouble a mile off and might come snooping. There is a loud *CLANG* from behind the shop, at the rear entrance and a lot of nails-on-metal scrabbling, followed by a loud thump. Is there a security camera here? One would think that such things wouldn't be precisely welcomed, when some of your work and some of your enemies are a little on the nobody-would-believe-this side of normality, but you never know.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Nope. No security cameras. Presently, Giles is quite alone in the shop, the last customer having left a good twenty minutes ago. In all honesty, with it overcast and rainy as it has been through the day, Giles isn't really expecting anymore customers today. Not as slow as the day for customers had been already. So it is that when the thump comes, Giles is sitting comfortably in his chair behind the counter, reading, you guessed it, a book. A large book.

But then there's that loud clang from behind the shop, and Giles sits up straight, startled at the sudden, very unexpected sound. He sets the book aside, on a shelf beneath the counter, and rises to his feet. He goes through the store and he's not slow about it. He takes a moment, once in the back, to pick up a crossbow and load it before he goes to the back door. He unlocks it with his left hand, and holds the crossbow at the ready with his right.

Only then does he pull open the door. The crossbow remains out of sight behind the door and he peeks out. He's ready if something should jump out at him, to jump out of the way of whatever it is himself. And equally ready to move that crossbow the last couple of inches necessary to shoot if it's a vampire or some other nasty-bad.

Sinister has posed:
In the rain, there's an automatic obscurity to the shape of things a little further down, behind the big belly burger where their industrial dumpsters are all askew, but then one is shoved aside by a critter that looks like a classic buffy hellhound had an embarassing love afair with a pigmy rhino -- it's all armoured plates, bristles and a rather LESS humanoid face than they usually sport, with a big-ass warthoggy face with oddly jackal-like ears. It's attempting to bite at a tall figure that's a bit more familiar; Wessex's umbrella is toast, but the bin beside him has a large dent in it, rather ... rhino-beasty hell critter shaped and his eyes are a vivid, crimson red as he holds the broken umbrella like a baseball bat.

__WHOMP__

The creature lunges for his forearm and gets the umbrella across the cranium with enough force to send it about ten foot skittering with its claws on the paving, in the direction of the doctor's swing. "I LIKED that brolly!!!"

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles takes in all that's going on with a swift glance. Then he shoves the door the rest of the way open. He takes a breath and levels the crossbow at the beasty. "Oi!" he shouts, trying to get it's attention and, perhaps, get it to hold still for a critical moment. Needed. To... Yes. Aim is had, and he lets loose the bolt. It screams straight toward the creature and takes it in the eye, the left one, eliciting a scream. Probably more of rage than of pain.

"Wessex! In!" The shop is, afterall, protected and most such beasties such as this type cannot enter it. Warded and shielded from such creatures fairly thickly. Even the back door. Perhaps especially the back door. He has to take a second to load another bolt into the crossbow. The moment it's in, the crossbow is up and aimed again. And fired. Aimed for the right eye, this time, in a bid to completely blind it. That might give them a slightly higher chance of surviving this encounter if the beast somehow breaks the wards and shields on the building.

Which.. might happen.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister glances over his shoulder as the creature regains traction on the wet tarmac, only to turn and run full-on in that direction with a gesture behind himself as the creature screams in fury at losing an eye. It really doesn't seem to slow it down much though, but hydroplaning backward by another two foot as it tries to get traction thanks to a telekinetic shove, does. A bit. Unfortunately it also makes the second shot go wide as heckballs.

"What the HELL is that?" he asks as he slips on past, skids on the floor and pinwheels his arms to remain standing, the brolly giving up the ghost and falling in half, with a pathetic pop to open with battered spokes and half the webbing falling off.

Rupert Giles has posed:
The shot going wide leads to a, perhaps predictable, perhaps not, "Oh crap." It's not overly loud, but it /is/ very much heartfelt. Giles reloads the crossbow once more and then raises it. He ignores entirely the question asked at him and takes aim. He waits until it's lined up just right, and releases it. He doesn't wait to see if it strikes home, instead shoving the door closed, all but slamming it, and then throwing the inner deadbolt home.

He seems awfully calm for having faced down a beasty such as the one outside. "That," he says, his voice a little less calm than normal, a little higher pitched, his breathing a little elevated and adding a slightly breathless quality to it, "Is a hellhound." He pauses, his brow furrowing. "Sort of. If I'm remember correctly, that is a son of Typhon." Giles leans back against the door, his blue eyes on Wessex. "Think Orthrus, Cerberus, the Lernean Hydra, Echidna, the Sphinx, Gorgon, various Harpies.. among others.. they're said to have come from when Greek and Egyptian pantheons merged with the Ptolomeic empire."

Sinister has posed:
"Bloody greeks," Sinister grouses, turning to stare at the wall. Well, that doesn't help at all, you can't see through walls, man. Except sneakily he reaches, then turns his head to listen. "I can hear it moving on the tarmac outside, it's pacing, I think..."

And yes, Giles can make that out too, the 'tak'tak'tak' of its talons on the ground, with the splash of a large bodyweight moving back and forth, pacing before the door. Wessex glances at his umbrella, then at his own hair which is soaking wet, because... rain, no umbrella, fight with a gigantic monster thing. "We're being literal here, aren't we? Like... an actual divine servitor of some ilk?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Not just the Greeks. Greeks and Egyptians," corrects Giles. "But what is a son of Typhon doing /here/ of all places? They're guardians. They don't usually attack anywhere outside the area or object they've been set to guard." He nods at the observation about the creature outside. "Yes," he says slowly. "But /why/?" He looks puzzled. And troubled. He glances to Wessex again, and nods.

"Yes. An actual divine servitor. Uh... Sutekh and Set. Sutekh or Set? Something like." He even /sounds/ troubled. "But I still don't understand /why/. Why is this one here, of all places. Last I looked, the Magic Box doesn't have anything to do with any objects guarded by the likes of Sphinx or Cerberus."

Giles frowns then, and looks toward the door. Then back to Wessex, his brow furrowing anew. "But it wasn't attacking the Magic Box, was it? It was attacking /you/. What did you do?" He sounds.. like that question might be of utmost importance. "The wards on this building will /not/ keep out a divine entity, Wessex," he says softly. "That thing is probably just looking for a way to get around the wards. Or through them."

Sinister has posed:
"Me??! I didn't bloodywell do anything to anger a divine servitor monster that I'm aware of..." There's a sound of straining, as if the wards themselves are creaking, then a low ruh-uh-uh-urrrrrrl kind of crocodilian growl from outside. Wessex looks a little wide-eyed at Giles, then stares straight ahead, through the wall, into the horizon. His eyes have returned to their regular blue now though, clearly only going crimson when he's exerting a lot of TK force. There's another straining sound and a deep sound of sniffing without.

Sudden pennydropping occurs though. "I was the one that brought the stone to you. I got it out of the girl it was in."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Sometimes, there was something to be said for coyote luck. Or maybe just luck in general. There were some things that she could do herself, or that she preferred to leave in the hands of those who knew better. She had taken her rifle to a gun shop to have it serviced a few days ago, and she had just picked it up. A .444 Marlin rifle. It was in its case, behind the passenger seat of her VW Rabbit as she drove to the Magic Box. She didn't have appointments at her shop today, and so she'd decided to visit Giles. She easily maneuvered the car into a parking space at the front of the shop but forward and closer to the corner of the building, and after turning the car off, she listened for a moment. This was habit. There wasn't really a trick to listening other than just doing it.

She heard the rain, and beyond it, she heard other things. Things and sounds that should not be. Or at least, that are not normal for here. She mutters slightly under her breath, and then she gives a small shake of her head. She flips the keys in her had and slides them into her left jeans pockets. Then she reaches for the rifle case, unlatching it before taking hold of the weapon and pulling it out. This... this was probably a bad idea, but Mercy's used to having bad ideas. Sometimes they work! It might, it might not. Once the rifle is in the front seat, she reached to the glovebox in order to open it, take out and open the box of bullets. She snagged half a dozen of them, tucked them into the right pocket of her jeans, opened the car door and got out. At least it's evening, and raining, so folks aren't really out and about right now. She nudges her car door closed with her foot, and then she crosses swiftly to the side of the building, keeping the rifle aimed down and parallel to her as she goes. She moves quickly to reach the back corner of the building, to take a look around that corner and be able to see the creature she suspected was there. She'd been taught how to use the rifle, and she's used it before. She'd been told it could take down grizzly bears. She lifts it to brace it at her shoulder, took aim and then fired. This was such a bad idea.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles looks at the doctor, eyes focused and expression serious. "Think, man. There's got to be something for it to be going after you, specifically," he says. His tone is as serious as his expression. He's worried and wondering. Giles's expression looks a bit strained when it seems like the wards are strained and creaking. Some of those wards are his. And those were made with his own personal magic. His own energy.

Slightly distracted, he doesn't think of the Apophis stone until that pennydrop moment. "The Apophis stone," he breathes, agreement in his tone. Then his brow furrows. "But the stone isn't here. It's under wards at my house." Giles glances to the door, not that he can see through it.

And then there's the sounds of gunfire. Giles blinks and turns his head a little bit more. Just as his wards strain again. There's a quiet sound from Giles, and a deep breath. "This is /not/ good," he murmurs.

Sinister has posed:
"I would only hazard a guess, that it's contact with the damp thing that leaves some kind of trace. You held it, so did I, even in the vial. I extracted the damn thing..." Sinister mutters that, then stares at Giles at the sound of gunfire. Quick mental calculations occur, then he stares at the door. "Are you expecting someone? Because if not, that is probably someone that is very rapidly going to be pushing up daisies..." He gestures at the door, a silent but potent gesture of 'are we going to let this happen?'

The creature looks like a hellhound on steroids, one eye with a cross-bow bolt lodged in it, the other eye blazing red and determined. A secondary bolt is stuck into its massive neck, imbedded in a plate and there's ooze coming from a couple of the armour plates of its body, as if its 'shell' has been cracked. It is however, the size of an /armoured/ kodiak bear. The shot impacts it square center mass, but this merely makes it flinch a bit, then let out a Ruh-UH-UHAAAHRRRRRRRRR bellow in Mercy's direction, taking off running.

KA-THUMP, ka-THUMP, almost like a two ton jackrabbit. It's jaw snaps wide, showing concentric rows of lamprey like teeth in its maw and LEAPS!

Phobos has posed:
    There had been something up with Willow. That much had been clear, at least to the young man known as Alexander Aaron. It had been at the park, that most curious incident with the tentacled monstrosity. She had handled the creature, had exerted a good amount of her magical power and talent to send it on its way. Yet there was a twinge to her when she did it, a hint of more fear than was evident at times. It was distinctly Un-Willow-like.
    Perhaps nothing, but enough to spur the young Olympian into action, such as it is. That action being taking he train across the river and letting him stroll out of the stop and down the street. He looked just like any other college-aged student for the most part, perhaps a little older. Maybe one of those GI Bill fellas who goes to do a tour and serve then gets to finish his education. He's got the bill for it. And he dresses right now in one of those over-sized green drab jackets. Still.
    But then there were shots on the air. The crack of firepower, the sound of a... snarl? It was enough to draw the youth's attention. To get him to walk faster at first. There was some hints of advice that gave him pause. Don't get involved, not our problems. But then other advice that urged him onward. He broke into a run as he rounded a corner...
    And the last thing he expected to see when he arrived was a tableau such as was before him. The storefront, door shattered, a creature's large silhouette limned against the light of the doorway. A truck is parked nearby, with a woman's figure holding a firearm that's smoking with a thin tendril coming from the barrel.
    His response is instinctive, and not very flattering as he shouts. "Hey!"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A divine hellhound is seldom good news. Mercy doesn't exactly have a lot of tricks up her sleeves. And the rifle being with her had been mere happenstance. It was better than going empty handed, but that was far from it being a good idea! The shot does succeed in at least part of her intent -- it gets the hellhound's attention her. But it fails in the way of hurting it. A fact which is not overly surprising to her. She has more familiarity with supernatural things than what most people expect for her to have.

There isn't time for a second shot, not with the creature's attention on her. She slings the strap of the rifle over one of her shoulders. Predators often like to chase things that run from them. It's one of the really big reasons to not run from werewolves. There's nothing she can do to stop it, but she turns around the corner of the shop, only narrowly being missed by the hellhound and was about to dart back in the relative direction of her car. Her plans never quite seem to have enough to them!

