Aug 07 15:38:53 105 PA

From Chronicles

Minnie paces down the street towards the messed-up sprawling lot of the Dregtown Bazaar, sucking on a suspicious candystick she'd recently purchased from a hawker at the trailer park. Her gaze slips over her shoulder and up the road to check for a familiar face, then back to target a particular building down the way, squat and settled between faded tenements. "Should zip inside'n'make sure she's not already in there," she suggests to Janus, even though it's pretty certain that Eliza couldn't possibly know exactly where to go. But the woman talks to dead folk, so anything's possible. "Hope your stuff's'good as was told't would be. Seems like nothin' good could come out'f a spot like this," she remarks worriedly, shading her smudged-up eyes and taking another glance around.

Ugh. One of the few advantages of Dregtown by night is...well, the absence of illumination. Under the stark eye of the mid-summer sun, the urban wasteland is just not a pretty sight. What would have been mysterious and intrepid by moonlight is desperately bleak and abused in washed-out yellow tones. Instead of an interesting selection of Kingsdale's creatively depraved and murderous to get the adrenaline pumping, what future-less humanity comes outdoors in numbers this noon are enough to make Victor Lazlo crawl into a hole. But it does no good to dwell on the situation; no one else does. Far easier to wait a few hours for night to fall, and turn everything sinister and deserving of a heartless demise.

Even though things are a lot less menacing and a good deal more depressing here in the middle of the day, Erik moves with brisk steps to catch up with Minnie and keep himself protectively close as the scenery goes from bad to abysmal. "Hope so too," he agrees with the girl, sharing in her worry but, honestly, nothing could be worse than that chincy, touristy t-shirt he's taken to wearing - even if it does do a good job of showing off his physique, it really is that bad. There's no question about it, Minnie's in the lead when they travel through the city and he doesn't try to change that.

Weird as she is some people wouldn't be surprised if Eliza dropped off a low roof in front of them. This is what she does too, so it hopefully will not startle anyone too badly. With a lithe little thud her armored shape lands near to Janus and Minnie, coming down off of a little corrugated iron shack. "Hi." She says to identify herself before the two think they are under attack. "Sorry I'm late. Had to put the scripts back on my armor and I couldn't find a brush." She peers at Janus from behind her armor and then shuffles along to fall in with the two. "Minnie." She asks. "Did you think to bring a piece with you, or is it just hidden somewhere I can't see?"

Ker*THUMP* goes Minnie's poor heart at the precipitous appearance of the armored suit. In the next instant, she sidesteps into Janus, or maybe even behind him if he's already done that instinctual insert-self-into-harm's-way thing that he does. "Nngh! Holy Handbrake," she wheezes under her breath after Eliza sets things straight, and loses track of the rest of the explanation. "Wha-? A piece...for what?" she finally says, nudging back over to walk alongside Erik. "Thinkin'f buyin' th'threads with hot metal rounds? Just got this." She twists her hips and torso for a moment to briefly reveal the profile of her backside to Eliza, and pull a compact slab of black steel halfway from her pocket. Switchblade of some sort, probably. "That's a...slick hardsuit," she presently manages, checking out the merc's new look with returning intrigue and a darkly amused thought. "Weaverlady's goin't'flip right th'hell out when she sees you, 'Liza." A cursory nod ahead to the former office building. For Janus and Minnie, there's no mistaking the double-doors wedged partially open and somewhat inset underneath a crumbling concrete overhang. Just off to the side in the corridor, one can even see the upturned bucket he'd kicked a couple of weeks back. Has it moved at all? And would it be more or less uneasy-making if it had?

Janus's hand is on the grip of his pistol before Eliza's feet hit the ground, but he's not so twitchy as she is and the weapon stays safely holstered and powered down. "Bloody -oath-, Liza!" he exclaims at her with a huff after the initial surge of adrenaline. "Ain't stormin' a nest o' vampies, we're just picking up me new threads." He takes a moment or two to look her over, though, whistling appreciatively at the sight all the same. "Reckon I'll warn ya now, the Weaverlady don't look how you'd expect. Don't be tryin' ta shoot 'er."

