730/Mirror Mirror ...

Mirror Mirror ...
Date of Scene:	30 May 2017
Location:	A Rest Stop off the Highway
Synopsis:	Mercy Thompson and Sam Winchester team up to deal with a group of cursed animals created by a mysterious enchanted mirror.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Sam Winchester

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
Evening, or to be more precisely, late night. The lone stretch of highway is a long rolling road that seems to go on and on, the rhythmic flashes of lights almost hypnotic in nature. While the majority of the highway is empty the occasional car can still be seen, as one goes past on the opposite roadway, or comes close and eventually passes fellow travelers going in the same direction. Mile-markers and signage can likewise be seen as a person drives along the road and while the area looks completely desolute it's really not. Not when the signs begin to denote a rest stop is only two miles away; please turn right.

When that off-ramp is taken one will find a rest stop. It's a nice little rest stop. Very quaint and made to look like a little log cabin set against a very wooded area. The parking lot of this specific rest stop is half full, even with the lateness of the evening. A mixture of cars, SUVs and mini vans, sit among the larger eighteen wheeler trucks. Through the large glass windows movement can be seen as people come to find food, drinks, or run for bathroom breaks.

It's, however, not the rest that's in trouble. Rather it's behind the rest stop that pings at any other-worldly senses that are nearby. The faintest tendrils of magic can be felt curling outward from the edge of that sharply shaded wooded area. When a person gets closer to the woods they'll see the forested area stretches for miles and miles and while normally the nocturnal sounds of the forest might be heard, nothing can be heard now. No chirp of cricket, or scratch of mouse, or even prowl of predator. Everything is silent as even the beasts know something is wrong within their woods; something isn't right. They must hide and hunker down now, to avoid whatever trouble is here.

Their silence is guaranteed as the tang of magic continues to grow.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Each time Sam Winchester has experienced one of the strange premonitions that has been plaguing him for the past year, he experiences two sensations.

The first is pain. Incredible, eye-searing, stabbing pain both just before and just after the vision, though never during. During the vision there is a brief burst of elation, not just because he is being given a glimpse into the very future, but because the pain is for the moment quite gone.

The second is a burst of raw fear, because he has no idea where these visions are coming from.

Soon, both pass, and there is only dealing with the problem, only bringing some sort of justification to the idea that he should have such things.

(In a few days, when he lies in a hospital bed after being stabbed by some sort of crazed assassin, he'll also have cause to wonder why sometimes he gets the damned things and sometimes he doesn't, but for today he is hale, and whole).

Dean is otherwise occupied tonight, so Sam brings his black Dodge Charger, now in his name, down the hypnotic, winding highway, watching the mile markers as they pass, noting the numbers as they appeared in his mind, counting down: 99, 98, 97...Rest stop to the right...no more rest stops for 45 more miles.

He pulls over into the parking lot, like 1,000 parking lots he's been in throughout the course of his life, a course that's been as long and winding as tonight's road...highway exits, rest areas, roadside diners, gas stations. He notes the fact that the station is doing a brisk business in its trade tonight, aware that civilians could still be caught in the crossfire if this goes sideways.

He doesn't linger, though. His steps are strong and full of purpose as he makes his way behind the rest stop. It is only when he is well out of sight of anyone at all that he pulls his gun and his flashlight, flipping the latter on so he can see where he's walking as he follows the sense of that magic, a sense that is as new to him as his premonitions are. The silence is a bad sign; he knows it for one, and he finds himself wishing he had //made// Dean come with him.

Too late now.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Indeed too late now.

The curl of magic will lead him on an almost winding chase; around some trees, through some closely clumped together bushes, and even through a small natural-born glade. With each step into that eerily silent and dark forest, that sense of wrongness will continue to grow. The magic, if one is able to sense such definitive qualities about it, has a bent of blood to it. Perhaps something akin to blood magic; or something that's recently taken a life.

Either way, it's not good. At all.

The circle of light his flashlight shines upon the ground or around the area itself will continue to show the normal tracks within the forest; paw prints, dead fall, leaves, plants, moss and so much dirt. It's only as that large man approaches another natural-born grove that he'll notice the area around him getting lighter. There's another source of light just ahead, however, instead of a bright happy yellow or white light, it holds a pale sickly green cast to it. The kind that might remind a person of acid, or sickness, or even death. Should he enters the small copse of trees the first thing he might notice is the smell within - burning. Or specifically burnt flesh. The source of that smell can be see a few feet away. The desiccated form of a human body can be seen, laying prone, with one arm stretched outward. That crispy looking hand is holding the handle of a mirror; the artifact looking quite archaic with its pewter scrollwork and dinged and dingy appearance. In fact, the mirror itself holds more scratches versus shine.