She hears the shout, barely casts a glance in the direction of the fellow who made it. She doesn't look like anything special -- a pair of steel toed boots, blue jeans, a green t-shirt, black hair braided in pigtails, and half Native American. She darts halfway down the alleyway, then clambers up the fire escape ladder of the next door building. Probably also not a smart idea! But it might be her a moment of time to think.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"That could be it. Maybe it just found you first. Luck of the draw and all that," he says. "Hmm. What to try what to try.. Holy water? No. That's not likely to work. Stupid idea. It's divine." He pauses. "Probably. Maybe. Hm." He moves away from the door and to a shelf at the back. He slips the bolt off the crossbow and dips it into a bottle of holy water. He recaps the bottle and grabs it, then moves back toward the door as he reloads the crossbow. "Wish I had some Stygian steel on hand," he grouses. "But I don't. There's a sword. At home." Too far away.

As far as expected company goes? Giles shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Though... this time of evening, it's probably Mercy coming to check in and see what we're doing for dinner." He doesn't even think as he says that, just says it as though it's a given. His brow furrows and he turns to the door. "Mercy.." He doesn't even see Wessex's gesture. But of course he's not going to let that happen. He reaches for more crossbow bolts and reloads the crossbow before sliding the deadbolt back and yanking the door open.

Just in time to see the hellhound's backside as it moves away to pounce at the unfortunate person with the gun. He isn't in time to see what happens there, but he does see her leap up to the fire escape. "Mercy!" He lifts the crossbow and waits. For the beast to turn back around. For the right eye to come into sight. And the moment it does, he fires the crossbow, aimed straight at that eye. Will his aim be true this time?

Sinister has posed:
The typhonic beast lands, just behind where Mercy had been. The tarmac cracks, bits of stone will give her a few small cuts like grapeshot on her legs as she flees, just by sheer force. It turns its head to track where she's going and tenses to leap, then there's an almighty "Hey!" -- well, not ALLmighty, but certainly holy. It can sense it, even if nobody else can and it looks that way -- from its neck a series of quills lift, with webbing between, some of it pierced by crossbow bolt or shredded by some other force and it hiss-bellows in the direction of Phobos. Set and the olympians are NOT precisely friends and this thing's daddy /really/ disliked the lot of them. SOmething about being imprisoned under mount Etna and an eternity of torment in Tartarus might have had something to do with that. It takes two ka-thumps toward Phobos, before obeisance to its duty shackles it; this looks almost like reality made manifest, as it almost looks as if it's straining against an invisible chain and thusly with a bellow of defiance, snaps jaws toward Phobos /and/ toward the fleeing Mercy, only to turn around for the shot!

FWIP-- thunk, straight into its jaws and snapped in half. The wards are open at that door, its targets are there and it leaps.

Sinister at this juncture sidle-slides past GIles as he reloads and glances at the librarian/shopkeeper just once, before he throws both hands forward toward the beast and with a mighty snarl, lifts the entire two-ton creature up with a doublehanded gesture and a /yell/ into storm, rain and wind all. And it does lift, writhing and struggling against him. "Anytime anyone ELSE wants to do something now, would be good! I don't know how long I can hold a thing that's fighting me like this is... it feels like it's much heavier!!" his eyes glow red, setting fire-light to his eyesockets as the rain plasters his hair to his face, shoulders and neck.

Phobos has posed:
    It's the flash of lightning that illuminates the thing fully, that's what gets Alexander moving and moving quickly. Yet not to fully commit to a side. It wasn't quite enough to see the hulking creature, and when it rounded the gnashing and snapping of jaws, that hissing bellow was not enough to draw violence.
    It was when it was lifted so by the man with the gleaming eyes and he calls out. It's the tone, the demand and cry for action.. and help that sets the young Olympian forth. A puddle splashes as his step traces through it, breaking into a run. He rushes forth building speed, abruptly hitting a good pace and then suddenly faster as he fully exerts himself. It's toward that nearby car that he runs, that he leaps and /plants/ a foot on the hood _heavily_, perhaps even crumping the metal but definitely leaving a boot print. Taking to the air for a bare moment as a flicker of silvery fire licks around his hands as he brings them up. A crimson-bladed katana flashing into being as he reaches the height of the arc charging toward the creature that is so held aloft by the man some may know as Sinister.
    The blade is held in both hands, point forward with grip reversed as he tries to land a clean strike to pin the monstrosity to the wall if possible.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a hasty glance that she casts over her shoulder towards Giles's voice calling her name. And she manages a quick smile as she pulls herself up onto the roof of the neighbouring building. "I'm all right!" Mercy calls to him. She is, at least for now! Once she's up to the rooftop, she takes a breath, and she unshoulders the rifle as she settles to a knee there. She lifts the rifle to take aim, but she waits for a moment. For long enough that Giles can get off the shot.

And a moment past that, as well, when Siister is holding the beast aloft. She shifts her aim, towards one of the beast's eyes if she can get a bead on it. And if she can, then she'll take a shot. It's the only thing that she can think of to do. The best and the worst of ideas, all in one. It is, at least, contained. Maybe.

There is the sound of metal groaning, and Mercy glances briefly towards her VW Rabbit. It's a vehicle that she's fixed hundreds of times. And one that she will, apparently, be fixing again thanks to tonight. Or at least, she'll be fixing the hood of it. She snorts softly and tries not to growl over it, then turns her attention back towards the hellhound, and the Magic Box behind it.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Bloody, hell," mutters Giles as his shot misses /again/. Maybe the holy water had been a bad idea. "Crap." It's heartfelt, that single word. He turns and goes back into the shop. Objects a plenty there are in the shop. But is there... Yes! A single sword hanging on the wall in place of honor over the loveseat there in the back. A celtic sword. It's old, and bronze, but in curiously decent shape for all of that. And very obviously sharp, too. It looks celtic in origin. A simple, one piece weapon. The hilt is the same piece of bronze as the blade.

Dropping the crossbow on the loveseat and reaches up to lift the sword down. With it in hand, he turns to run with the sword back out of the building. And straight at the monstrosity. He doesn't notice the familiar face bouncing off of Mercy's car, nope. Giles' attention is all on the beasty. He's not faster than a normal human. Nor stronger than a normal human. And yet, he charges without hesitation into the fray. Sword comes up as he runs, and with a shout he swings the sword down, toward the top of its neck.

Sinister has posed:
The air around Sinister seems to thicken. There is a distortion of light about his person as he grits teeth, focusing his all on the creature that still attempts to writhe, even when lifted from the ground. Its movements slow, but it still moves. How good a shot is the Coyote-child? How straight and true is the Olympian? And how much can spirited determination do against armour plating? Sinister's hands pull apart in their 'grip' just slightly and it seems to make the creature spasm just a little, going stiller -- the armour plates that encase it seem to be straining against their fleshy housing.

BANG -- a bullet designed to fell bears does not QUITE hit the mark, as it's not completely still, but good enough to do the job, as the eyeball is still ruptured and pours viscous black down the creature's cheekbone. Blind, it howls subsonically, its throat lifted up in a strange rictus. The katana wielded by Phobos is by its nature a divine weapon, though it is not actually long enough to pin the creature to the wall, simply by how wide the Typhonic beast is, it nevertheless goes all the way in, through the strained plates.

And in the last instant, an old celtic sword strikes at the neck from the opposite side; the armour might be thickest there, by design, but strained, it goes in enough for Giles to get entirely coated with a jetstream of high-velocity divine blood. It splatters the entire side of the magic box by the rear entrance, glowing just slightly silvery-blue.

The creature gargles, then explodes, knocking back a wind born by its father's might, in all directions.

Not ONE of them will be upright by the time the dust settles and the rain begins washing away the sorrows of a holy death.

Phobos has posed:
    Landing the strike, holding onto the blade, swinging his body weight around to try and just /slice/ the creature in twain as his legs kick. In the blur of motion all is for naught and likely lost in the tumult when the creature is set upon so severely and then there's the spewing of gore, ichor splattering nastily upon the firmament of the building and the flesh of the beings. All building to that pregnant pause until the moment arrives and the monstrosity explodes with a rush of wind that gusts down those nearby including the youth with the blade in hand.
    It's a flattening impact that has him hitting the ground even as the grime and gore slither upon the wall and spatter upon the surroundings. A riotous upheaval of the norm, all occurring in a single blinding instant.
    Which brings with it its own peace after the fact. A peace embraced by the young Olympian as he gathers himself, pulls himself up, the blade of Grasscutter slicing up and snapping to the side, curved against the underside of his forearm as he maintains that reversed grip. Eyes widening, his brow furrows as a hint of something... _other_ causes his senses to twinge even as monstrous mucus and guts drip down off his body.
    Quietly, he clears his throat, grimaces. Then lightly taps a piece of the carcass with the blade's point and says simply. "Bad dog."
    There's a crinkle of his nose as he then furrows his brow and takes a step closer. He kneels by the side of the carcass and tilts his head to the side. The blade's dull edge rests against his shoulder as he swaps hands and extends his left to lightly touch some of the offal, frowning to himself.
    "This..." A glance up to the others is given then he cocks his head to the side. "Feels vaguely familiar. From..." The youth's eyes seem to haze for a moment and then the silvery glimmer enters those pale irises. "From a long time ago. There is something of the Titans to this thing." He rises, and something about his tone might well make one thing he speaks not of the teenage crime-fighters in Star City.
    "And where there's one..." He pauses at that word, shifting a glance toward Giles and likely expects him to finish that thought.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The woman-coyote lowers the rifle for a moment. She's a crack shot with her chosen weapons, and this rifle is one of them. She's had it for a lot of years, and spent a fair amount of time in practice of it. She can hit a moving werewolf, across a field at night, without a scope or any lights being on. She was trained by her foster father to shoot, and shoot accurately. Mercy glances towards the Magic Box, and then she blinks at the sight of Giles storming out of it with sword in hand, and her brown eyes widen slightly. "No," she whispers, perhaps fearing the worst for a split second. There's a brief glance towards the 'doctor' and another towards the fellow that stomped her car, and then her attention goes back to the beast.

Hastily, she withdraws a pair of bullets from her pocket and reloads the rifle with them as quickly as what she can. There is no time for anything else, for there is the blast of wind that finds her. And that throws her back and knocks her flat on her back on the rooftop. That... that will cause bruises. She groans softly as she rolls to her knees then gets to her feet, retrieving the rifle before coughing a couple of times, perhaps attempting to remind her lungs to breathe. Or how to breathe. She heads for the fire escape, and this time climbs down it to land on the ground on her feet.

She doesn't pause, she doesn't wait. Mercy isn't good at either of those things since those things require -patience-. It's just not in her to do. Mercy runs, and her path is fairly direct -- towards where she had last seen Giles.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles is surprised with blood straight to the face. He gasps and coughs, spluttering to get it out. His mouth had been open and it's nature to gasp in a breath when one gets hit in the face. There's more coughing... and then the beasty explodes. Giles is knocked back with that divine wind from the beast. And onto his backside. By some miracle or other, Giles doesn't hit his head in the process, but will almost certainly be bruised from the impact. But he does lay on his back, winded, for a few moments.

After recovering his breath, Giles sits up and reaches up his left hand to take his glasses off. Two relatively clean areas, right around his eyes where the glasses had kept the goo off. Somehow, he'd managed to keep the sword in his right hand. Giles sighs. "Twice this week, now, I've wound up covered in blood and on the ground." His attention goes to Alexander as the young man speaks. "'tis a son of.. /was/ a son of Typhon. Like.. Cerberus or the Sphinx. Echidna. Gorgon. Greek and Egyptian. Ptolomeic. A divine servitor of Set." He takes a breath. "Where there's one.. there's likely to be more. 'tis probably after the Apophis stone. Both Wessex and I have touched the thing. This is bad."