Eliza looks decidely unapologetic in her posture. Her face can't be seen behind the helmet's visor afterall. But she doesn't seem to be too sorry as a sort of laugh comes through the speakers. "Well, remember where we are. Kittyface got shot in the head not so far from here and all sorts of troubles. Reckon you guys might not be paying attention, but people go missing here all the time. Find half of them with holes in their necks. Rest get shot. Not taking any chances here." She dips into one of her hip holsters and offers the sleek little double-barrel there to Minnie; holding it by the barrel. "Here. Put this in your pants. Safety is there by the thumb and it's already set to full auto. Better safe than sorry." Her head screws around after this to give Janus a long look. "Kay, then. What do I need to know?"

"Oh oh, 'member t'say *client*, not foe'r'morsel, if she asks," volunteers Minnie sidelong as she moves under the noontime shadow of the overhang, and peers into the gloom. A weak draft stirs the ragged shapes of gauzy curtains that incongruously line the short corridor before it opens up into a wide, high-ceilinged reception area. Something curiously eroded-looking about those drapes, spotty and hanging by threads, like long-abandoned cobwebs in an attic. Up the outer-facade of the once proudly sculpted building, the second storey windows are tall but shrouded within, a hazy light grey where the sun is able to reach. Settling back and turning when Eliza hands over the pistol, Minnie's own eyes are insouciant at first. There's no doubt that the points made by the merc-femme are true enough...but what does that have to do with her? She's no catface. "Kiddin', right?" she wonders softly, hands out and accepting the shiny firearm without understanding. It slides into the palm of her right hand, nestling in her curling fingers to find its fit, and then she comes to full knowing, mouth falling open. The pistol is hastily inserted in her waistband then, the hem of her tattered overshirt falling over it to create a slight bulge in the fabric.

Janus watches the weapon change hands and the smallest trace of a smile comes up on his mouth when Minnie gets around to understanding exactly what's being said and offered to her. The affection shown when he tousles her hair is nearly palpable, but then he's all business again and turns to head inside the parlor to pick up his clothes. "Doubt she'll be mistaking 'Liza for a morsel, Minnie," he points out as he ducks through the door.

Eliza waits for Minnie to come to her senses and take the pistol. "Client." She echoes. "And not kidding." She has a lot of things going through her addled little mind as she hurries after Janus and Minnie both, despite the hair fluffling that is going on to her now-better-armed companion. Once or twice she even mumbles to herself - something or other about not liking this whole thing one bit. But she is quiet and keeps a position a pace or two behind Janus, letting Minnie lead the way.

Minnie picks her way over the debris caused by occasional 'rockslide' erosion of the structure, expression gone somber and breathing a mite shallow. The nature of the errand has changed for her. Like the 'serious biz' she attempted to avoid by requesting only defensive chainlinks for her wheels instead of spikes, and now, this gun sticking out of her pants...it changes something. Her little mind clicks away, trying to figure it out, while the rest of her slips back into the lead and takes the small tour through her memory until the three are in the lobby, with its broken-down security kiosk, shattered light rods, and unfriendly closed doors. The conspicuously large hole in the middle of the high ceiling reveals nothing of the floor above except a slowly shifting quality of filtered light. On either end of the broad lobby are open staircases leading upwards to a landing, the steps turning out of sight. "Parlor's up," Minnie comments. "She came down from that," points up at the empty hole, "but I guess we take one of these." She nods to the stairs, though her attention remains upwards, tracing that hole.

"Hullooo," Janus calls up through the hole anyway, but he's not in the mood for waiting around for the Weaver to make her appearance. A gesture, beckoning the girls along with one hand, he passes the ruined security desk and begins tromping up one of the staircases. "Reckon it'll be a whole new set of spooks an' frights up here," he speaks over his shoulder as he goes, sounding cheerful enough.

Eliza has to resist so many things. One of them is keeping her hands securely away from any one of her armaments. She occupies herself with the surprise that neither Janus nor Minnie seem overly concerned here. This is the sort of thing that sends a little chill down her Momano spine. Places like this. But she supresses it as best she can and also looks around as best that she can; following up and around behind Janus. "What the hell is this place?" She whispers vocally at his left ear.

