[Other FULL] Venice: City Of Masks [M] [IC]

Argenta felt herself being watched like a piece of steak set before a pack of starving hounds. And indeed she was, as she soon discovered, the moment she turned her back.

The beast had its fangs bared, spit leaking all over its muzzle. She tried to look for any signs of the child in her apothecary within those feral amber eyes, but the wolf had completely taken over and there was not a shred of humanity left in its behaviour. It was a predator, with hunting instincts overriding all domestic human qualities. Muscles tensed, the lycan sprung itself into the air, leaving little time for her to react.

Self-defense reflexes commanded Argenta to duck and tumble out of the way, blocking herself with her alchemy kit just as the beast lashed out with its claws. The kit shielded her from the attack but the impact knocked it out of her hands as she hit the ground. The kit box laid a few metres from her, its lock broken with several wares spilled out. Glass shards glinted in a puddle of water and liquid metal – the remains of her vials. The werewolf, surprised by the evasion of its prey, glared at her from where it touched the ground many metres away. A quick mental calculation told her that she was not fast enough to reach her alchemy kit before getting mauled by the werewolf. But she did not have to.

She reached her hand out, as though looking for something, catching the werewolf charging towards her at the corner of her eyes. Her mind projected itself, groping until it felt the familiar coolness of mercury and coaxed it to bend to her will. The werewolf may be fast, but mercury possessed greater kinetic energy at high pressures.

Twenty pounds of fur and claw collided against a membrane of mercury which was all that stood between Argenta and the beast. While the werewolf was recovering from the shock, she seized the opportunity to grab her kit. She made a mental note to purchase more vials to replace the shattered ones. The werewolf stirred, emitting a low guttural sound from its throat as it wobbled to its feet, eyes fixed on the alchemist.

"I don't want to hurt you. So please stop," she pleaded through her white mask, hoping that those words would reach the child within the wolf's skin. However, deep down she knew that it was foolhardy of her to think that she could reason with frenzied minds.

A howl resounded through the still air of the deserted alleyways. The werewolf's ears perked as if it was being called.

Before it could respond, streams of mercury rapidly wound themselves around its snout, gripping it in a muzzle stronger than steel. The beast struggled to free itself, while Argenta hurriedly rummaged through her kit, selecting the vial she wanted. She hurled the vial at the feet of the lycan, smashing the glass. Pinkish clouds of vapour instantaneously billowed out, enveloping the werewolf.

Argenta held her breath until the breeze cleared the chemical vapours away. The limp body of the lycan laid on the ground, fur and claw slowly disappearing to become human skin and fingers. She took out an empty vial, and the mercury flowed into it, like an obedient pup retreating to its kennel. She looked back at the sleeping child. She didn't want to leave him there, so she lifted him up with both arms, like a mother cradling an infant, and brisk-walked back to the shop, not wanting to meet anymore howlers.

The wolf prowled along the alleyways, growling as it picked up a familiar scent. Shards were strewn all over the floor, and a strong human odour lingered in the air.

A white feather laid on the ground. It sniffed the unusual item, which was cleanly foreign to this part of the city, not knowing what to make of it, and stalked away into the shadows.

​

From above, Renée could see practically everything. Her view allowed for nothing to escape her vision, and her other senses would be keen enough to sniff out attacks from her blind spot. Nearly a quarter of the harbor was under her watch, but the main reason behind her vantage point was how it overlooked the ocean. She swung her legs back and forth, like a child whose legs cannot reach the floor from a chair, and waited. Tonight, Renée had an uncharacteristic smile on her face as she looked out from the warehouse rooftop.

When it arrived, Renée could smell it. The scent of fresh meat was the signal, and she could spot the boat arriving from the horizon. It was still far, but the wind to the boat's back carried the scent to her. It seemed the exchange would go smoothly, but then Renée sensed the familiar scent of half-wolf. She shifted her weight onto to her feet and scaled off the rooftop. A sigh escaped her mouth, slightly disappointed she'd have to shed more of the blood of her kin tonight. Typically Renée felt no quarrels about killing, as long as it appeased her masters, but tonight, a faint passing pang struck her heart. Renée slipped into an open crate, declothed herself and began her transformation. Outside, the towering half-wolf waited to welcome her unfortunate prey.