Giles takes a moment to clean his glasses off, then puts them back on and looks toward the roof for Mercy. Giles spits her before his eyes get all the way to the roof. Running straight for him. "I'm alright, Mercy. I'm alright." Maybe a little bit of a bruised pride... He takes his time climbing to his feet but makes it fine.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister drops his hands, panting a bit. There might be just a hint on his features of exhileration in the moment, as it's definitely exciting to be on the receiving end of a near-death experience. That could have gone pearshaped in record time, it truly could have. But then there is additional nes and he gestures at the magic box. "Might I /strongly/ recommend we get inside the warding zone then and regroup?" He looks up at the roof, gestures downward as he spots Mercy. "As I really don't fancy being wet, cold, exploded on and attacked again by the crazy monster clone brigade." -- He offers a hand to Giles to help him up, then after and if it is accepted, ducks inside the magic box.

What will follow may wait a time. But what is learned will last longer. In the meantime, the visceral matter of the beast that died at their hands, evaporates like mist before the sun. That which should never have been, has no place in the reality set forth by Law and Order.

Phobos has posed:
    What is Alexander's answer to when Giles offers insight into who or what the thing was? His answer is given in a tone of voice that is tinged with a grimace as he responds sidelong at the words, 'son of Typhon,' which has him replying...
    "Oh that fucker!" With a tinge of growliness to his words.
    Straightening up there's a flicker of silvery flame around the grip of Grasscutter that then races up along the blade to engulf it and absorb it, taking it from out of existence to wherever it may lie while awaiting summons. The young Greek God turns, sparing a curious look towards Mercy as she approaches, a veritable double glance that ends with him giving her a side-eye before his attention shifts back toward Giles...
    And then this Wessex.
    Curiousity there. A tilt of his head, then yes, he'll follow.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy Thompson skids to a stop -- literally -- once she reaches Giles. Because, viscera is slippery, especially when it's on top of wet ground. Ewwww. That wasn't an intended aspect of things, really. She steps aside and out of the goop, wrinkles her nose briefly, and then gives a nod to Giles, a small smile touching the corners of her lips for a brief moment. "Good, you'd better be," she says, glancing towards the dead creature before looking to him again. "Never a dull moment, it seems," she adds, tilting her head faintly to one side. It wasn't her fault, this time. "So, umm... should I be wodering about why there happens to be a hellhound on your doorstep?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Her attention turns to the doctor at his suggestion, and she gives a nod. "That might not be a bad idea. Being somewhere safer than in the street," she comments, a thoughtful tone to her voice. She hadn't really paid much mind to the rain, but... she is a bit on the soaked side of things. Her gaze turns back towards the creature as it starts to evaporate. She'll watch it for a moment before glancing towards the Magic Box, though she'll wait for the others to head inside first before she will. She casts a curious glance towards the Greek fellow and then she snorts softly through her nose. And she spares a glance towards her stomped car before adjusting the rifle over her shoulder just a smidge.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles isn't overly winded, at least. A little bit of breath knocked out of him, but nothing serious. This Englishman is quite the opposite of Wessex. His reaction is very much a 'been there, done that, got the teeshirt' sort of reaction. "Inside the warding zone would be a good idea." He pauses. "And maybe stronger wards," he murmurs, half under his breath, and all to himself. He looks thoughtful like he's seriously pondering doing just that. He huffs out a breath. "Well. If nothing else, we can always hide within the spell circle." On that, he doesn't elaborate just yet. But he does accept the hand up, oh yes. That helps immensely in getting to his feet.

He looks up at the sky and closes his eyes, letting the rain fall over him and wash some of the gunk off. It's not really washing off so much as just being gunky /and/ wet. And then the gunk is evaporating, and he blinks. "Well. That was handy." He takes a moment to use a rag from his pocket to clean his glasses off, and then stuffs them back onto his face. Well. Clean the rain off, since the beasty bits evaporated away. Just in time to see the silvery flame engulf that sword of Alexander's and absorb it. And makes absolutely no comment at all.

Giles smiles at the mechanic's words. "I seem to be. Didn't even knock my head." He glances to where the beasty had evaporated from, and shakes his head. "Come on," he says. And turns to walk the shortish distance to get inside the magic box and behind the wards again. Even with the door open, the wards are at least intact. It's only once he and Wessex had stepped outside that the beasty had locked in on them. He walks into the Magic Box and waits for the others to follow through the back door before closing it behind them. The sword is still gripped in his right hand, and once the door has been closed, and bolted again, he walks back toward the loveseat and the hanger there. "Not quite a hellhound. A divine servitor of Set is the more accurate. A guardian beast."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister very nearly shakes himself like a dog when getting into the dry. His leather coat is shucked off though, shaken a bit and put on a peg and he stands, dripping a bit whilst taking account of well... just about everything. "That was exhilerating and just a little complicated," he supposes, looking at the one face in this quartet of the moment, that he doesn't know at all. "Thank you for the sword assistance," he nods slowly. He LOOKS human, no tattle tale odd signs of being definitely something not, but that will happen when you're a shapeshifter of that kind of calibre. "Doctor Wessex. Nick. Ahhhh..." he glances at Giles, as it doesn't seem as if anyone else is confused or wary. This one must be known. "...I'm telekinetic, though I tend to keep that publically a secret."

Distant thunder rolls outside and strangely the air does smell a little of ozone. "We think the thing homes in on people that have come in contact with the stone. It was after me, as I was out -there-..." he nods beyond the wards "...only picked up on Giles when he stepped outside."

Phobos has posed:
    A moment is taken by the youth to wipe his hands upon that green military jacket he's wearing, at least getting the ichor off his fingers even in the rain before he turns to start to move with the others. A glance is spared toward Mercy as well when she considers that poor stomped on automobile, and if he catches her eye at least he has the wherewithal to look apologetic?
    "It had an aspect of the Titanic to it," And he didn't me that it was big nor on a large boat. Though likely they already know about its connection to the progenitors of the Olympians, and perhaps are aware that they did not fight on a cruise ship.
    He looks toward Wessex, lips parting briefly without saying something, then he turns to shift his regard back upon the other British man. "I had come to check on Willow, but this seems... a touch more pressing." The men of the Sceptered Isle have not a monopoly on understatement.
    When Wessex then introduces himself the stranger who had the sword answers with a nod and offers his hand. "Alexander Aaron, I'm..." A glance is given to Mercy before he mirrors the statement about telekinesis with one of his own. "Not."
    It's then that he looks to Giles. "Stone?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a quirk of one of Mercy's eyebrows, and then she gives a nod to Giles. "Good, avoiding knocks to the head is a very good thing. Concussions are no fun," comments the mechanic. She's had them before. Lifting her right hand, she pushes a bit of wet hair from her face, hair that had escaped from her braids. After trailing her way into the Magic Box, she gives Giles a curious look at the clarification that he makes about the beastie that was outside. That she had shot, to little effect. She lifts the rifle from over her shoulder, then steps aside to tuck it into a corner for the time being. "A divine servitor of Set? Why does that make it sound a lot worse?" she wonders, wrinkling her nose slightly.

She wasn't wearing a jacket, just a t-shirt, blue jeans, and her usual steel-toed boots. All of which are wet. Her nose gives a slight twitch, and she looks over towards the fellow who had stomped her car, and then she crosses her arms in front of her. "My car better still start," she comments, half grousing. She can fix it -- most likely and hopefully, but if it doesn't start then it's going to cost her for a tow truck to get it to her shop. She's quiet a moment, studying him briefly. "Mercy Thompson," she offers, giving a small nod to him.

Rupert Giles has posed:
And of course, there are pegs right next to the door for hanging coats on. Giles takes a moment to hang the sword up on the pegs set into the wall. He might be a little wet too. But then, he'd lingered outside for a few seconds longer than the others in the rain. Then again, he's British. Maybe he misses the rain? He turns and nods at the observations. "Either it picked up on me because I've been in contact with the stone, or because I pissed it off taking out its eye."

Giles looks toward Alexander and nods slowly. "Titanic. As in Titans, yes? I hadn't thought of that angle yet. That's a good observation." He walks toward the bathroom in the back and snags towels. One is tossed to each of the people in here. Mercy first, then Wessex and Alexander at the same time, and then one is retrieved for himself. He wipes his face off. "Ah. Willow's not here today." He nods. "Yes, stone. Apophis stone."

He nods to Mercy. "Yes. Sadly, I have had my fair share of them." Which translates as 'too many'. "Because it is worse. A hellhound would be at least disturbed by holy water, being a demon. This... well. Isn't. Wasn't. Not precisely." He looks around to each here. "Oh. Right. Introductions..." He trails off, and then shakes his head. "Tea?" He doesn't wait for an answer but instead moves to the kettle to get water in it and started boiling. Then cups, four of them, each with a teabag tucked into them unless stopped.

Sinister has posed:
"A pleasure, Alexander," Wessex nods, tossing the towel over his head when it's handed to him and touselling himself so his hair is at least not a lot of black ring-tails dripping down his neck. He frowns a moment. "Ok, my ancient greek mythology is a bit rusty, but aren't the titans well... a mixed bag of mostly bad? And Set... Oh botherations. You see, this is what you get for going to medical school and not taking up classical studies." He sighs, eyeballing the tea, because it will be a good thing.

"I originally came to this shop to get a book or two, to try and study up on weird phenomenon I've seen in my practice, the weirdest being pulling a stone from the stomach of a formerly obese young woman, who was quite frankly cachectic when I attended her and delicate. In my practice, being able to do fine telekinesis right under the noses of people that would freak out if they knew, is rather helpful. It means delicate surgeries don't bleed out nearly as often with me, as they do with others." He squints against more touselling with the towel and wipes over his face and neck. "The stone was supposedly marketed to her as a weight control pill. I brought it to Giles. He identified it with mystical senses and did a lot of book research that would've taken me forever. Turns out it's ancient and I have no damn clue how it ended up on the black market as a bloody /diet/ pill, but there we go. A stone dedicated to the devouring worm, Apophis, or Apep, apparently. And it also apparently, had bodyguards. Which I'm not so pleased with."

Phobos has posed:
    The coat comes off and Alexander hangs it there beside the others, looking perhaps a bit shabby in comparison. There's a brief moment when Alexander looks between Giles and Mercy, then back again. One can almost see the wheels turning but then he gives a nod. "Glad to meet you," He offers to Ms. Thompson. He even adds a smile.
    "You drive that car?" There's a moment when he leeeeans to the side sort of trying to get an eyeball on it again perhaps from the window as they wander on inside. A pause then he says, "By choice?"
    Which has him rushing to add, "I mean, no, it's great. I do hope it starts."
    Then to Giles as he mentions the lineage of the creature, "Yes, it's... a feeling. Not one I'm overly familiar with, but yeah." Said as he perhaps tries to ease those expectations. Then as the towel is tossed his way he catches it, "Thank you."
    And at the mention of tea he knows better than to refuse such in an Englishman's home. "Please."
    Which leaves him with some time to listen to the man known to some as Sinister. He continues to ruffle his hair, dry off, then folds the towel and tucks it under his arm will it will remain for now. At near the end of it, Alexander's brow rises as he looks between the others. "Does this happen often? Artifacts finding their way amongst normal commerce?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Well... that's a possibility. I mean, a lot of animals would likely get pissy if you took out one of their eyes," Mercy comments, her tone thoughtful. Her gaze follows Giles as he heads for the bathroom and returns from it, and when a towel is tossed her way, she easily catches it with a grin. "Thank you," she says warmly. She could get dry in an alternate way, but it would seem she'll accept and use the towel. She shakes out the towel, and then uses it to dry her face first before she dries her arms, and lastly her hair a bit. She lets the towel drape over her shoulders a bit. She steps aside a bit, then crouches in order to untie her boots and remove them, turning them upside down over the boottray there. Then she rises to her feet to lift her gaze back to Giles.

"Tea would be wonderful, please and thank you," Mercy says, giving a nod to him. "I guess I should be asking the gunsmith for armor piercing rounds just in case another of those things decides to show up," she comments, wrinkling her nose slightly. She looks towards Giles a moment, and then to the doctor, and she lifts one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug. "A lot of things end up in a lot of places where they shouldn't be or where they shouldn't be available for sale," she says.

Mercy turns her gaze fairly swiftly back to Alexander and she snorts a breath through her nose, and there's a bit of stubborn to her in the moment. "Yes, I -drive- that car. Or at least if it still runs, I do. By choice, yes... it's a good car. Because I can take it apart and put it back together again if I have to, and I've had to before," she comments. She moves the towel to try to wring out the water from her braids, and to dab a bit at the worst parts of her t-shirt.