No answering hulloo, and no startling drops from the hole this time. Eliza has already taken the Surprise, It's Me entrance option for today, anyway. The steps under Erik's boots are layered well and evenly with a clotted dust that comes away in a solid footprint shape, and sheds only a little grit. A squint over to the other staircase suggests the same state of disuse. Is this a tailoring business or isn't it? The lack of evidence of the passage of other clientele suggests...not. From the landing midway up the steps, where the staircase makes a one-eighty degree turn before proceeding into a small upper lobby, one is visually subjected to the daunting structure that has grown *over* what was once a cluster of offices accessed by a U-shaped corridor full of doors. Now, the inner walls appear to have collapsed or been torn away, and replaced by what looks like layers of grey lace. Crossing over each other at gradual angles, the rounding effect promotes a tunnel-like feel at the height of the staircase; a tunnel that will need to be entered before the hoped-for Parlor is reached, apparently.

Minnie sneezes into her hand, a high-pitched little detonation behind Eliza, followed by a muffled 'ugh'. "Maybe she's out. Maybe she's hibernatin'. Maybe we should go back an' wait for her t'bring th'goods down," she suggests in a string of monotone.

Janus halts at the landing and gazes up at the sight ahead with a shoulder-sagging air of disbelieving resignation. "Waited long enough, and I'd rather be on our way before sundown." He holds a hand out behind him, open in invitation for Minnie to take before they continue up into the maze of spidersilk and the confusion of light and shadows. "Used to be a place for work," he explains to Eliza, lowering his voice in awe and respect as they continue up the steps. "Accounting and such, I'll wager. Now it's the Weaver's place for making clothes, near as I can tell."

Eliza is just sort of standing mute for a moment as she looks at the tunnel ahead and then between Minnie and Janus. Mutely she stares at all three. "I love you two to pieces." She says in a very soft voice. "But I think you're insane. For reasons that I will explain later. Someone else walk in front so if we get stuck in webbing, the armed one isn't going to get entangled." She waits then for someone else to go ahead of her.

Minnie comes up between the two and does just about the same thing for the first few moments; she stares. Their words wash over her almost senselessly, pointlessly, and then she picks her way back through the words, and she nods her head to Eliza slowly, blinking up at the armored face with big quizzical eyes surrounded by runny makeup. "This's crazy, 'Liza. It's crazy. But we can't go back now." She punctuates the statement by reaching out to grab Erik's hand. "We came, an' we found th'Weaver. Th'Weaver dropped on our heads'n'thought I was food, an' made a deal with 'Rik t'make him threads, special. An' we almost didn't get out'f th'Dregs. Badmen were goin't'run's down in th'street. 'N'now we're back. 'N'th'Weaver's not coming down, so we're goin' up'n'turns out up here's made'f webs'n'light'n'crap...'n'no't doesn't look good..." Great pep talk, Minnie. Maybe next you can talk everyone into tracking down the real kung-fu zombie in his evil cemetery shrine. After a small pause, she concludes, "..And y'think now's th'time t'just turn 'round'n'run away? I'll go first." Holy Chareest Inna Clutch Can, she just talked herself into it. The girl breaks the gluey dust holding her feet rooted - or was that the fear? - and goes tripping up the staircase to the tunnel, taking Janus to the end of her arm and then letting go if he doesn't try to keep up.

Not about to be left behind, not when the Weaver's morsel is scurrying up the steps all by herself, Janus protests with some unintelligible noises and hurries up after Minnie to get some slack restored between their clasped hands. "Maybe she sleeps during the day?" he hypothesizes, more hope than certainty, trying to come up with a reason for the spooky stillness that pervades the parlor. "Want to see what she's made me," he adds back to Eliza as they go. "Been waiting a while for this, an' now here we are..."

Eliza is moving much more cautiously. Her hands are kept semi-ready as she moves after Minnie and Janus, taking care where she puts her feet. The only sane one of the lot it is important to her that she does not get caught. "Badmen were going to what?" She asks Minnie as she follows on after. "This is absolutely crazy." She confirms and tries the best she can to hold in her rant until after they are out of this place. It is taking so much effort. Her eyes are wide open and peering in every direction as she attempts to make sure they do not get snuck up on.