It also pulses with that vague green glow.

Even without magical sight small tendrils of cohesive energy can be seen lazily floating around the mirror; green, much like the light it emits.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam is often accused of being a sort of walking encyclopedia of the supernatural. He's done his homework, spending many a night reading lore just to try to fix it into his head. But sometimes he runs across things that defy all of that carefully conducted due diligence. Hazel eyes narrow in confusion as he takes in the sight of the dessicated corpse and the apparently active magical mirror that the corpse holds. Sadly, the dead body holds little distress for him in this moment. He's seen too many of those. Later he'll feel sorry for whomever it was, but for now...

For now he stops, armed and ready, gun trained on the mirror as he strains his vision to try to see if he can't make out and identify any sigils in the scrollwork of the mirror, letting the light of his flashlight play over it. As he racks his brain to try to discover if he's got any relevant or useful fact for this situation bumping around in there, something that didn't come immediately to mind but which might help him now. Given the mirror itself could have been the reason for the demise of the one holding it he feels caution is more than warranted in this instance. He hesitates long enough to reach into his jacket pocket, to bring out a satchet of salt. He empties it around himself in a hasty circle, creating a barrier that might hold against the magical energy, and at least some of the rogue's gallery that might be in the vicinity of such a thing.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Sigils, scrollwork -

- The pewter is just that, decorative, but the surface of the mirror might flare brightly within Sam's sight. If he can read such words, written in some odd language, then he'll see something that roughly translates to 'change'. Or does it shift to 'chaos'. Or perhaps it's a mixture of both sigils; one laid over the top of the other.

And while those words don't necessarily describe themselves to cause immediate death by fire, somehow, someway, that person did indeed die by some kind of fire or internal combustion.

The salt is definitely a good idea, for when Sam is a specific distance from the mirror those tendrils suddenly seem to activate. Their lazy movements within the air suddenly still, before they turn abruptly around to Sam. Then like a whip three of them crack outward towards the large man, intending to attack, and likely destroy, corrupt, or change him. It's only because of that salt barrier that the tendrils are stopped and then with an almost intelligent appearance, the tendrils begin to probe around the circle trying to find a weak point.

But, because there is always one, that's really not the true cause for alarm here. No, it's really the growling that can now be heard from across the clearing. From within a small clump of bushes two verdant green eyes can be seen peering outward. They blink slowly and when that salt is placed upon the ground the growling only intensifies. Then, with only a shiver of warning from the plants over that way, the creature explodes outward and into the clearing.

It might have once been a fox, but now it's larger than any normal fox out there and the its fur has turned black as pitch, versus russet red. Large teeth are glimpsed when it crinkles its muzzle into another growl and with that warning, the thing launches itself towards Sam -

- Salt might not protect him here.

A half a mile away a lone coyote raises her head upward, her gaze unfocused for a moment. The vaguest scent of magic is upon the wind and with a half-whine of sound, she turns in that general direction. Her casual trot is now replaced by a ground eating lope.

Sam Winchester has posed:
If it's Latin he most certainly can. Hebrew or Enochian, certainly. Other languages are spottier for him if he doesn't have a book open in front of him. He at least notes the shape of them, if they're not one of the tongues in his wheelhouse, spots the signs of internal combustion.

The tendrils activate, and Sam hisses and rears back just a little, all without taking a single step outside of his hastily erected salt ward. He watches them probe for a weak point and opens his mouth for his go-to banishment spell...

Only for //that// little idea to go away as soon as the creature charges.

He doesn't hesitate as it flies towards him, discharging his weapon grimly, knowing if he misses the rabid little thing might destroy his circle, knowing if he fires too late the body will destroy his circle, knowing that it can easily get across it and maul him, knowing the entire collection of things that might go wrong in a split second if these bullets don't fly true and end the little guy's life.

They could even fly true...and be the wrong kind of bullet.

But hunting is ever a gambler's game; one brings the tools for the task, employs them as best one can, hopes one grabbed the right set this time around, and does one's level best, all in the pursuit of stopping these things from hurting others and perhaps living to die another day.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
If Sam believes in Gods, perhaps one has smiled upon him this night, for his bullets hit true.