Rupert Giles has posed:
"My apologies. I.. I don't have any spare clothing here. Unless you count a few.. uh.. old Halloween costumes." From his hesitation in mentioning them, it might be better to stay in rain soaked clothing. He nods, though, does Giles, to the good doctor. "The titans were mostly bad, yes. Most of them were thought to be the gods of the underworld. 'twas the Olympian gods who banished the majority of them there. Oceanus fought on the side of the Olympians. Or rather, sent his children to do so. Some of their offspring, however... Promethius, for example, brought fire to Mankind. Helios drives the sun chariot. Selene, the moon. There's not all bad, there. Just.. mostly from the original twelve."

Giles paces a little bit, his brow furrowed. "I would dearly love to know who marketed it to her in the first place. Whoever it is has some sort of ... power play going on, I think. Those stones suck in power and the like, and store it." He shakes his head at Wessex. "I'm sure you had no idea there were bodyguards. I didn't know there were likely to be bodyguards until just a few minutes ago. But in a way, it does make sense.."

... by choice?.. Giles can't help it. He barks a laugh. It's a loud and sudden thing. And then another, and another. He doesn't manage to get control of himself for a few long, precious seconds. "Ahem." He coughs lightly, in an embarassed sort of way. "That was funny." He nods at the thanks for the towel. "You're welcome." While speaking, his hands hadn't been idle, either. The bags are all in their respective mugs, and once the hot water is boiling, he turns off the kettle and pours the hot water over the bags.

Giles nods solemnly to Alexander. "Yes. Quite a lot more often than you might think it does." There's a nod and smile to Mercy at her thanks as well, the smile as warm as the thanks offered. "Armor piercing rounds might not be a terrible idea."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister shakes a finger at Giles, then kind of just stares as the man starts giggles. It's a contagious thing and frankly, they just fought the spawn of a titan and won, and there's ragging on an old VW rabbit. He snorts, tries not to let it catch, but it does and is soon having a small snickerfit alongside Giles, having to turn away from the others with a soft 'Scuse me' as he places a hand on the wall and takes deep breaths. Oh, it may curse his heels and follow him for a while, but Sinister has a bit of a muttley chuckle and a tendancy to snorfle through his nose on occasion. "I'mokI'mok, oh, dear lord. Heeeeeee!" Slapping the wall he straightens, placing the hand in the small of his back as he stares up at the coving around the ceiling. "Strangely, needed that... I was mostly joking about there being strange warped reality fields in some postal depots, but now I'm not so sure that wasn't disturbingly accurate."

He exhales, as thunder rolls again in the distance. "I would rather like to know who is behind such a scheme, but I suspect you may be right. I assume it would be something traded over the dark web though. I have no idea how that would even be traced, properly."

There is a pause though, a marked one for thought. "Why would a titan spawn servitor of Set be guarding an apophis stone?" he asks. "I mean, what's the actual connection there? Are they opposed? As far as I remember Set was the god of darkness and the desert." ANd bloody foreigners too, oddly enough, but! "That would sort of suggest he and the devouring worm would be kind of on the same side, right? Wouldn't he -want- those things to get power?"

Phobos has posed:
    When the others start laughing, it's to Alexander's credit perhaps that he doesn't gloat so. Instead he crinkles his nose at Mercy with that small wry smile as if to let her know he's just teasing. And with that oh so youthful face and those pale hazel eyes, who could stay mad at him? Seriously.
    But then his eyebrows rise at the thought that there is an actual steady trade of artifacts in the world has the young Olympian looking a little surprised and no small amount of curious. Then he lifts his chin.
    "My only encounter with similar beings was..." There's a small tilt of Alexander's head back and forth as he perhaps ponders what to say, how to say it, how much to share. Until finally he murmurs, "Some of them were fighting in an army for Amatsu-Mikaboshi some time ago when they were laying siege to Olympus. They usually traveled in fairly large groups and rarely functioned solo."
    He finds a seat nearby at the benches around the small round table, just tucking his feet up under the seat and keeping a bit out of the way.
    "I only have a vibe for the energy of them, my father encouraged me to stay away from such."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"It's fine, I don't mind being a bit damp," Mercy comments, lifting one of her shoulders in a faint shrug. She's been damp before, and she will be again. She doesn't mind rain overly much and, well, she ends up in it fairly often. She tilts her head a bit to one side, listening to what he says of the Olympians. She steps further within the shop, then over to the table. She draws out a chair and settles to it, tucking both of her feet beneath her as she does, making herself comfortable.

Mercy plucks the towel from her shoulder, and she sets it to the table before her. She glances towards Giles at his laughter then looks to Alexader who started it all about her car in the first place, and there is a momentary flicker of something in her warm brown eyes. There's more than one reason that she has the car that she has, and choice is a small part of it. She snorts a soft breath through her nose and folds her arms in front of her chest. She wrinkles her nose slightly, considering things for a moment. "Maybe I can learn to make them, the armor piercing rounds," she comments in a quiet tone. She makes other ammunition for her weapons.

Her nose gives a slight twitch, and she stays in her particular vantage point, from where she can see a fair part of the room. And she doesn't laugh with any of them about her choice in vehicular transportation. She remains stubbornly unimpressed with the humour that they find in it. "Set is also the God of thunderstorms, earthquakes and eclipses," she offers, mildly toned. Which might say a thing or two about the current weather. As to who could stay peevish with Alexander? That would be Mercy. Because she -does-.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Oh yes. Laughter is very much contageous. Especially after having just fought what they'd fought and won. Of course, that had likely been a combination of sheer dumb luck and the powers of those who'd come together to fight the thing. Which had also been sheer dumb luck. Somehow, Giles manages not to start laughing again once he's gotten himself under control. "It wouldn't surprise me if there were strange warped reality fields in some postal deopots. In fact, I'm rather certain of it." He glances toward the back door and looks out at the storm front. He shivers once at the thunder rolling again. Then moves to gather sugar and milk and place it on the table Alexander is sitting at.

Mention of the dark web has Giles opening his mouth and closing it again. He glances toward the front, where there does happen to be a computer, and shudders. "Keep me away from the dread machines," he says. "That's Willow's department. I'll stick to the books, thanks." And phonecalls. Which often results in more books. "I'm wondering if this storm rolling in isn't a herald to the servitor coming to hunt. It seems to be getting worse. I hope another hasn't been sent." That would suck. A lot.

"Set and Apophis are only loosely aligned in that they're both of the Underworld. Apophis. He wants to destroy the sun. Horus. If he ever succeeds, he'll gain power over the world of the living. Which would upset the balance of power. Apophis would rule them all. Which would mean Set would wind up being an underling. At present, I believe their power is roughly balanced, or so the myths go. Perhaps Apophis has sent a minion here with the stone to gain more power with it so he can kill Horus using the power from the stone."

Giles takes a breath and shakes his head. "Set would very much oppose that, I think. No way he wants to wind up being subservient to another god, even if their goals are loosely aligned sometimes. That would explain the servitors. Set probably wants to destroy the stone. Of course, all of this is theoretical, and I'm not entirely certain of any of it. If it's accurate... it might be better to let the next servitor I suspect is coming have the stone."

Cups now filled, Giles takes up two. Mercy gets the first, then Alexander. The other two cups, and one is offered to Wessex, the last kept for himself. He moves to the table and claims one lump of sugar, a single sugar cube for that's what he keeps here, is cubed, not loose, sugar, and deposits it into his cup. He settles into a chair and nods to Alexander. "They're dangerous and very hard to kill," he agrees.

The bonus to being in the shop is that, even when people are damp, Giles keeps it a fairly nice temperature. And as it's getting on toward evening, the air conditioning had been shut off awhile ago, so it's not cold in here. It might even be considered a little warm, but not too much so.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister is not accustomed to being out of his depth. This must be said in advance of him faking it until he makes it, which is something that is about to occur. Magic is not his forte, his strong suit, his raison d'etre or anything close to being his calling, in so many words, but the very night itself has brought new and interesting sensations to the fore of his brain. Not all of them are pleasant, it must be noted. They are, after all, about to have tea, when a storm is brewing, a divine servitor has just been slain and more might just be on their way.

"I suddenly find myself rooting for Set," 'Wessex' states in a rather muttered tone. "But..." he makes cutting gestures with both his hands "...I know I'm ridiculously rusty on my classics, but wouldn't giving one dark god the option of keeping a diabolical stone, who may or may not decide to destroy it or use it for himself, be a really not very advisable strategy?"

Thunder cracks almost overhead. One second delay, which puts the source of the strike only a mile away. This seems to at least register on Sinister's scientific mind, though he does take the cup from Giles. Tea is tea, after all.

"Do we have anything else that can hurt those things in here?" He looks at Phobos, critically, makes a gesture with one hand that could entirely be misconstrued as a Dick-move gesture "...Big sword?" And flattery will get you nowhere. "You didn't think the wards would hold against the divine, for long, Rupert."

Phobos has posed:
    Cup of tea secured and with his clothes starting to dry a bit what with the wet coat hung up proper, Alexander seems content to tilt his head hither and yon, listening to the older fellows speak about Set, Apophis, and the Titan-aligned heckhound. Once the delivery system for said sugar is nearest he will lay claim to two lumps and then settle back against the table's edge, one boot crossing over his knee. Perhaps even a small moment is spared as he lifts his tea in Mercy's direction. Surely that will serve to start the building of a bridge despite maligning one's vehicle.
    But when Wessex makes that gesture in his direction, Alexander's attention shifts back to the man. "Grasscutter." He says in way of explanation, offering a name rather than 'The Big Sword'. For a moment he seems inclined to leave it at that...
    Until he adds, "Kusanagi-No-Tsurugi. Godslayer." Another pause then just as one might imagine he had finished he adds, "Crimson from the spilled blood of Ares, blade that slew Amatsu-Mikaboshi." Which might well help Giles narrow down what information he might draw upon to learn more of it.
    Until finally he says, "It's not that big though." As if that was most important. He holds a hand out, "About yea long." Normal katana-size. Since really, accuracy is so important.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Except that there's one person who isn't catching the laughter. It's not that she doesn't hear it -- she doesn't have a choice, given her sense of hearing -- but she doesn't find her car to be laughable. It is -- was? -- a good car. Maybe it can still be saved. But it's going to mean hours of work that she isn't getting paid for.

Mercy's brow is wrinkled, her gaze turned relatively towards the front of the shop, looking past the window and to the more distant outside. There isn't a lot that she can do if another servitor shows up, and she is rather aware of that fact on account of her ineffectiveness with the first one. She listens, for the most part, as the Egyptian Gods are spoken of, though her own knowledge of them is fairly basic in nature. And then there's Giles, with not just his offering of a mug of tea but giving her a mug first, and she shifts a bit to sit forward and lift her hands to accept the mug with a quietly spoken 'thank you' and with a smile that tugs up the corners of her lips. She settles back into her chair, holding the mug with both hands and letting the warmth of it seep into her hands. Distracted, she is, by something.

If she notices that mug lifted towards her by Phobos, Mercy doesn't give any sign of it. She might still be peevish, or she might not have noticed. She lifts her mug to take a sip of the tea, savouring the warmth of the brew. And she is, at least for the moments, quiet, although that's likely because she's listening to what others are saying.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles nods, somewhat solemnly, to Wessex and sets his tea atop the table. "I'm rooting for Set too, in a way. Yes, but we don't know if he'd destroy it or use it. Personally, I'd rather it stay out of both of their hands." He returns Mercy's smile. "You're welcome," he says. As the thunder cracks overhead, Giles jumps, flinching before he looks up at the ceiling. It's a good thing he hadn't had his tea in hand, or it probably would have slopped everywhere. He takes a breath, and lets it out slowly. Then registers the question from the other Brit. He nods toward the bronze sword hanging on the wall. "Just that, I think. And the sword Alexander used. There's nothing else here that would do more than take an eye out, maybe."

His expression remains solemn. Troubled. He shakes his head. "They won't, Nicolas. I can probably manage a barrier using my spell circle, but that will only last as long as I can hold out, and my energy is very.. finite." Giles turns his attention to Alexander, and blinks. "Kusanagi-No-Tsurugi? That was, once upon a time, Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi? Fascinating," he says. Oh that certainly got Giles' attention!