The tunnel gives a ripple of pliable web walls as the mouth of it is breached. The surfaces are not found to be particularly sticky, but the strands are fused together nicely, so many of the wispy fibers making up the tunnel wall that if one squints it's pretty much a soft, solid blanket. Outer light turns sections of the tunnel into a fuzzy glow, so that the location of windows can be assumed at the center of each emanation. It turns out the tunnel doesn't go far before it curves off, traveling deeper into the center of the second floor.

As you enter slowly behind the other two, you feel the texture of the ground change, sinking as pliantly as one might expect given the nature of the walls. Then, as the innocuous ripple moves through the tunnel, you become aware of a certain specific tension pulling under the sole of your boot. Very slight, and yet, it's there. Somewhere in that soft matted floor, there is one or more lines that are drawn to a much finer tension, and the passage of yourself and your companions has pulled on this taut line or lines. You realize the line has tightened along its entire length. But to what end?

Fingers tighten subtly around Minnie's and Janus pulls on her hand to draw her back towards him and at the same time pull himself forward ahead of her. Whatever concerns or worries he's suddenly had about all of this he doesn't mention, but it's clear enough to look at him that his instincts are buzzing hot and his senses are all keyed up. He doesn't stop moving forward down the tunnel/hall, but there's a more cautious element to his steps.

Eliza is very cautious in her steps now -- and goes so far as to bend slightly; attempting to pull up a small sample of the matting. If she is successful it is held in front of her left pinky finger which flicks to light and the small flame attempts to set fire to the little sample she has. Just to check and see what her options are. "Janus. Min. Careful." She urges. "I think we just walked straight into a net. Best to go forward or go back, quick as we can."

Minnie wonders idly whether she's smiling over what Janus said, as currently she's having a little trouble controlling the muscles around her mouth. Despite this nervous quivering of her frame, however, she's thrust head and shoulders into the task of leading the way, hanging out from her and Erik's linked hands the way a beagle strains risking strangulation, at the end of a leash. She's picked up a scent, so to speak, and means to follow it along, even if it's straight into a net. Beagles are dumb critters. Then Janus reels her backwards, pretty much effortlessly, and she's suddenly second in line, and glancing alarmed up at Janus' back through a swirl of stringy hair. Eliza's warning checks her steps momentarily, but since Erik's forging ahead, she does too, grabbing up some of the fabric of his tee even if she can't urge him faster ahead of the perceived trap.

Again, the fine line draws tight beneath one's steps, and Janus can see the ripple happen in the bed of the tunnel, where the draw line would appear to be hooked around a system of anchors. Whatever is pulling the line taut is situated around the bend. And now it knows exactly where you are.

With a puff, the sheared bit of weave that Eliza detached from the wall or floor catches fire, each separate filament taking on flame and then blackening to a curled husk. It takes longer than expected before the netting is completely consumed in the woman's hand.

Well this is simply no good. Erik turns and looks briefly back over his shoulder at the two behind, then focused ahead down the tunnel again. "Hullo?" he speaks up suddenly, shattering the still, silent tension with a rapid-fire burst from the old voicebox. Minnie's advice comes to him unbidden. "Client 'ere, not morsel for the eatin'." It should work, but the man's plan B is to wrap his free hand comfortingly around the molded grip of his machine pistol.

Eliza thinks this is no good indeed. She clucks to herself at how difficult the webbing is to burn. So, that is one way that she isn't going to get out of the mess. Sheathing the claws that she used to dig with she waits for the sample to be burned completely before letting it drop. Carefully, she comes up a little closer to Minnie and Janus and keeps a pace or two behind each one of them. There may or may not be a gun in each of her hands. Getting a little tired of hide and seek apparently.

Minnie seems a bit lost in the middle of the line, too small to see much ahead of Janus, nor can she get a good glimpse back the way they came. To top it off, the way their voices are sounding muffled and far away, sound waves becoming immediately lost in the dense weave, confuses the one sense of which she could be making some use. When Janus speaks up, she absently paws at one of her ears, just to make sure none of the stuff got clotted in there.

