17142/Dockyards and Black Dogs

Dockyards and Black Dogs
Date of Scene:	09 February 2024
Location:	Tricorner Island
Synopsis:	Xander Prescott finds a doggedly determined magical enemy, and is bailed when an old aquaintence lends a hand.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Xander Prescott

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It was a feel good piece about how Wayne Enterprises is helping to open additional clinics for Dockyard worker s-- and anyone else who works in Tricorner Island -- to be able to access quick and affordable healthcare close to where they work and live, to improve an area that she spent time living in herself.

    Phoebe was dressed in business casual, nice slacks, decent shoes, a houndstooth black-and-white jacket over an orange blouse. Big Hoop earrings and her hair pulled back, carefully braided and pinned into place to look professional and not-too-'Ethnic'. Because obviously gotta pander to some of the jerks in Gotham City. It was being broadcast live.

    Meanwhile, between warehouses and the docks themselves, something is stalking. Larger than the biggest mastiff, overmuscled and yet moving fluidly with noxious green fluid dripping from its jaws, shaggy-coated and black as oil, so black that Anish Kapoor is not allowed to look at (and you are not allowed to look at it on his behalf), a barghest is wandering, hungry, fresh off a shipping boat from Hungary.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    In another life, Xander would have cared about the live broadcast. Not for the actual benefit it was bringing to Gotham, no of course not, but the optics of it, that's important. The Prescotts can always use good press, after all. But none of that matters any more.

    And anyway, that's not why he's here. Three or four streets over, the GCFD are responding to a 911 call about a warehouse fire. Xander hustles away from the scene, uncaring of the unconscious (or possibly worse-off) gang members he's left amidst the wreckage of their drug operation as the back corner of the place began to smolder. He'd done a basic life detection spell, to make sure there wasn't anyone else in the place, so if the fire department takes too long to get there... welp. So sad.

    He's got blood dripping from a cut on his temple, and sure, maybe he's a little dizzy from whatever had clobbered him upside the head (he's not entirely sure, actually) and he's bruised in several places under the several layers of jacket-hoodie-sweater that functions poorly as body armor, but his senses are mostly intact. Enough that he gets that particular little tickle sort of at the back of his neck, a little above the midpoint of his shoulder blades. The vibes, as they say, are bad. And nothing like that should be allowed to stalk through the streets of Gotham, so Xander diverts from the path leading him to the nearest train station to cut through an alleyway instead, following the trail of tainted magic.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    At least he's doing his due dilligence, but dogs on the dangerous dimensions of determination deign rarely to give a damn.

    The black dog is attracted to misery, to pain and injury, and to magic. Its eyes take on a glow as it begins to track from the blood bleeding from Xander's temple, picking up its pace to a leisurely trot as it rounds a corner, and spots Xander as it backtracks.

    The tail gives a low wag, the head coming low, eyes gleaming with malevolence as the barghest focuses its attention on Xander.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Misery? Pain and injury? Magic? Well, Xander's got all three in various quantities, so that just makes him a sorry target, doesn't it? His leisurely jog slows to a fast walk, and then stops entirely, as the beast comes round a corner at the end of the alley Xander finds himself halfway down.

    And then, "Ah, shit," he says underneath his breath. A hand lifts from his pocket, knuckles split and bruised, so that he can rub at his sore jaw distractedly. "Bit out of your normal haunting grounds, aren't you?"

    Great, he's talking to a dog. A big magic murder dog, sure, but... y'know, still a dog.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    He's talking to a dog. A big. Magical. Murder dog, whose mouth opens and shows a glow usually reserved for radioactive waste in cartoons.

    The Barghest takes a few steps towards the young homo magi, eyes narrowing more to burning green slit before it charges with an echoing howl confined to just the alleyway, intent on trying to scare Xander into freezing, to making a mistake.

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Fuck fuck fuck fuck "fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Yep, Xander excels under pressure (not really) but he's, at least, well-inured to being in danger, so he doesn't freeze. Well, he doesn't quite start moving, does he? But his eyes are roving across the cramped alleyway until he spots a puddle stretching across it, no doubt leftover from last night's slurry of nearly-snow.

    His hand stretches out. "Oleum!" The changing magic washes over him, from his core outward through his arm and into his fingers, and the water shimmers, an oilslick sheen appear on its surface. And then, in the next breath, "Ignis!" The burn starts down at the bottom of his sternum and follows the same path as before, but Xander feels sweat begin to gather on his brow at the effort calling it forth requires. You'd think using the same magic type of magic as he did only a few moments ago in the warehouse would make it easier, but no, it's always a struggle, like trying to lift something that's just too heavy for your strength.

    So he only manages a flame that's small like a spark in comparison to the relative conflagration he'd managed earlier, but it doesn't matter. The transfigured oil lights up, a barrier of flame between himself and the hound.

    And then Xander turns on his heels and runs for it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Language.