Sinister has posed:
Wait, what? Yes, rabbit stomping is a thing and it must be fully milked, but Giles' words. "A broken Masamune?" Sinister asks of Giles, then of ALexander, but no opportunity comes to measure a reply, as there's a <<<<THUMP>>>> on the door, followed by the kind of silence where the sound has been briefly stolen. Not because of magic, but by the sheer volume at which the thump was delivered.

The door had shaken, a few splinters fell down, as did dust and it might not be imagination to believe that the entire wall of the Magic shop upon that side, buckled inward a little bit.

Sinister stares at the wall, then takes a single, but crisp step back, as he was quite close to that side of the building. What follows, when hearing returns, is a polite 'knock, knock, knock' as of a cane of some kind being percussed upon the wood and metal frame.

"I think yay long is just the perfect length, given the moment." Above, the sound of rain and wind has ceased. "There came a knock, a knock-knock-knocking upon the door," is said softly. He stares at his tea a moment, then the door once more and drinks a very large and possibly scalding gulp, then a second and sets the empty cup aside, floating it to the sink with a gesture that sends it off, like a pool ball hit by its cue.

Phobos has posed:
    At the recognition of the blade's first name, Alexander smiles and gives a nod in Giles' direction as he murmurs, "Just so." He glances outside at another flash of lightning then the roil of thunder before he gives a nod to the librarian. "Remind me some time and you can examine it if you'd like."
    Perhaps a unique opportunity, and compelling to some of the individuals there if they weren't perhaps all persnickety about vehicle damage.
    But whatever might come of such a thought process, it is distracted when that door knocks and there is that resonant thumping on the wall and door. Enough that it causes the blond Olympian to tilt his head first to the entryway, then back to the others. A glance is given to Mercy and a question likely flits across his lips unspoken but seen in his eyes.
    Before he looks to the door, "Nevermore."
    A pause and then he starts to rise, setting his cup to the side. "Shall I answer?" Since he seems not too terribly spooked.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Slowly, Mercy shifts her position a little bit, unfolding her legs from beneath her as she sits up. She takes another sip of her tea, considering what she's thinking on for a few moments longer, and then she settles her feet to the floor. "This is probably a bad idea," Mercy says quietly, looking towards Giles first, and giving a brief look to the others. "If this stone marked you both, then it would stand to reason that there would be a way of rubbing out or obscuring or disguising the mark. But until that can be looked into, we have to deal with what might still be coming," she says softly. One impossible problem at a time!

"You would both have to be in the spell circle to protect you. The rest of us wouldn't have to be, we didn't touch the stone so we aren't marked. We can fight it. I think," she says. It's a very bad idea. "I can probably cat and mouse it into a position where you'd have an opening to kill it," she adds. The metaphor might not be entirely accurate, but the size difference is probably close enough.

Mercy startles only mildly at the thump against the door, and that was likely more from the volume of it to her sensitive ears than being surprised by it happening. She sets her tea to the table and gets to her feet all in one smooth movement, her gaze turning towards the door and the wall it's set in. Wary and watching, though there's little that she can likely do to harm such a creature as the one they just fought.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles had just gotten comfortable when that seriously loud thump occurs. Giles jumps again, and his head turns so he can look at the back door and wall. His eyes are a touch wide. "Bloody hell. Did the wall try to buckle?" He leaves his, as of yet untouched, cup of tea sitting where it is on the table and rises to his feet. Without so much as a word, the Watcher turns and walks calmly back to the rack he'd just placed that bronze sword back onto. "I would like," he says quietly to Alexander. "If we survive this experience."

The sword is right where he'd left it. And remains there until he lifts his right hand to it, and grasps it to bring it from the wall. With sword in hand, he turns toward the back door and starts walking in that direction. He pauses as there's a very polite knocking on said door. There's a brief glance at Wessex. "The Raven." He takes a breath. He's a little spooked, but not terribly much just at the moment. But he nods to Alexander. "Please do," he says. "Maybe they'd appreciate a cup of tea."

Mercy's words get a shake of Giles' head. "A ritual cleansing might do the trick if it was a physical mark, but I don't think it is." His brow furrows and he shakes his head again. "I'm not hiding whilst everyone else fights. And if I'm holding a spell circle, I can't fight. And I'm not sure Nicolas' telekinesis will work through the shield." He considers the rest, though. "Cat and mousing might work. I don't like it, but it might work."

Sinister has posed:
"Not sure if it will or not, not particularly excited about testing it," Sinister replies, looking stoically at the door. "I love it when my doom quotes land on fertile ground." And he takes a stance, foot braced just a little back, almost balletically with his hands spread and 'crabbed' at his side. Prepared. He nods to Phobos.

Phobos has posed:
    "Oh kay." Alexander says it exactly like that, perhaps with a hint of over-enunciation to the first syllable. He pushes a hand through his hair, checks to make sure his t-shirt is still tucked into his jeans, then takes the handful of steps needed to wander over toward the door where the knocking came from.
    Up to the door he makes it, pausing and resting a hand on the handle, then a look over his shoulder. Those pale hazel eyes flit between Brit, to Brit, to Coyote. Then he gives a nod and turns back to the door.
    A faint draw back on the door and it's opened presenting just about two feet of space for those enough to get a sight line but not quite enough for one to rush the door unless they are heavily bodily inclined and commited.
    "Evening." Is the word of greeting offered.

Sinister has posed:
DRAMATIC FLASH OF LIGHTNING AND CLAP OF THUNDER!!!

Polite clearing of throat.

"Good evening. I've come about the soul-sucking artifact." This from the shape of a figure limned in the flash of lightning and sporting a very middle-eastern accent. "FOrgiveness, please. You are in my way. Please be moving."

From Phobos perspective, there is an individual about 5'7" standing in the frame of the doorway, with a gargantuan typhonic beast about half again the size of the one they killed, pacing behind him. He looks quite friendly in his own sort of way, with hair that is a bright, vivid red and a narrow face, with a promininent nose and eyes that hold that same halo within their depths as Phobos' own. Other than that, he looks as if he'd be 100lbs soaking wet, maybe 150 at a stretch. However, the shepherd's crook he holds in his hand is made of solid gold and is easily six and a half foot tall, with the point of the hook being rather sharp looking.

"This is right address, yes?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"The wall might have been a little bit... stressed," Mercy says softly, eyeing it for a moment. She lifts her left hand, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder and to her back. "I will echo that sentiment. I would really rather like to survive this," she agrees, her gaze turning to Giles and watching him for a lingering moment. She very much would like to live through it. Even if her car doesn't!

She casts a hasty glance towards the doctor and Alexander, and she lightly rubs her left hand against her outer thigh. "It would be a spot of luck if they'd be satisfied with a cup of tea," she says quietly. She doesn't expect that they're that lucky, though. Then she looks to Giles and gives a small nod to him, a smile tugging her lips. "I had a feeling that was likely the case, but... well... it was worth tossing the notion out there," she comments. A comment which applies to more than one of the things that he had said. Her nose twitches slightly and she gives another nod to Giles. "I don't really like the idea of cat and mousing either. Though that's because in this version of it, I'm the mouse," she says. She's had better ideas!

As Alexander moves to answer the knocking, Mercy moves a bit away from the table and chairs. It gets her a sort of cushion of space. The door isn't open far enough for her to see the fellow who speaks, but she can hear what he says and how he says it. One of her eyebrows quirks up just a touch, and Mercy does what is perhaps most unexpected of her -- she stays quiet for the moment.

Rupert Giles has posed:
There's a brief smile directed at Wessex. Fertile ground indeed. For himself, Giles stands, stance relaxed and loose, bronze celtic sword in his right hand, but held down with the point toward the floor of the shop. And then, all he can do is wait and watch. That flash of lightning and clap of thunder has Giles jumping, yet again, his eyes darting toward the ceiling. "Ye gods," he mutters, scowling up. He shakes himself a bit and turns his blue eyes back to the back door again.

"Why have you come for the artifact?" As he speaks, Giles steps forward until he can get a clear view of the middle-eastern accented man. That gives that man clear line of sight on him, too. He takes in the size of the man as well as the six and a half foot tall apparently solid gold shepherd's crook without taking his eyes from the man's face.

Giles nods to Mercy without looking away from the guy at the door. Vivid red hair. Interesting shade. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Phobos has posed:
    It might be a testament to Alexander's upbringing, with the man known as John Aaron being considered by many in the law enforcement community as a prepper. It is likely due to the many years Alex has been exposed to being made wary of authority as well as being told to never, ever... /ever/ talk to the cops, which triggers the almost kneejerk muscle memory in his brain to reply, "Do you have a warrant?"
    But then Giles speaks over his shoulder and he gestures with his free hand behind him a little but it's likely impossible to decipher what a hand waving rapidly might signify exactly. Abruptly he tells the red-headed man. "Pardon, bide a moment, please."
    And with that he closes the door in the man's face after holding a finger up to ask for that moment. He then rounds quickly with wide-eyes and affixes first Giles, then Wessex, and finally Mercy as he asks abruptly. "Quick, do any of you have any salt?" And for once there's some urgency to Alexander's manner, which to those that might know the lad a bit might well be surprising. "Table salt, sea salt, whatever you have?"

Sinister has posed:
Outside the door, in the bestilled eye of the storm:

The man with the red hair smiles a smile full of even teeth that look just a little too long. "Ah, but of course, yes... these things must be done properly," A gesture of the hand held in an 'unscrolling' position and a roll of papyrus covered in heiroglyphs appears, sealed at the bottom with a red blob of wax, with the symbol of Ma'at upon it. Toward Giles: "Is Co'..." but then there is a 'please hold' and with eyes widening, the door is closed in the man's face.

Unsurprisingly, there's another rumble of thunder and a flash of lighting that illuminates through the entire of the magic shop, through any skylight or window, in a sheet affair. Bright and stark and slightly alien.

Sinister can but stare at PHobos with his eyes slightly rounded, back at the door and thereafter to Giles and Mercy and back to the door. "You..." he snickers again, stifles it, clears his throat. "My expectations of reality apparently fall considerably short of the actuality. By a /long/ way." He nods some though, gesturing vaguely at the shop area of the shop. "I suspect there's a gargantuan bag of it somewhere, because there was elsewhere. It seems to be a pre-requisite."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The only weapon that Mercy had is standing in a corner, well out of her reach. She doesn't even glance towards it -- it hadn't done any harm to the servitor in the first place. Her tongue flicks out briefly, damping her lips, and she folds her arms across her midsection. It's a casual enough stance given that her clothes are still quite damp from the weather, but it also keeps her hands out of her pockets. Just in case.

Mercy blinks at Alexander's request, and she gives a nod to the question without needing to think on it. She's spent more time at the Magic Box lately and so she remembers that she's seen salt, and where. "I'll get it," she says. Her arms fall to her sides, the words spoken even as she turns to bolt across the shop to where she'd seen the bags of salt. The woman-coyote is quick when she has to be -- quicker than the average person, and right now is one of those times. They're not small bags (around eleven kilgrams), given that witches tend to buy it in bulk and use a fair amount of the stuff. She grabs up two of the bags, one in each hand, which she easily brings over to Phobos, lifting one of them in offer to him once she's near enough. The weight doesn't seem to bother her.

Then she raises an eyebrow slightly as she looks over to the doctor, and she lifts one of her shoulders in a bit of a shrug. "Reality sometimes has as many facets as a cut gemstone. And what you see depends on which way you hold it to the light," she comments, quirking a smile to follow the words. Her gaze turns to Giles, lingering on him a fair moment, and then returns to Alexander.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles blinks, and then blinks again, as Alexander asks for a warrant. "Did..?" And that's as much of that question as he manages to get out before the door is being closed in the guy's face. There's the briefest of glimpses of that heiroglyph covered papyrus before the door is shut, and he looks like he's puzzling over what he did see. To Alexander he glances, "Yes, I'll go-." He stops there, as Mercy darts off. "Mercy will get it. She knows where it is." He nods to Wessex. "Yes. It's very good for spell circles, especially containment."

He nods to Mercy as she returns with the twenty-five pound bag of salt. And again at reality. "It also depends on what illusions or glamours happen to be around. If they're good enough, most people, including myself, won't be able to see through them.