And so Erik's words are swallowed up by the tunnel. However, after a short pause, the stifled air gains a sudden sharp clarity, upon which these sliced words are carried:

1. Client#, then
2. Yntyya counts three clients#, and yet more
3. Yntyya expects two clients only#

and once those sharpened words make it through the tunnel, the languorous softness closes in again, more noticeable than before.

Janus leans his head back over one shoulder, speaking to Minnie without turning his eyes away from the far end of the tunnel. "You wanted to bring 'er," he reminds her, simply so that, years from now, retelling this story around the kitchen table on some cozy little farm in the country, the facts won't be distorted. He raises his voice again to call out to the Weaver. When all else fails, it's the Janus Charm to save the day. "Right, two old clients and one new one! Bad time, is it? We can call again tomorrow..."

Eliza can speak for herself. She is a big girl. "Clients sometimes have friends that bring additional business." Carefully, she goes so far as to holster her irons. "I have no quarrel with you yet. I am though, quite curious as to see what would bring my friend this far into such a . . . unique place. Surely, it must be quite a product?"

Minnie snaps to, and casts a more animated glance up over her shoulder at Eliza. As though the accusation of insanity from the merc femme was based on their dubious claims of the existence of a so-called Weaverwoman. Now, see? They're totally vindicated. Spooky hissy voice = victory! And Eliza is talking back to the spooky hissy voice, meaning she hears it too. Flawless Victory! She herself refrains from saying anything aloud...the feeling of speaking within one's own head is too disconcerting. She merely raises her eyebrows at Janus's quip. He's got it all wrong, of course. She'd distinctly heard him say the other day, "Oi 'Liza, it'd be bloodah aces if yew'd cam with us. Stweth!"

Another pause, and then the tunnel floods with that chilling air quality once more, and the voice stabs through it like a paranoid icicle:

1. Yntyya is wary of Foes#, then
2. Clients entering Parlor of Yntyya will not be harmed#, and furthermore
3. Clients who are Foes entering Parlor of Yntyya will be offended#, and just in case you weren't sure
4. Morsels will be consumed#, and so
5. All will please enter Parlor of Yntyya#

Janus obliges Eliza with a translation, "Handsies off the the shooters, sheila. We're awlright." He takes his own suggestion, releasing his grip on the compact firearm slouching under his arm and moves forward with a good deal more confidence towards the mysterious Parlor up ahead. His caution melts away like a shadow under a lamp and his imagination starts whirling towards what marvels of fashion await. "Reckon she spun me up a longcoat?"

Eliza smiles beneath her armor. "I might have to use them if you call me Sheila again." She says, but her tone is only displaying mock indignation. She really does not mind that much. "How about some new brains there, Janus?" She says and then takes the big step of pushing past Minnie and Janus both and around the corner so she can see what it is that has been worth all of this hullabaloo with both hands clear of her holsters but mentally ready.

"No foes, no morsels," Minnie finally decides it's worth it to blurt, "N'even though I didn't ask for threads for my own self, one'f th'ones for 'Rik's goin't'be a prezzie from me, an' I'm payin' for't, an' that so makes me a client too!" Try as she might, she can't seem to force the words to sound normal in this space. In fact, it sounds like strung-together gibberish. Is that how she sounds to others? Nope. No way. "'N't better have racin' stripes..." she adds fervently after Eliza goes bustling past her and then Janus, noting with relief that she doesn't seem intent on running in pistolas blazing.

Weaver's Parlor

        Two separate stairwells access the gutted second floor of this squat former office building. The chipped blue painted walls have been obscured by layers of draping web that transform the open space into a dim, cavernous lair of nebulous concave surfaces, with a series of short tunnels leading to the creature's parlor. When it is day outside, parts of the filmy room glow with filtered sunlight; otherwise, much of the area is thrown into soft dark shadows. The main chamber is roughly circular, with a measured diameter of thirty feet at its widest point, and the vaulted ceilings a variable height of thirteen feet average given the layers of deceptive webbing.
        It's not so much a parlor as it is some kind of alien meat locker. Depending from the heights to rotate slowly with the breeze overhead, are silken pods resembling sides of beef in some instances, with faint bands of pink showing through. The sizes and shapes are hardly uniform, ranging from backpack-sized to heavy-duty luggage. More attractive, as well as more identifiable, are the various garments of elegant manufacture, suspended delicately in thin air by virtually invisible threads.