Unlike the previous night's group, these wolves were far more organized, waiting for the rest to gather before striking. Feeling a building presence, Renée cautiously backed into open space, away from roofs and objects that could obstruct her view. Here their advantaged could be slightly nullified. Renée planned to take no risks tonight, not with her relationship with the family on the line.

After all the werewolves had gathered, Renée counted maybe six, give or take. The concentration of their scents slightly muddled her senses. She knew that if they were smart with their tactics, they could give her serious trouble. Normally, in a situation like this she'd use her howl to thin their numbers, but attracting attention to the location was far from ideal. Instead, she braced herself, waiting for the cubs to strike first.

Two descended from a nearby roof, while another two dashed out from behind crated goods. They went in pairs of two, one pair following the other. With their forces split, Renée sensed four more in hiding. The inaccuracy of her nose shocked her, and that slight moment of divided attention nearly cost her. The two in the forefront of their charge closed in quickly, slashing with claws. Renée narrowly dodged them, performing a back flip to escape their grasps. The other two took their place, attacking from the left and right. Pivoting on her toes in pirouette-like fashion, Renée swung her leg into the chest of one of the lycans. She felt the cub's ribs give in, cracking under the pressure, and sent the werewolf flying.

The other wolf caught her across the abdomen. She grimaced but fought through the pain. With another spin, arms extended, Renée caught the other werewolf across the neck. It dropped with little resistance.

Now the situation was reversed. The two werewolves who had missed their strikes looked cautious, and Renée was looking to be the aggressor. She sprinted in and the two dodged back, increasing the distance between them and forcing Renée to make a quick decision. Unfortunately for the one on her right, she had little hesitation, closing the gap and jabbing her claws straight into the werewolf's gut.

While trying to wrench her claws free, Renée felt a sharp and deep slash against her back. Growling, she grabbed the werewolf her hand was lodged in and swung it towards the wolf at her back. The shift of momentum allowed Renée to free herself but the body missed the mark and only caught air. Using the body as a cover, the werewolf sprung towards Renée with it's teeth bared ready to tear into her. It caught her off guard, but on reaction she leaned forward and grabbed the cub by the mouth, simultaneously shutting it like a muzzle. Her claws dug into the wolf's face, and blood started to slowly trickle out. With the other hand she established a grip on its neck and brought its face against hers. It whimpered, and then Renée bared her own fangs. With her jaws, she crushed the small wolf's snout. A distorted noise escaped the wolf's now misshapen mouth as Renée let it drop to the floor.

She turned her attention to the wolves left in hiding. Before she could make sense of their locations, one unexpectedly dashed out with rage and murderous intent. That was a mistake. Renée quickly dispatched of the overzealous younging. Even after dealing with the others, a reckless inexperienced werewolf with little control of its motor functions was no match up against her. But now Renée was playing a waiting game. The other three were killing clock so to speak. It was obvious they had little chance to survive in a fight, but Renée was losing blood from her previous bouts and it was becoming difficult for Renée to move intensively. She had a chance if they came out charging recklessly like the other one did but these remaining opponents weren't as foolish. They viewed Renée as an obstacle to food, as from their perspective she seemed to be defending fresh meat. So while they were desperate enough to go against her, they weren't risking death.

Renée could feel the puddle of blood gathering at her feet. She was in a tight spot, and the chance of her coming out of this alive, let alone successful, seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer, unlike the full moon which continued to shine. She sneered at the realization that it shone not just for her but others of her kind as well.

Suddenly, Renée felt the presence of another, but this scent was different. It seemed like the scent of a small group of people. This sudden addition worried Renée. "Are they here to intercept the trade? Were they using the wolves?" She muttered these questions to herself, trying to make sense of the situation.

Two yelps came from behind the warehouse, and moments later a werewolf sprung forward out from behind a crate, only to fall face forward a few feet after. There were no visible marks or injuries to the wolf, but it had just collapsed. Renée took a stance and concentrated, she knew being caught off guard could potentially spell death, especially after what she'd just witnessed.
A single, tall figure emerged from where the collapsed werewolf had come out. From his mask and large robes, Renée couldn't distinguish any features but she realized that the grouped scent she sensed earlier were all coming from this one figure. She bared her fangs and growled. It was a warning, but she wasn't in a position to be giving any warnings.