The verdant shine that was held within the fox's eyes slowly dims and when the creature lands upon the ground with a solid thwump, Sam will see its form begin to shrink. The black as pitch fur will slowly leach back to the more normal russet and cream tones and with that, the thing passes. Those tendrils that were probing for a weakness suddenly rear backwards and with quick, almost sentience movements, they hover over the dead little fox. If it could hiss it would and it would be /hissing/ at Sam for daring to kill one of its things. Its creations! How dare him!

And while Sam might try and ready that banishment spell again, the mirror might not give him a chance. Not as it plunges a magic tendril through the ground; phasing ever downward until it reaches a creature beneath the ground. With but one touch the creature suddenly morphs, grows, its fur taking on a darker cast and then suddenly, with a burst of dirt a second beast appears. It was once a badger, but no more. It's square squat face will turn towards Sam and with a crinkle of its muzzle it offers a hissing-spit of a sound.

And yes, this one is larger than normal. The size of a big dog.

And like the fox, it moves, quickly. It's intending to take a swipe at Sam's ankles with those long talon-like claws of its.

Finally, if he's multi-tasking he might see two other tendrils beginning to move outward, towards the forest - perhaps searching for more animals to change.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Well he's...met one or two, but they were the nasty pagan sort that liked to eat hearts. Not exactly conducive to inspirational prayers. Still...whatever's watching out for him does get some sort of wordless gratitude as the creature drops, becoming the body of a little fox once more. He watches the magic start to grow angrier at him for spoiling its creation. His eyes widen, and he swallows, hard, weapon still at the ready, breathing a bit harder as he does indeed open his mouth to try again...

"GAH!" he cries, as the creature gets into his ankles. He plants himself, knowing that to allow his natural instinct to stumble backwards would mean his life, allowing blood to pool into his shoes and socks as he bares his teeth and sights with the weapon again, intending to put this distorted animal out of his misery as well. He spares a worry for the number the creature might well have already done on his circle.

He's all too aware that the mad magic is trying to create reinforcements, trying to summon an army of altered creatures to end his life. His breathing picks up speed in response, his heartrate skyrocketing, but he can only handle the most immediate problem, and that problem is the next set of shots he's aiming at the badger, just in case.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Sam's salt circle is still somewhat intact; oh there's definite gaps in it, but the mirror is far too focused upon its task at hand to notice. Creating reinforcements. It'll eventually notice, but that moment isn't now.

The badger hisses in happiness when its strike hits home, and while it readies another attack with both claws and teeth, two more shots ring out, clear and startling within the little copse of trees.

For Mercy the sound of gunfire only quickens her four-footed steps. She's coming from the side of Sam, the circle and the badger.

When Sam looks up from taking care the latest of creatures (which is returning back to normal much like the fox did), he'll find two more sets of eyes upon him. One from the trees, something that was an owl, and another upon the ground. The one upon the ground might be worrisome; perhaps it was once a feral cat, but no more. It's dark as a panther and nearly as big and with a hiss, the thing leaps at Sam!

Before the beast can hit him, however, and hopefully before he fires at it, the slim quick-footed body of a coyote can be seen suddenly leaping for the cat. When the coyote hits the cat both animals go rough and tumble to the ground, the coyote yipping and growling as they fall.

One can only hope he doesn't shoot both coyote and cat; Mercy has enough scars from buckshot, thanks.

And let's not forget that owl, the great feathered beast will off a haunting sort of ho-oo-t, before it drops from the tree its large claws extended towards Sam, particularly his face.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The owl that comes gunning for Sam's face -- already bearing healing clawmarks from another encounter-- definitely takes up all of his attention. He's more grateful for the dog than anything else (and that's really all he sees in that split second, a dog) as he whips his arm up in a strong high-block meant to both protect his face and knock the owl off course. He'd been sighting at that panther, the greater threat for sure, and there is no time to re-aim and re-sight on the flying bird. He knows the hit is far too weak to stop the enhanced creature in its tracks, but maybe it will buy him the time he needs to try to find it in the dark and fire again. Soon, he shall have to either reload or drop the gun in favor of his second side-arm, but one thing he does bring to this fight is focus.