What Eliza finds as she rounds the corner is an abrupt end to the claustrophobic corridor, and the beginning of a space so vast by contrast, that it's likely difficult to take in all at once. But the details are there for the observant to discover in due time, that is, if such leisure is permitted by the resident of the Parlor. There she(?) is, gliding in a continuous dance of multi-jointed, tapered black limbs, eight in all if one takes the time to try and count the strobing blurs. To continue the theme, a bulky, spider-like abdomen protrudes outwards from the hip joints, sporting a pattern of black hairs over its bumpy leathery hide. Sprouting from the alien pelvis is a grey, hairless humanoid torso complete with a pair of arms and long, three-fingered hands. It's almost androgynous with its slender tonelessness, and the swaying, undulating motions it makes in leading its spider-half is sublimely graceful. A vest of glittering jewel patterns adorns the humanoid part, obscuring the no-doubt bizarre joining between torso and arachnoid. More mysterious still is the supposed head of this creature, currently obscured by a weighted and layered veil that only describes an elongated skull shape, with the occasional hint of slender, stalk-like neck. The entire package, while intriguing in specific areas, is an overall monstrosity, towering above five feet at its spider pelvis, and thereby reaching an overall height of eight feet, standing.

And it is scuttering off sideways in reaction to the sleek armored figure's appearance, humanoid arms sweeping through the air in a frenzy of rhythmic grace, and shrouded head dipping sharply from one side to the other, to study Eliza from a number of changing angles.

Janus leads Minnie along on Eliza's heels, sharing in the small girl's worry that something violent is about to happen. He rounds the corner and, if Eliza's reaction is anything like his own was upon first seeing the Weaver, may very well jog right flat into her unexpectedly and suddenly frozen self. He's quick to take control of the whole situation though, releasing Minnie's hand to put both of his in the air and, conveniently, to step forward and place himself directly between Yntyya and Eliza. "Hullo 'gain," he greets the Weaver monstrosity with a remarkably affable tone and that trademark Erik Janus Smile. "No foes 'ere, just come by to pick up the goods."

Eliza is mostly unflinching beneath the gaze of the spider-lady. Trying to take in as much detail of her as she can, she is pointedly surveying the monster-thing from behind her optic visor. She comes around the corner and sort of settles to a halt. Janus and Minnie may hear her say something in a low tongue but that is about all for the first ten seconds. "Hello." She says, charmingly enough in her voice although it does lack a little bit of enthusiasm and her natural tambre. "Client. Friend. Whichever you'd like to call it."

1. Yntyya knows this Man Client# come the words in a harsh flood through this much more acoustic space, the paranoid icicles shattering. #Yntyya knows this Ladygirl Client that is not Morsel# comes next, and the flurry of gestures gentles, and shifts seamlessly into a pattern of beckoning fingers and wrists at the end of quietly rippling arms. After another pause, the air is sliced reluctantly: #Yntyya is disturbed by shield of new Client but Client is welcome#, after which the Weaver traipses nimbly to the other side of the Parlor, where there aren't quite so many dangling parcels. Reaching up and pulling on delicate lines, she causes several curtains to shift and fall away from each other, until more pure strains of sunlight are able to break through and illuminate her weaver's work.

Eliza thinks for a moment and then seems to visibly relax. Her hands reach to her helmet and undo the clasps and she frees her head and face; tossing her head to let the strands of her hair fall downward from where they had collected. "Better?" She asks the spider-thing as she paces a few steps forward; curious in the extreme. "Very impressive. Do you do women's clothing? I've been looking for something special in an evening gown." She keeps talking with her tone slowly creeping back up to where it is supposed to be and what is usual for her. "You get much trouble from people, here? You'd think with gangland being what it is, people'd be all over you. I suppose you eat whoever comes to bother you though, huh? Morsels?" A halfway grin is cracked.