"Ahh… I recognize that size and build. A nice amount of blood you've lost there, Rabid Dancer." When the figure spoke, it was as if those words were worth all the energy he could stand to muster up. "Fortunately for you, you're Omicidio property. I don't want to start any trouble, so I'll just be taking these... " He bent down to pick up the body, which was now reverting back to human form. It had the form of an older child, maybe a teenager. Slinging the body over his shoulder, the figure turned once more to Renée. "But if we meet again… I'll be sure to indulge in some fun…"

The figure left, but Renée kept up her guard. It baffled her how different scents were coming from one origin. Cautiously, she returned to the crate where she hid her clothes and returned back to human form. Using some of the cloth, she wrapped her wounds and clothed and remasked herself.

After all that, the boat had arrived at the wooden dock. Two men manned it, one rowing and the other holding the package. Renée approached them, holding the bag she was to exchange in plain view.

"So just a woman, eh? Do they think we're idiots?" The man holding the package remarked. The other simply shook his head as if he was tired of the other's antics. He pulled out a sword that he'd kept hidden from view and pointed it inches from her chest. "Leave the bag, and we'll spare your life be on our way." He smirked.

Behind her mask, Renée's eyes narrowed, glaring with irritation. The man took the silence as fear and hesitation. "Hurry up, already!" He prodded. She partially transformed with one arm, destroying a sleeve, and moved the sword away from her chest. "I am exhausted and in a foul mood. Hand over the package before I kill you both."​

"What do you think?" a worried voice hovered overhead as Renée sat by a young woman's bedside.

Looking up at a fretting mother, Renée shook her head, bowing in an apologetic manner. She couldn't help the girl even if she truly wanted to. In fact, her intentions of coming here had absolutely nothing to do with curing the sleeping girl. "Sorry." The words came out dry and empty, with no sign of sympathy or empathy behind them.

Too tired to notice, or to even care, the woman let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto a nearby chair. Putting her arms over the the chair's back, she laid her head down against it. "I'm at my wit's end." she groaned, burying her head further into her arms. From the moment Renée first laid eyes on the woman, peeking out from behind the door, it was evident she was incredibly fatigued. Her eyes were bloodshot and underlined by dark bags, and occasionally she would purposelessly wander around as if waning in and out of consciousness. It was a pitiful sight.

But Renée had no time to spare pitying a distressed mother. With the mother's eyes no longer hovering over Renée, she leaned in, trying to gather some sort of scent off the woman's daughter. She found nothing.

"How many more…" she whispered into the sleeping woman's ear. As expected, there was no response, nor even the slightest of movement.

This was the third or fourth house Renée had visited today, and from the pattern developing, it was clear to her there would be no exceptions.

Rising from her seat, Renée searched around the edges of the bed, looking for any sort of evidence. The last few searches were complete duds, and she expected nothing different from this one.

Feeling as if she were caught in stagnant cycle of searching with no progress, Renée stopped in front of a window, on the opposite side of the bed. She ran her fingers along the windowsill, and felt something faint stick against her skin. Holding up a hand close to her face, Renée realized a stray strand of hair had stuck to her finger. She turned around, comparing the strand of hair to the color of both of the woman in the room with her. There was no match, nor was it long enough to be of theirs. It wasn't long enough to possibly belong to Renée either.

"Excuse me," Renée walked back over to the mother, "who else has been in your house in the past day or so?"

"What?" She looked at Renée as if she were a dumb child. From Renée's point of view, it was an excusable act. Even she understood the effects stress could have on a person's disposition, after all, the Omicidio's saved her from a life molded by stress and trauma. "No, no one except for us." The irritation was clear in her voice and posture, her eyes buried in her hands.

"I see." Renée decided she had exhausted her time here, there was nothing else for her to find, and there were plenty more house visits to make.

When the door swung open, Renée lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the sun's beams. With her pale skin, it was clear that Renée was not used to being under the sun's warmth. Turning away from the direction of the rays, Renée witnessed something odd, something far too suspicious to leave alone. A figure, hopping away from atop house roofs, looking back at her once, before disappearing fully out of her view.​