    The barghest snaps its jaws in an echoing bark that seems to bounce off skulls rther then walls, and it continues to chace -- the oil flares up. Heat fills the alleyway and licks at Xander's heels as the creature gives a momentary pause, wheeling back and forth before it simply leaps over the oil slick set aflame by a few measly sparks.

    It continues to charge after Xander, its dire bark and hot breath reaching out to carress at Xander's shoes and ankles in a promise tht he will be consumed... slowly... so that the barghest can savour every morsel of the young magi!

     And that's when a wrong turn might have been taken. The accidental left instead of a purposeful right -- and there is a high bricked end to the alleyway that Xander may find himself coming to!

Xander Prescott has posed:
    The fire gives the momentary reprieve that Xander needed, to get some distance between himself and the barghest. He just needs to make it back out onto the street, out of this tangle of back alleys.

    At least he's in decent enough shape for cardio. Lots of running, apparently, in this sort of lifestyle. It doesn't bother him much, except for the stitch in his side which he thinks has more to do with a lucky suckerpunch from earlier than him actually wearing out at all.

    He's thinking of that particular pain when he takes the wrong turn, and it's a second or two before he realizes he's actually hit a dead end, his gaze shifting back and forth for the next passageway only to find there isn't one. This time around he doesn't waste his breath on cursing, just starts turning around to go back the way he came.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
     -- ONLY TO SEE THE HOUND. Its scraggly coat flittering about like seaweed caught in a tide. the acid green of its mouth and eyes. The way that as it gets closer, the canine features become darkly embellished or wiped away, slowly, becoming a creature of teeth and dark hungers --

    And that's when more footsteps echo. The skid of leather and rubber soles on backsteet pavement.

    "Whoa -- that is... a big one." a voice valls out, and then with a ringing of an awful lot of Light magic, the back of the creature lights up with golden flame!

    "Hit it with your best shot!"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Okay, remember how Xander was being all adult about not cursing, there at the end? Nah, that goes right out the window when facing the barghest down, his back to a literal wall. "Shit, shit, fuck, shit," comes spilling out of his mouth as he takes a step backwards, only to, predictably, end up with his shoulderblades against the bricks.

    What does he know about barghests? They're not really beasts, are they, they're just amorphous dark energy given form, like the universe's bad intent decided to just get up and start walking around one day. Theoretically, he could just... convert that energy into something else. Simplest would be another kind of energy. Easy peasy! He sticks his hand out and says, "Lux," but nothing happens.

    Or maybe it's a delayed reaction, because suddenly -- no that's not what he was picturing, that's not his own magic -- the back of the beast is on fire. And someone is calling out for him to try again, so Xander squints his eyes closed, takes one deep breath, and --

    "LUX!" All of his power pours into the malevolent energy baring its teeth before him, and the creature's outline begins to glow, before a bright flash like a stun grenade goes off right there in the middle of the alley!

    Xander's head hits the wall behind him and he falls, appropriately stunned, onto his ass. His ears ring and his vision has whited out, but he sits there blinking for a few seconds, breath loud in his ears.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Barghest is now the Bargwas-t.

    And on the other side as the creature of darkness becomes transmuted to light and little pieces of it floating off, its echoing call ringing in both their heads, can Xander view his new friend.

    ... her hair is pinned up and set just so in place, though there's a couple of flyaways now. A black and white houndstooth jacket with an orange top beneath. Gray slacks, good quality boots, big hoops.

    Her hand outstretched and still glowing, and as Phoebe lowers her hand, she purses her lips.

    She looks at Xander.

    She POINTS AT HIM with PURPOSE.

    "YOU!"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    More blinking. Slowly, the black-and-white-and-orange figure in front of him comes into focus, as the light dissipates from the space between them.

    Xander frowns. That face is familiar, even though he can't quite place it.

    Until the echo of a punch, one from long ago, makes his cheek ache. "Oh fuck," he says. A man of many words, it seems. He closes his eyes again, expression going pinched, and without moving from where he's slumped down on the ground, he puts his hands up.

    "Please don't punch me again. I was a complete asshole back then and nothing I said about you or your family was true. You had as much a right to be there as I did--probably even more than I did, if I'm being honest."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Damn straight none of it was true." Phoebe comments breezily, stepping through the mote of lights, and she takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

    "That's like four lifetimes ago, though. You're hurt, let me see." she states, and hesitantly, she reaches down to Xander and offers him a hand up to his feet.

    "... you got taller."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Things pop and creak as Xander rises to his feet, after he had his own moment of hesitation before taking Phoebe's offered hand. He winces as the alley spins, but he remains stable on his feet somehow. It's a mystery even to him.

    Then, looking down at Phoebe, he cracks a smile. "You did too," he replies. He pulls his hand away and reaches up to lower the hood of his jacket, head turning so that she can see the still-bleeding cut on his temple. "Head wounds bleed a lot. It's fine." Whilst, of course, saying nothing about his knuckles or any of the many other sore spots currently concealed beneath his clothing.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's not fine. You possibly have a concussion." she states, dropping into medic mode.