Phobos has posed:
    As Mercy comes back in a rush and offers him his choice of salt bags. He quickly looks between them then takes up the one on his sinister side and opens it. A fingertip is dabbed lightly inside and he licks the salt from that fingertip. Nodding a few times, he then hands it back toward her, perhaps confounding some expectations in doing so. "Thank you."
    That said he turns back to the door. Spine straightening as he shoots a glance sidelong towards Wessex, then back at the closed portal. He makes a faint gesture toward Giles as if urging him to the side a little then... A breath is taken.
    Held.
    Then the door is pulled open again and Alexander's voice has taken on a subtle timbre to it, a faint hint of depth as his hazel eyes shade faintly toward something almost metallic. The door opens.
    "A thousand pardons. The host is indisposed albeit briefly." His hand lifts to touch the center of his chest. "Introductions are in order, I believe."
    Fingertips lift to touch the center of his chest, "I am Phobos, God of Fear, Son of War. I am guest to those within, having shared water and been granted salt. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

Sinister has posed:
With the door opening once again, the short redhead is still standing there, although to call him a little put out, would be accurate. He clears his throat and the papyrus has become a clipboard in the meantime whilst the door was shut. He looks partially back over his shoulder, or rather turns his head as the beast behind him continues to pace back and forth, its deep set, reddish-brown eye glowing in the dim light.

"Nephew," the man replies, looking up and around the doorway, he advances a single step, peering up and seems satisfied. The golden crook is lowered through the door and lightly pushes against it, opening it wider, that he might look at the contents, aka: the people inside of the Magic box. "I am Sutekh ben'Geb. Your family calls me different name, is same thing." He nods behind himself at the beast once again. "You called to it, so I knew to be coming. Who is keeper of this land? Contract is transferable, if there is new guardian."

He leans forward a little, eyeing each in turn with very pale golden eyes, settles on Giles, then looks to Phobos once again. "God of Foreigners, the desert, storms, eclipses, omens, war with people that are not our people, magics of the dark, keeper of the boat, keeper of the book. Is very annoying, new responsibilities, new duties," he waves the clipboard "...lots of paperwork. If you are being keeper of stone, need signature." Pause. "Would like cup of tea, with butter and salt?"

Sinister is well... staring and attempting not to. Occasionally, there are blinks and he appears to still be ready.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"I've heard it works on window sills and doorways as well. A sort of repellent, if you will. Against some things, anyways," Mercy says in a soft tone. And she gives a nod to Giles, at his mention of illusions or glamours. She's got a fair familiarity with them, though she can't see through them at all. She doesn't have either of them on herself.

Alexander earns a puzzled look from her, as that wasn't the expected use of the salt. Not that she had expected the salt to be any good against keeping out what was outside, but... that was a use that she was familiar with. She blinks at him, and then she gives a small and perhaps slightly uncertain nod. "You're welcome," she says, curiosity in her voice even though she asks no questions of him. She took the bag of salt back from him, a bit delayed perhaps, then stepped aside herself to be out of the view of the open doorway -- between Giles and the door, if positioning and space will thus allow. There's a definite protective streak there. And she sets the bags of salt to the floor, straightening afterwards.

Then there is the introduction that he makes, after the door has been opened, and she blinks. Mercy quirks an eyebrow at the revelation, and there's a faint twitch of her nose, and... well, Sinister is not the only one to be staring while trying not to be! That's... interesting, surprising, and enlightening, all at once. She doesn't step away from him or anything of the sort. This might have just become all manner of being more complicated. It might take a moment for the gears of her brain to start turning again, to catch up. The business of Gods -- even ones who stomp her car! -- are left to them to sort out without her intrusion. Though perhaps part of the reason for her being quiet is to not earn too much attention of her own.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles watches curiously, and then something of understanding seems to dawn upon him. He nods once, and then steps to the side as he's bidden. So that he's out of sight of the one on the other side of the door when it's opened. And there he waits, that bronze sword still in his right hand, point still down toward the floor. And the revelation. He raises a brow and looks a little more closely at Phobos, a lot more curiously. Phobos. That explains a lot. Really it does. A few questions Giles had had have been answered, at least somewhat.

And the revelations don't stop there. 'Sutekh??' mouths Giles, remaining silent, for the moment, still out of sight. Keeper of this land? Giles blinks and looks at Phobos curiously. He can just barely see the Greek god of Fear, but he can't see Sutekh at all. He lifts his left hand and points it at his chest. Perhaps indicating that he is the likely 'keeper of this land'. The owner of the shop, at least. But with Sutekh leaning forward, he comes into view, as does Giles to him. Oops?

He takes a breath and nods. "Well. Come in. I'll make you a cup. Butter and salt, though? Are you sure you wouldn't prefer sugar and milk? Or honey and milk?" Did.. did Giles really just invite the god Sutekh into his place of business? Politely? "I'm afraid I have no butter here." He nods an affirmative to Mercy. It does work as a repellent to some things, but that seems not to have been the goal here. Giles seems to be taking it in stride that there's not only a god inside his business, but a god standing in the doorway as well.

His eyes go back to Sutekh. "What do you mean, keeper of stone?" He doesn't ask about the signature. Signatures on contracts can be binding, if they're written in certain things. Foremost amongst those things being blood. He turns away and walks back to the counter with the kettle. He refills it and gets it boiling, then gets a mug and pre-bagged tea out and into the mug. He /had/ offered tea, afterall. It would be rude of Giles to rescind that now.

Phobos has posed:
    "Good uncle, Seth." Alexander says, yet that calm confidence and control is not entirely clear for once on the youth's features. Perhaps not directly recognizing the man who so claims, but knowing that one in such a place would not so casually speak an untruth. For such a claim has repercussions.
    "This kind man known as Giles dwells here." So he's heard. "It seems there may have been an issue with what terms have been set. Would you be so kind as to provide us with a copy of the contract?"
    That said he steps back and takes a pace aside. "If you are staying long I am sure you would enjoy breaking bread with us,"
    Yet such an invitation should really come from the host, Alexander seems to say oh so silently as he /shoots/ a look at Giles.
     "Though, I trust you understand that if contention shall arise, by nature of guest rite I will be forced to stand with him for as long as I dwell on these grounds, yes?"
    At that he moves away to give Sutekh clear entry and perhaps if Giles is looking his direction a small nod might be seen from Alexander.

Sinister has posed:
Sutekh smiles the wide and toothy smile once again and steps over the threshold with a single step, setting the base of the golden crook with a 'rap' upon the wooden floor, as if in some manner of ritual. The 'first footing' complete, he looks to each face in turn, the smile still present and proffers the clipboard with his sinister hand. The look of mild doubt is calibrated and a single second knock of crook upon floor is met with silent lightning behind him through the still open door.

His shadow is illuminated, taller by two foot, with long assinine ears, almondine golden eyes, curved tapir-like face, a mane of truest scarlet red, black as blackest night and adorned with the ghost of Lapis lasuli, white linens on charcoal, like an afterimage gone in a flash.

"A shame. A shame that there is only milk and sweetness. My offerings were always of camel or ass butter and salt -- in the desert salt is more precious than honey." He shrugs, looking about as he casually walks in, so much the dwarf beside the golden crook. "Food would be pleasant." And then, a deep, exagerrated exhale of breath. "I am guardian of stone. My servants are guardian of stone, but it is taken, we do not have it. In truth, it would be nice to be rid of duty. Someone else, they fight Apep, if he comes for his power. Have other things to do."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A glance is cast by Mercy towards Giles when he offers to make up a cup of tea for the God at the doorstep. As though it were the most every day occurrence ever to happen! She blinks, some functional part of her brain hiccuping for a moment, and then she gives a little shake of her head. "I have a pound of butter in my car. I picked up a couple of groceries," she offers by way of explanation, the words spoken in a soft tone. And also spoken before thought was given to the value of being quiet. Before she'd went to the gunsmith to pick up her rifle. She's willing to fetch it, though she makes no movement towards the door on account of divine presences. Today was one of those days that there would be no making sense of, later, but maybe some of the puzzle pieces will find their space!

There's a glance that she gives towards Alexander -- Phobos -- when guest rite is invoked, and she gives a faint nod to him. She's familiar with guest rites for her own reasons. Her gaze turns towards Sutekh for a moment, then past him with that flash of lightning before looking back to him. The shadow of him is not lost on her, but her Egyptian lore is about as rusty as the parts car that sits in the field near her garage. She glances towards Alexander, and then over to Giles, and one of her eyebrows quirks up with an unasked question.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles had already issued an invitation to come in, but clearly that hadn't been quite right. No, it hadn't. Guest rights. Giles is thinking as he gets the cup down, and once that's done and the water is still working back to boiling, he takes up the latest tupperware of cookies Mercy has provided, then turns to walk to the back door. "Right. Um. Hm.." Giles looks a bit.. lost as he tries to get out the proper greeting. "Please be welcome in my home. I offer food," he says, opening the container and offering a cookie, or multiple cookies, to Sutekh.

"The water is brewing. There's butter and salt in the cookies, since.. cookies... need butter.. and salt... to cook.. Um." Okay. Yup. Giles is nervous! He doesn't stutter like this except when he's nervous. "If you need to stay longer, you can rest on the couch and refresh yourself in the shower." There. Invitation. Food. Water. Butter. Salt. Bath. A resting place. There will probably also be gifts, if they're deemed.. necessary. Or prudent. Or.. um. What /does/ one gift to a god??

Giles sees the nod from Alexander and he nods back. Takes a deep breath and tries to relax again. Relax?? Ha! It's clear what he's thinking. If he screws up, he's going to get everyone in this building smote. Smite? Smoten? Smiten? Smitten? Killed! Dead! And at that moment, the flash of lightning and comes, and the illuminated shadow. Eep?

"Salt I can offer, if you want it plain. Lot of salt. Plenty of salt." Now he's babbling a little bit. But then, then he relaxes as the stone is spoken of again. "Apep. Apophis. The Apophis stone." Mercy's offer of butter earns her a nod and a smile. "Yes, please get it." He pauses, then continues. "If the butter in the cookies isn't enough."

Phobos has posed:
    Catching Mercy's eye, Alexander nods at the offer of butter, eyebrows rising to indicate that that may well be a good idea. Then he's accepting the clipboard for a clean transition from Sutekh, he looks at it and instantly knows he's out of his depth considering he cannot read hieroglyphs a'tall. Then in turn extends it toward Wessex for him to consider as he takes a step forward as if to conduct the other deity ahead and perhaps to a place of respite.
    "If we had some notice, I am sure something fitting could have been arranged. Grant us some time and perhaps we can have a lovely evening. Those here would be greatly appreciative to hear what tales you would weave." The tone Alexander uses, the patter, the steady rhythm, it is rather formal and rather unlike the young man's normal speaking manner.
    Then his brow furrows, "What is preventing us from giving you the stone then?" A glance given to Giles as he asks, "What are the repercussions to such? For you see, I would so enjoy making all parties involved happy to resolve this affair."
    And should Sutekh choose to wander further in, well his fine nephew will walk along with him. A glance to the door is given as he closes it at first, however. "And would you care for something for your guardian?" For the hound of considerable size outside might well be hungry.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister takes the clipboard, staring at it, then up under eyebrows at Giles, back down to the heiroglyphs. There isn't any actual reason why he SHOULD read it, but strangely, he seems at least capable, as his lips purse and shift here and there as he deciphers it. "Erm," just that, a simple sound and then some pacing off to the side, to get the text under better light. Read, Readread, read, frown, read, face lose expression. Read. Stare through clipboard at floor. Mouthed 'Fuck'.

Sutekh strolls amiably enough, passed the back room gym equipment, though with an ear to Giles, the offers of cookies, the declaration that butter could be had. "The butter and the gift of sweet breads are enough. This visit is calling like to like, otherwise," he shrugs, a slow mafioso kind of gesture "...will be meeting when Ma'at weighs heart against feather. Is simple. Can take back stone, punish those who took it. Am thinking this is likely... not what is wanted. Can let stone be, other takes guardian, is their responsibility..."