The owl becomes the only thing in his world for a few seconds as he raises his gun to try to make good use of the final shots in the clip.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The owl is knocked off course by Sam's block, and while its claws might offer a few scratches before it goes, it's still forced towards the ground. That's never a great place to be for a bird and so with a shriek of anger, the feathered beast flaps its great wings and just as it starts to gain altitude, that shot is fired by Sam.

It's not a death blow, but soon that 'dog' is back up and near Sam and with a loud YIP it pounces upon the bird. Quick work of teeth and muzzle will find the neck of the bird being cracked; killing it neatly and quickly. With a final breath the bird dies and slowly its form shrinks to something more normal.

The coyote will stare hard at Sam, as it senses something within the man, but it's really not something they can go into. Not when the mirror reacts to its latest things being killed. The tendrils rear upward, once more heading towards Sam, but with the coyote so close ... it changes directions suddenly, heading towards it!

A window of opportunity for certain, as Mercy starts to scrabble backward, a sudden whine filling the air as she tries to out-dash those things.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam can think of only one reasonable solution to the problem, and it is literally a long shot.

He has to take out the source of the problem, and he has to do it fast enough for the dog to get away. He drops his weapon, swiftly takes up his loaded second sidearm, removes the safety, and sights on the mirror itself. His jaw makes a stubborn line in the dark as he fires three shots into the mirror itself. Shattering it will either end the magic or unleash it fully. He has no idea which. He will either compeltely solve their situation in a way his brother would have solved it 30 seconds after arriving here, without the need for quite so much animal slaughter, or he will render this night infinitely and irrevocably //worse//.

He has no idea which act he is performing in those swift, desperate seconds. The large gambler merely rolls his dice, knowing that he might never even see the results on their face if it happens that he has chosen poorly.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
While the mirror has defenses, they're mostly mystical in nature, not physical defenses and so when those shots are fired, they hit.

An explosion does happen, but it's not Earth-wiping, it's just a release of the magical energies held within. The bullets shatter the boundaries of the mirror, but more importantly those sigils. The chaotic and changing energies are released in a blast of light, wind and mostly noisy fury. Little bits of glass, pewter and desiccated body go flying everywhere. And once the magical energies dissipate Sam will find the area dark once more, that eerily green glow having faded with the destruction of the mirror. He'll need to use his flashlight again to see anything -

- Speaking of seeing anything, off to the side the coyote sits, or, at least where the coyote should have been. Now a woman sits, crouched in those modest-keeping-shadows, which is a good thing, since she's not necessarily clothed. It takes a moment for Mercy Thompson to realize she's no longer furred and with a look of surprise, the woman snaps, "What in the -" Hell. Yes, she wants to say hell there, because she did not initiate this particular change, something else did, then, "Don't turn around!" That's to Sam and it's almost shouted, "Otherwise /you're/ going to be embarrassed." A self-deprecating humor might be heard from Mercy now, as adds, "Give me ten. I have a small bag -" And she does too. She typically carries it around her neck, like a Saint Bernard, it's just outside the little grove, dropped safely in the bushes for later.

Then just like that the woman is gone and replaced by the coyote again. It darts into the bushes to get her bag and within a few minutes the woman will return, dressed, albeit barefoot.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam picks up his flashlight, dropped with the gun, then freezes when he hears a young woman's voice.

It should be noted that in his experience, humans who turn into animals and back again on the regular are rarely friends. She is worried about her modesty, he is worried, briefly, about the manner of monster who is still here behind the Rest Area with him. But...soon reason catches up past the adrenaline in his veins, relaxing the willingness to kill if he must from his face. Whatever she was, she was trying to help him. This warrants a return of guns to holsters. It warrants a situation where he obediently stays put while she handles her business, and chooses to use his words instead of his weapons.

Indeed, all hints that he might have been perfectly willing to put two in //her// heart next if he had to are utterly erased by the time she comes padding out of the bushes, a fully dressed woman who is being nothing but friendly. His smile is quick but genuine, even as he issues himself another reminder that the farther east he's come, the less straightforward his encounters have gotten. The lines defining 'monster' and 'not monster' must needs be rewritten if he is going to remain on the side of the angels.

"Thanks for tackling that panther. I think there was a good chance it would have had me for dinner without your help."

First thing's first, after all.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's some truth to that. Mercy has met many a were who wasn't friendly.