    She very slowly raises her fingers up, turning his cheek slightly.

    "What happened?" she asks, and after dealing with the barghest, she debates on healing him, reaches into her pocketbook -- and pulls out a WayneTech phone.

    "I can call a ride for you to the hospital."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    "Honestly? Not a hundred percent sure. Think I got whacked with a crowbar or something." Xander doesn't provide any more information than that, though his mouth had clearly been open to continue. He only realizes, maybe a bit too late, that he probably shouldn't say anything at all about where he was and what he was doing.

    The phone coming out makes his eyes widen, and he shakes his head against Phoebe's hand, though it's not like he can try to step away. He's still backed up against the wall. "Please, don't. I'll -- it's fine. I'll go home and my aunt can keep an eye on me," he says. And then he holds both hands up, semi-defensively.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You can hardly stand without teetering. Shock is going to set in and your adreniline is going to give out. I'm not about to leave you in a back alley in *Gotham City*." Phoebe states, "That's how we get missing person reports." She presses her lips together and quietly whispers "Stand still."

    And with her fingertips brushing against his jaw to form the circut, she begins to heal him. Myriad aches and pains, bruises and splinters, wounds and cuts and those little pokes from the plastic tabs in clothing, all begin to slowly work themselves towards a state of healing.

    She's also making sure, of course, that there's no lasting affect from the creature they'd just taken out.

    "Do *not* tell anyone about this."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Xander can't really argue with that, so he just blinks down at Phoebe and dutifully does not so much as budge an inch when he's told not to move.

    The warmth that starts to flood him is unusual at first, but he knows the feel of magic enough to recognize it after a moment. Foreign magic, though, not his own, so that's... weird. His expression goes sort of frozen, and the blinking continues, but he does eventually take the risk of talking not equating to moving by saying, "I don't think I'm really in any kind of position to do otherwise, am I?"

    It's not really a question. He knows better. She knows about him as much as he knows about her, now.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You could start with stuff, and I'd come and find you and we'd have to have a talk." Phoebe comments, her eyebrows rising up.

    "With lawyers. And that's black magic even I can't touch." she replies, and gives a very wry smile.

    "How do you feel now?"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    "Well, you should know I have basically nothing to my name, so unless you really want my uranium glass collection I'm not sure how much help lawyers are going to be."

    Which is of course a far cry from the rich snob Xander used to be, throwing his family's name and wealth around every other sentence practically. Either way, he just shrugs, flexing his hands into fists to test the newly-healed skin over his knuckles. Those had stung and ached more than his head had, really. "Uh, good. Okay, at least. Kind of like I need a shower."

    He feels sticky in places under his clothes, which makes him wonder if he was bleeding from more places than he knew. "Thanks. Healing magic, right? I'm complete shit at it... can't do more than heal the cuts I give myself when I shave," he says, voice cracking as laughter builds up in his throat.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Always wanted a glow-in-the-dark stemware shelf." Phoebe replies quietly, and she snuffs. "Yeah. you definitely need a shower Xander." Phoebe commends as she crosses her arms.

    "Yeah. I'm especially good at that type of magic." she explains, and rubs the back of her neck.

    "So. Uh. Magic, huh? How'd you get into *that*?"

Xander Prescott has posed:
    That comment about glassware makes Xander laugh, even if it peters out to a sort of wheeze by the end. He nods, after, towards her when she confirms his suspicions, then he sighs and leans back against the wall.

    "Long story," he says, voice low. "Suspect it's the same with you. I'm pretty new to it, though... mostly have, uh... sort of academic knowledge. Versus practical, if you get what I mean. Trying to make it work, though."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Fabulous. Six years of practical experience and intense training over six months two years ago and training following suite. I sometimes get called in to help." she replies, motioning with her head towards the street.

    "You need a cab back to wherever you need to go?" she questions. "I can get you a ride."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    Xander nods. "Got a few years on me, then," is all he says. He looks Phoebe up and down once, and though he comes to no serious conclusions, his posture does relax somewhat, a little less on edge than he was a moment before.

    "I'm good. I can walk. Thanks for the save, and the healing." He nods his head towards the mouth of the alley. "See you around sometime?" he asks with a wry sort of smile. Whatever answer she gives, he's not expecting much. Not with their (albeit limited) history.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe reaches into her jacket, and produces a business card.

    PHOEBE (long last name scratched out)

Exorcisms * Investigations * Ghosts Freed

    And a Gotham phone number.

    "You operate in Gotham, you'll see me a lot." he gives a small smile. "I live and work out of a building in The Cauldren called The Curio. Stop by sometime."

Xander Prescott has posed:
    There is no equivalent for Xander to give. He doesn't have a business card, or even a fun codename like a lot of people in Gotham seems to have. So he can't hand over anything in exchange, but he still takes the card. "Thanks. I'll, uh, text you maybe?"

    The way his eyes widen almost imperceptibly suggests he recognizes the Curio. Maybe through his aunt, he's not quite certain. Either way, he nods. "Yeah, sure. See you around."