It's a little like watching Spike pick things up, although in the egyptian god's case, it is all the weapons that he looks at, including the metal hunga munga on one wall, at which he smiles. He pauses though, looking at Phobos, then the back door with thought, gesturing the golden rod toward Mercy and Sinister. "Can feed one that is not Host to it, if are wanting?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a small nod given in return to Alexander, though she yet takes nary a step towards the doorway. She's not going to risk making a God peevish. And, well... she doesn't exactly want to be eaten by the guardian waiting outside, either, especially if it perceives her as 'fleeing'. Things like to chase things that run. It's one of those rules.

Mercy's gaze turns towards the doctor as he appears to be reading the contract on the clipboard, and she tilts her head faintly to one side. Watching him. And his reaction to what is written there is not a promising one. She doesn't ask at the moment, though, but her brow wrinkles a touch. She blinks, then looks to Sutekh, then tilts her head a touch to one side. "Well... technically... the ones who took it are the ones who sold it on the black market to the lady who had it inside of her. Or whomever ended up getting it into their hands. Which wasn't anyone here," Mercy says softly. Then she softly clears her throat. Crap. So much for being quiet. Again. Sometimes, she really can't help saying what she's thinking. There's an upwards quirk of one of her eyebrows as either she or the doctor are suggested as food for the servitor, and she snorts a breath through her nose. "I'm not anything's food," she grouses.

Mercy steps over to Giles and lifts one of her hands to bring it to rest lightly upon his forearm, if he'll allow. Her gaze lifts to his face for a moment, and she gives a small nod to him. "I'll get it. It won't take long," she says softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She steps over to the door then before lifting a hand to open it and step outside, pulling the door closed behind her. And she does the only thing that she really can -- she starts to head towards her stomped car at a jog.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles nods at the idea of being granted some time. "Yes. If we go.. to... my other home, I would be happy to cook you a meal. And there's a bed, instead of just a couch. And a bath as well as a shower." Giles spends half or more of his days here. It really can be considered his home. He's slept overnight here on more than one occasion. Taken showers and the like. Work out.. Read a book... Books..

He nods to Phobos. He also would enjoy making everyone involved happy. This being resolved? Would be the best outcome. He glances to the door and then back to Alexander. "I'm not sure there are enough cookies to satisfy the guardian.." He makes note of where the contract gets to. From Sutekh, to Alexander, to Wessex. He doesn't miss the mouthed 'fuck' either. And raises a questioning brow.

Back to Sutekh. Giles watches until the kettle whistles. He moves to it and shuts it off before lifting it and pouring the contents into the tea mug over the bag of tea within. "Um, no. If it wants a couple of cookies, it can have some cookies, but we're not feeding it a person." Pause. "If it finds any demons, those are fair game, though." He is thinking, is Giles. "What sort of punishment? And what do you mean by other takes guardian?" Giles isn't about to sign anything, or agree to anything, without knowing the full terms of the deal!

Because, technically speaking? Currently, in absolute termsby simple dint of the fact that the stone is, technically, in his position in this moment? Under his protections in his home? Right now Giles is the one who has the stone. He looks to Mercy as she comes over to him. He doesn't move away from the touch. He does nod to her words. "Go out the front," he says, his voice quiet. "Be safe." His blue eyes follow her as she goes out the door. Only then does he finish the cup of tea and carry it over to Sutekh. "Milk and sugar is on the table, if you want either."

Phobos has posed:
    As Sutekh meanders, Alexander keeps a place for ease and at hand, though does not encroach nor impede the being's wanderings. He simply moves along after with his hands behind his back and one set of fingers curled around his wrist. Nodding as the elder god speaks, "Others taking stewardship then might be the best course. Likely my host would need to review what duties and obligations such entails. And, of course, we should need some time to review the contract?"
    He turns and waits near the aforementioned hunga munga, "Perhaps, shall we say, three days to review?"
    As he says that he shoots a quick glance towards Giles to see if this may be something that he can accept, at least for now, all while Giles is moving about, securing the needed refreshments.
    Then the subject of feeding Fidothep comes up and when Sutekh makes his suggestion Alexander looks at Mercy for a long moment, as if contemplating. Before he answers to the side toward his alternate Pantheon uncle. "Perhaps... no. No I'm afraid we may have need of all those here. Alas." He looks toward Sutekh. "A million apologies."
    There's a pause then as he straightens up as he has an idea, "We could grant custody of the stone to another, some mortal we wouldn't mind having slaughtered in the stead of these useful ones?" He bites his lower lip as he looks to Seth. But then he snaps a fingers, "I know what let's do."
    As if the thought just occured to him. "What good are the lives of a few mortals when we can draw matters back? We could return the stone, and in exchange for such a reset of matters. Well," Alexander rest his hands on his hips, "A favor granted by myself or one of my ilk might be a better payment for such a transgression? Something decently worthwhile, but not breaking prior oaths. Standard boilerplate, eh?"

Sinister has posed:
Sutekh watches Mercy with an amiable enough expression, indeed a grin as she declares herself not 'food', looking toward the back door, there's a pitter patter of claws, a low subvocal rumble like that of a crocodile and a kind of THUmp-flop, which suggests the thing has laid down.

Sinister grunts, seeming to have had enough of being silent and wide-eyed, as he holds up the contract. "Nitty gritties I haven't the understanding of, but in broad terms, this is a contract of service. It binds the contractee, in this life or the next, until the ending of things, or a new guardian arrises. It also has curse language..." he highlights several areas where people's names in classical egyptian cartouches that have been scratched out. He brings it over toward Giles, with a glance at the diminutive egyptian and the much taller olympian, handing the clipboard over. "Like the one bound must reclaim and hunt down those that disturb it, in the chain of contact..." highlighting that language. "New guardianship seems to reset the curse-line, but then I suspect you'd have mystical beings of all stripes trying to get their hands on it if they sensed where it was and it would all be on you to stop it." He looks over at Sutekh and Phobos. "But mostly, it'd absolve you of having to fight Apophis. If I read that right. Fine print. I'm beginning to think Phobos suggestion is a good one, Rupert. The other option I think we're probably woefully unprepared for."

Sutekh bows his head, hands spreading. "Unfortunately, is yes. Old contracts, different from new. No clauses, small things. Only do or do not. Die or do not. Duty or no duty. If new contract? Beast comes with. One beast. If dies, well... you have god of Fear, Nephew of Sutekh ben'Geb. Maybe bind other children of Typhon. Fierce and dutiful." He tilts his head toward Phobos then. "Can make deal for family? Or is just deal give by you and gods you are knowing?" He shrugs then, thinking on if mafioso style once again, taking his tea black for now and adding salt to it. "What are offering?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Technicalities in regards to the possession of the stone could well be argued either way. Mercy isn't going to get into that particular discussion beyond the statement she made to open the can of worms. There's another smile given to Giles at his advice, and she gives a small nod to him. "I will. I promise," she says softly, the words sincere. She'll be as careful as what she knows how to be, given what and who she is. She heads for the front door and slips out it, closing the door behind her before heading to her car.

In the moment, she doesn't survey the damage that's been done to her car. She takes out her keys and unlocks the passenger door in order to rummage in the bag of groceries. It doesn't take her long to retrieve the pound of butter from amongst everything else, and then she locks the door -- not that it matters, really -- before closing it again, firmly. With the pound of butter in hand, she jogs her way back over towards the front door of the shop, keeping an ear out for Fidothep. It's always a good idea to be aware of the bigger and much badder predators.

Reaching out a hand, she pulls open the front door of the shop to the tune of the familiar bell jingle, and she steps inside. Then she pulls the door closed behind her before crossing the shop to the table near where Sutekh is, and she peels back the foil wrapper of the butter in order to reveal the contents of it. She looks towards Sutekh before lifting a hand to gesture towards the butter. "You are welcome to use as much of the butter as your taste prefers," she offers, giving a small nod to him. Then she steps back and starts to make her way towards her own cup of tea.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles seems... amenable. Because really? Who wants to be punished for something that is, in essence, nothing of their doing? Certainly not Rupert Giles. Would he be to save another? Yes. Without hesitation. "Yes," he says slowly. "I will need to review my duties and obligations and the contract itself." He is calming some now, it seems. Settling into a bit more of an even keel.

He nods to the glance shot at him from Alexander. "Three days should be enough. Is there a way I can contact you if we finish before that time?" He frowns at Alexander and shakes his head. "No. We're not sacrificing someone to be slaughtered for actions caused by another." A glance to Wessex. "We've fought gods before," he says. "Wouldn't be the first time. I'm sure it wouldn't be the last, either." If they survive!

As the clipboard is brought to him, Giles accepts it, and then looks over it. His lips move as he reads, but no sound comes out. He doesn't respond to what Sutekh says, for the moment, instead concentrating on reading the contract. And that includes the 'fine print'. He steps over to the table and sits down in his previously vacated chair. One hand keeps the contract, the other reaches for his tea. Which he sips without paying much attention to it. He doesn't even pay any mind to the sounds of the beasty outside laying down.

Phobos has posed:
    "Myself," Alexander says in response to his uncle. "Perhaps I would have aid of others, but I am only empowered to speak to mine own fate." And sometimes not even then for the Fates can be fickle.
    A hand lifts as he gestures, "I am bound, of course, by bonds of family and friendship. A few oaths sworn to mortal agencies. Beyond that..." He uncurls that hand to the side, "There is some leeway assuredly."
    "We shall refer to the contract," Alexander looks sidelong to the others, as if seeking for any particular form of objection before, noting Giles is deep in reading the contract. He then murmurs toward Seth, "And in three days have a strong and fair answer. In that interim I will grant my word this one will not flee from what has been wrought."
    And then, in a hint of a companionable tone he says to the elder god, "As if that would do him any good, of course. But still, the forms must be followed."
    Then he slaps his hands together, "But there, I think we have a reasonable course of action? With work well and done, let us share a meal, perhaps some entertainment. Then in three day's time... you shall have your answer."
    There's a smile of thanks sent to Mercy as she returns with the butter as she retakes her tea and he his. A bench seat will be drawn out at the table he had been sitting at moments ago, one hand sweeping to indicate it is for Seth, though a glance is spared around in case there might be some objection from the others.

Sinister has posed:
Sutekh gives a soft 'Aaah!' at the return with the butter, looking intensely pleased with the pat delivered with its foil unveiled. "Sweet memories. Once, it was so hard to keep any dairy where I kept my domain." ANd thus its value, no doubt. He cuts off a slice, drops it into his tea and settles back with this in mind, on the bench so neatly arranged.

Sincere thought seems to take the elder god though, before a firm nod and a spit into his right hand is made, proffering the spit-wad toward whomsoever is striking this deal, which would be Phobos /and/ Giles at the current time. "When the moon rises on the third day, I will return. If you decide before this time, invoke my name cartouche on papyrus and light the red flame beneath it, send it to the wind. I will hear."

Sinister shakes his head a few times to the insanity of this night and goes to get his tea doctored how he likes it, black and with one lump.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Contracts, whether they be human of design or writ by another hand, are always good to look over and fully understand the contents of before signing in any way. Mercy doesn't try to get a look at the contract -- it wouldn't do her any good as she doesn't understand hieroglyphics. And so she respectfully lets the doctor and Giles read it through. A nod is given towards Alexander, a small smile finding her features in exchange for the one he'd offered in thanks for the butter. If her small contribution makes things better, then she's more than glad to go without it. More cookies will have to wait until more shopping happens.

With her tea reclaimed, Mercy settles to one of the seats at the table, tucking her feet beneath herself as she does so. The run to her car has made her soaked again, and she gives a slight and small shiver. She lifts her mug of tea, and takes a sip of it, her gaze flicking from one to the other of those also within the store.

Tonight has been a strangeness filled with even stranger things. And certain none of them were anything that she had been expected. Lifting one of her hands, she brushes one of her braids back from where it had come to rest in front of her shoulder, and she lifts her tea to take another sip. For the moment, it would seem that the coyote is going to keep quiet.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles doesn't really here what Alexander says, not on the surface, but the memory is there in his brain and he'll remember it if he thinks a little bit about it. He finishes reading the contract and lays it atop the table. His expression is thoughtful as he sips tea. It takes him a few moments to come out of his thoughts and back into listening to the conversation.

He smiles. "And now there's refridgeration?" He nods at the way to call Sutekh. He understands. He rises to his feet and spits into his hand before placing it in Sutekh's and shaking once, firmly. "On that day, I'll be sure to have a proper guest greeting meal ready for you. And if you need help getting to your next destination, just say the word." Not that the god needing help there is likely, not when he has a servitor at his beck and call. And the power besides to wield that beast like a weapon.