Thankfully, Sam doesn't put her in that category, and she'll not have a new scar added to the others. "You're welcome." Comes her friendly, albeit still amused sounding voice, "Glad I was close enough to help." She continues with, her voice turning more serious, as she turns her dark gaze towards the clearing. She may not have a flashlight, but she can still read the lay of the land well enough. "I was a mile out running when I felt the pull of the magic." Then her gaze turns back to Sam, as she considers the young man before her. "Is that what brought you here too?" She'll ask, though there's a certain understanding in her gaze as she detects the oddity of the man. "I'm Mercy. Mercy Thompson." She'll add after a moment, always polite, even as she carefully starts to step further into the clearing. She's heading more towards the half blown apart body now and the incinerated mirror, "Nice shooting too, by the way."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Sort of," Sam says, in answer to her question about what brought him out here. But he's uneasy about that, and it seems that's the best answer she's going to get from him on that front...or at least the last honest answer.

Instead, he moves on to the matter of introductions. He almost gives her the Alias of the Hour, but ultimately does not. His instincts urge him to give the real one, and so he does. "Sam. Sam Winchester." He gives only a quick, sheepish grin to her compliments on his shooting before finally coming to frown down at the mirror and the body that was holding it.

"This thing wasn't out here in a vacuum," he observes, rapidly moving on to the case that he doesn't feel is quite resolved yet. He kneels down, pulling on a pair of skin-tight black gloves so that he might search the body for identification, or search for some sense of where the mirror came from...some marker of its origin that he can follow back to its source.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"I'd say good to meet you, Sam, but I'm pretty sure neither of us thinks this is the best way to meet." Jokes the woman, because what else can you do? When faced with the fantastical enough it soon becomes a little more mundane, though never fully mundane.

And don't think she hasn't realized he skirted her question there, but she doesn't pursue it. She understands; everyone has secrets, and that's just how it is.

Crouching down near the body, Sam and the remains of the mirror, Mercy nods, "I agree. I didn't get a look at the mirror before it blew; what did it look like?" As for the mirror there's no specific mark that can be found upon it, denoting who it belonged to, but the scrollwork that can be found definitely gives off a French feel. Or something that was possibly patterned on a French style of mirror decoration. It's definitely old though, there's no getting past that, as the pewter almost crumbles when it's touch. And while Sam collects his evidence, Mercy will also add, "And why did it kill the person, but not the animals? What made them different."

If Sam can sense such things the little bits of mirror still continue to hum with residual magical energies and again, the feel of them are chaotic in nature, with just a touch of blood-magic.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He describes the mirror to Mercy, then furrows his brow. "Blood magic. Maybe...time release spell, or maybe the person used it incorrectly or...I don't know. It's French though." He snaps a few photos of it, musing, "There can't be that many places that sell French silver mirrors, and if I can figure who this person is..."

He hesitates, then takes a chance. "I haven't had time to set up a dangerous artifact vault," more like a store room, but whatever, "in this city yet. You said the magic drew you. Is this something you handle a lot? Can you take this stuff and dispose of it safely?" She's earned, after all, some measure of his trust, and really, if she just goes off with it all she's doing is risking that //she// might spontaneously combust.

"Maybe we can exchange phone numbers, and I can try to work these leads, tell you later what I've found?" Contacts, friendly ones, are also not to be disdained in this brave new hunting world he's found himself in. And if he's relying solely on his gut to divide up this labor...well.

His gut has served him well, before.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"French." She says thoughtfully, as she considers the bits and pieces she can see, but then at Sam's dangerous vault remark, she can't quite stop the quirk of a grin lifting a corner of her mouth upward. "A vault, really?" Mercy says, her voice turning slightly amused again. "But, I do have a friend that can dispose of this for us." At least she thinks Loki can, "I'll take it back. I'd rather not allow it to lay here for some other potential people do use." Or really other potential magic users to find.

So, while she doesn't necessarily want to touch the fragments, she does. She quickly gathers up the fragments she can find; though there's likely some bits and pieces she misses, but the majority is now held within her hands. "And sure." She adds, when he asks for a phone number, "Give me a second, I have a card." And she does, really. She'll move to the little satchel that carried her change of clothes and with quick efficient movements, the shards of the mirror will be deposited within it. Before she closes the purse, however, a card will be pulled out.

Upon the card it simply states: Mercy's Garage - We specialize in both domestic and foreign made cars.

Then beneath that is an email address and a phone number. "Call me there, it's my place of business." Once the card is accepted, Mercy will shoulder that little purse and tilt her head slightly to the side. "I need to head that way, but as soon as you learn something let me know, okay? And be careful out there."