He turns then and walks over to the coat rack. His leather jacket hangs there, and he picks it up off the hook. Once he has the coat in hand, Giles turns and walks back to the table and around behind Mercy. Where he lifts the coat and wraps it around her shoulders. Clearly, he hadn't missed that little shiver. He takes a moment to free her hair from beneath the jacket, so it can dry atop it.

Phobos has posed:
    "I would it have been under better circumstances we met, but this should suffice, uncle." Alexander takes a step to the side giving room for Giles to advance and make that sealing of the bond. He offers a pleasant smile to the Englishman then turns to watch as the two shake hands.
    Once that's done and when it's his turn, Phobos will spit into his hand and then extend it back to Sutekh as he murmurs. "On the third night and before, I shall be here."
    A simple promise, but a binding one. The Olympian makes sure to shake hands sharply, precisely, not pressing nor yielding, three pumps and done before he steps back.
    "Now," he finally takes a seat to the right of Sutekh making his uncle the prime guest and he a secondary of even tertiary one and creating it so that Giles, the host, will be at the perceived 'head' of the table. "Is it a time for the telling of stories. And if so, who wishes to start?" As he says this he reclaims his tea, smiles, and takes a nice long sip.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister may just be running 'traditional egyptian feasts' through his head and drawing up some curious results judging by the look he sports. Brooding has definitely taken a hold on doctor Wessex, for sure and certain. "I don't know about you, good sirs and ladies, but I would quite like to hear -why- such bindings and forbiddances on Apophis came about. That, I am sure, was a story none of us here, alive and mortal" or immortal, for that matter "know the truth of." He smiles though, drawing closer to settle off to the side, in no pride of place whatsoever at the auspicious table. "What say you?"

Sutekh frowns oh-so-slightly at that, glancing face to face, his golden eyes a little shadowed. Then, there is a slap upon the table of one open palm and having been gifted with offerings and slaked with tea, a feast materializes on the tabletop at his command. All of it is traditional in the strictest of senses and all of it desert fare; dates, hunks of a flat, white substance that looks wafer thin and oddly irregular, almost like the left-behind veins of a leaf, when all other parts have dried up. Lizards on skewers as well as flagons of Lassi laced with fruit and oddly enough? Copious amounts of beer flagons. THe egyptians were big on beer. He settles with a gesture of his right and to the table, setting the crook beside him where it simply... stands upright, rooted to the floor. "That is an old story. You are right, in that few know all that took place any more. Stories tend to change with the telling of them."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
An ear had been turned to listen to the tread of Giles's footsteps, and there's half an inquisitive sound that rises from her as she lifts her gaze from her tea and to him, when he comes up beside her. There's a moment where Mercy almost offers up an argument to the jacket being settled around her shoulders, but instead she ducks her chin a little bit and gives him a warm smile, a bit of colour coming to her cheeks. "Thank you," she says softly, a warm note to her voice. She lifts one of her hands to lightly brush her fingers over one of his hands after he's freed her hair from beneath the jacket, looking up at him.

Her gaze turns swiftly towards Sutekh when he slaps the table so suddenly, startling her somewhat (though at least she doesn't spill her tea!), and her nose gives a slight twitch at the sudden appearance of the food. Are there rules about eating the food a God summons? Mercy isn't entirely sure about that. She tilts her head a touch to one side, considering his words before she gives a small nod. "I would expect it would likely change with who tells the story, as well," Mercy says softly. She glances briefly towards Phobos and the doctor, and then she lifts her mug to take a sip of her tea.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles remains standing behind Mercy, for the moment, his left hand still resting atop her shoulder. "You're welcome," he says to her. He's set the bronze sword down at some point. It lays atop the table between his tea and the contract. "Stories? Like what kind of stories?" Still, he doesn't miss that the 'head' of the table has been left vacant for him. As Wessex requests a story, Giles nods his agreement. "Not much is known. Apophis was banished to the shadowlands to drive evil from the world. And, in some places, there's an annual banishing ritual. By the priests of Ra, of course. There was mud, and crushing, and fire."

He steps closer to the table but stays next to Mercy for the moment. Giles reaches for one of the skewered lizards and starts to eat it without any hesitation at all. He nods to Mercy. "All things change with who tells them. That's why books are so important."

Phobos has posed:
    After such conversation granted, now it is Alexander's turn to fall mostly silent, settling in with his tea and smiling across the way at the others. He then straightens up and and his eyebrows rise at the presentation of such abundance.
    Once the discussion resumes he takes up a date and holds it in hand then takes a bite. He chews for a time while Giles speaks of what he's heard of Apophis then he looks across the way toward Sutekh. "I would hear you tell it, uncle."
    At that as his contribution he settles in, sips the tea, nibbles on the date, and seems to be at his ease.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister settles with one arm hooked over the back of the chair, silent as he glances to Giles, Phobos, Mercy and back to their guest of honour. He tilts his own head to listen, attentively.

Sutekh bows his head a fraction, then begins. "Apep was not born of father and mother. Only mother. He slithered from her loins, as the shadow of Ra, his brother. Mother was Neith, first born, oldest. As olympians call, was titan. Before gods, before Sutekh and Osiris, sisters Isis and Nepthys. But this... not right either. Seeing is different than knowing, or telling. Apep, he is not coming from here." He gestures to the ground at thier feet with a single point downwards. "He come and he go, through walls between. Bring things from dark place to light, make things go wrong." He gestures up, and around. "Men are giving stories and names to other things older. Walls of worlds, they start to come apart. In North, the northmen gods fight with giants, to help make realms secure. They are younger than Sutekh.... brought cleverness with machines with."

He shrugs and continues "But mirror was of story we fought first. Lots of things happen on this world, this land. Amazing things. Apep, he is coming from place where no things are. And at first, he is just little snake. Where he bites, bad things happen -- spirit of land become sour. ANimal become sour. Spirit of animal become sour and things begin melting. Was daughter of nephew Horus that killed Apep first... BAstet, she saw him, caught him in the dark with eyes that see beyond what is here. What all are seeing. ANd that was beginning of trouble; when he live, he is bound by life, when he die, cannot kill twice."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The bronze sword earns a look and a flicker of her curiosity, for it is an interesting weapon. As his hand remains on her shoulder, Mercy moves her free hand to bring it to lightly rest atop of his, fingers curling softly about his hand to give it a soft squeeze. She takes another sip of her tea before reaching out to place the mug on the table. She considers the food anew, now that Giles has laid claim to a lizard to eat. Her nose gives a slight twitch, and she reaches out to claim a skewered lizard for herself.

"Mmm, well... not all books give the accurate truth either. It depends on who was writing it. Who they were told to make the story shine for, in some cases. Not all stories happened as they were written to have taken place," she says in a thoughtful tone. It's a thing that she knows happens simply from her own encounters with things of a more supernatural nature. "Books are very important, though. I can't argue that," she adds, a smile tugging her lips as she looks up at Giles. Then she takes a bite of the lizard on a stick. Nompf!

And whilst she munches on the lizard, she turns her attention to Sutekh, falling quiet and listening to the story that he tells. Her brow wrinkles, and she tilts her head slightly to one side. "I'm sorry... I don't mean to interrupt or be impolite at all. Do you mean that he passes between the realms? From where the living are to where the dead are, and that he brings back... things like demons?" she asks in a soft tone. "If he's flesh then he can die but if he's already dead then he can't be made... well... permanently dead?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
Rupert Giles glances once around the table, and then focuses on Sutekh, listening as the story is told. Tale. History. Giles listens with rapt attention. His expression, beyond being rapt with fascination, is also thoughtful. "It sounds like 'tis a better thing that he's bound," he says. He continues munching on the lizard until it's gone, then reaches for another bit without really looking to see what it is.

He nods to Mercy. "You're correct. But, they don't change with each reading like stories change with each telling, is what I was getting at." He considers what is said of Apep though. His expression thoughtful, brow furrowed just a little. "Do you mean he's immortal? Or living dead like a vampire? Bound by life.. immortal. Cannot kill twice, undead. Yes?" It seems to make /some/ sense to Giles.

Phobos has posed:
    There is no rush to Alexander, he seems to be at his ease and comfortable as he listens to Sutekh and occasionally nibbles a little from the date. After a bit of time he'll likely move on to a skewered lizard and pull off one of its legs to pick at and take a few bites now and again.
    Yet there is a moment when a faint buzzing comes from his pocket, just two soft bzzzts that cause him to lift a hand to his jean pocket. He reaches in, hits one of the side buttons, and then the phone falls silent. "Pardon."
    That taken care of he, returns his focus back to Sutekh. The delving, however, the information gathering... for some reason he does not indulge.

Sinister has posed:
"Not just between world of life and world of death. That has rules, makes sense, has order, is governed." SUtekh replies. "I speak to Nut, when she still spoke back. Spoke to Geb, as we come after them. Nut, she says Neith, she make all things, mother of everything, mother of monsters also. Neith, the people they are not speaking her names, not giving her rituals voice. This men did, when they understood what she was, afraid of her. She is Opener of the ways. All ways. Sometimes, she scream in pleasure and new paths they come. Sometimes, she vomits and new things come from. Apep, come from afterbirth of Ra, am thinking." The god of foreigners and other things shrugs, ponders as he takes one of the white leafy things and snaps it gently, eating it slow. It smells a little like coconut milk, slightly sweet on the nostrils.

"He die by Bastet's paw, grow in underworld, slither between there and the place where nothing is. Come back, yes... like demons. THings unmake in his wake and he is hating on his brother, Ra. THen, one night," he points up toward the sky. "Red star grows. Becomes closer and Ptah, keeper of gates and travelling, he feels something travel. Come closer, coming from place beyond -- earth killer. Humans call them comet, asteroid. Giant space rock. But this not just rock, is hive. Is... coming from beyond walls. Ship to bring spawn of Apep to world and humans, some they think this world must end, must melt. Worship him. Take things and make them unholy for him and the red star grows in the sky. SO, we fight, on and on. Through days and into the dark." He laughs a little and gestures at himself. "Am not looking like fighter, not warrior yes? Strike like jackal, fight with crook, hook, blade and arrow and with the wind and desert and djinn. But I fight in dark ways, cunning ways, I win where brothers do not. So... Horus, when he must travel through the deepest dark, he takes me with him on his great boat and we watch, travel the dark roads and Apep strikes. I kill him again, with spear through eye..." he points at his face. "But he is already dead. Night after night... he strikes and I fight. Cannot kill what is already dead." He looks up again then. "Nut takes us on sky river, in the boat toward the red star, we strike great battle with the ship of Apep and it splinters, half comes crashing down, falls in ocean, is great cataclysm. Flood comes. But followers of Apep, they steal chunks of his stone and with it, they feed him. Hid many away. Some, am forced to guard. Is very long time, always guarding. Men they are easy to whisper to... if he comes again, there are so many more men now, we will not be able to stop the Apep star."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Oh, yes! That's quite true. I wasn't thinking of it from that side of things," Mercy admits, ducking her chin a little bit sheepishly. "The interpretation might change depending on the reader and their perspective and beliefs and what have you, but the words on the page stay constant," she says, a smile coming to her features as she looks to him. Her fingers give his a soft squeeze, and she munches on more of the lizard. On a stick. She glances towards Phobos, and then turns her attention back to Sutekh.

She goes quiet, listening as he speaks further on the history of things. She finds herself nodding a little bit now and again during what he says. And there's a hint of a smile that touches her lips. "One need not look like a fighter or a warrior in order to be one," she says softly, a thoughtful tone to her voice. She tilts her head a little bit to one side, thinking on a bit more of what was said. And she blinks at a thought that strikes her. "Do you mean that there's... well... for lack of a better word, a cult of these followers and they're looking to bring another of these hives?" she asks, a bit uncertainly. That's what it seems like, at least, but she could easily be wrong. She hopes she's wrong.

Sinister has posed:
"Yes. And they are all over world. Different names same thing. But! I see in three days." Set beams now, gets up claims his golden staff and vanishes in a bolt of lightning from absolutely nowhere. Outside, it is simply rain now. Nothing but rain. If anyone checks, the Thyphonic beast is also gone, luckily.