Minnie stands in obvious relief over the fact that not only is this a more acceptable space (she hasn't noticed the hanging morsels yet) in which to hold a conversation, but also that they are once more in the grips of amiable discourse. With a nudge of her wrist, she pushes at the pistol through her overshirt, tucking it a little deeper into the waist of her jeans. With any luck, it'll fall through and shimmy down a leg, and then clatter out onto the floor at a particularly sensitive moment in time. When the gallery of hanging product starts coming into view, she takes in a breath and falls to trailing along in Eliza's shadow, still several feet behind.

Seeing as everyone's getting on all peaceable-like, Janus merely nods to himself and steps aside to give Eliza some room to approach the Weaver. The gift of light that Yntyya provides gives the man the chance to look around at her parlor, perhaps regrettably so. No eyes for the splendid garments hung about on this one, his suspicious stare goes immediately to those dubious pods hung all about. He blanches, sucks in a short breath involuntarily and then closes his eyes while he convinces himself that these things are not what he thinks they are.

Eliza says nothing else really, looking up at the spider-lady without fear or without signs of revulsion. Her eyes are coiling around the room, looking at various dangling things as though she was sizing everything up. "I'm sorry if I seem inquisitive." She continues as she awaits the reply. "I'm just curious how you manage to live here without threats."

1. Not all Foes can be Morsels# pierces the air sibilantly as the Weaver responds to the last question in the prances along, and with a final release of anchored strands, lets fall the entire collection in a descending line, with a few arranged into obvious top-bottom sets. The Weaver's Silk is extremely versatile, and with the arachnoid's expertise, has been spun into eight articles of custom clothing, each bearing a unique weight, texture, and even color. All have been tailored painstakingly to take into account Erik's particular measurements, so that the fabric will move with him neatly without being restrictive in any jointed area. The construction seams themselves are tiny, but there is also a careful amount of detailing that gives each piece a subtly interesting look. And one might suspect that if the unusual nature of the woven silk used for constructing Yntyya's lair is any indication, the articles must bear similar properties themselves. #Not all Morsels were once Foes# breaks the silent pause as the arachnoid steps lightly away from the gallery, and moves close to one of the bulky wrapped 'ornaments', graceful hands coming up to caress it into a gentle sway. #Yntyya has ways and means to protect the Parlor of Yntyya#, #But not always#, #Not from those who hunt Yntyya#

Eliza seems to be more and more interested now as Yntyya explains. "How long does it take you to make these creations, if I were interested in becoming a client?" There is a subtle bit of eager to her voice that hasn't been audible to Minnie and Janus for a long time. "Were I to want something specific? Your craftsmanship is astounding. I assume they are woven from your own spun fabric, being an Arachnoid?" She doesn't talk this much to Minnie or Janus! Something in what the weaver says makes her head snap upright. "Who is hunting you?" She asks, bluntly.

"I'm buyin' that one," declares Minnie, wandering past Eliza to stand directly before the displayed hoodie-style shirt. "How much? Let's deal." Whoa, Minnie, simmer down! The *adults* are having a conversation. She's barely keeping track of the discussion as she starts wandering up and down the line, starting to raise a hand to finger this pantleg or that hem, but then drawing back hastily so that said hand can be scrubbed conscientiously against her hip in an attempt to scrape off the ground-in dirt from this morning's escapades. Given that her jeans are in an even sadder state than her hands, the effort is proving futile.

Janus is drawn away from the curing pods of morsels and the grisly unpleasantness he'd rather not dwell on to the wardrobe that descends from the upper reaches of the parlor. He's astonished; this is far more than he was expecting. A single shirt and trousers, perhaps, but this? "Oiiii," he breathes as he follows after Minnie to get a closer look at the garments. "All of this fer me? Reckon I..." He trails off with a low whistle and a small grin crawls onto his face as Minnie picks out her favorite of the bunch.

A crackling series of pauses can be detected faintly on the air, and the Weaverlady seems to dance agitatedly as Eliza tosses off questions like they were spent sunflower seeds. Luckily enough, the last query interests her greatly enough that she settles down to address that one instead of getting tangled up in the various tangents. ##Foes## pervades the airspace between Yntyya and Eliza with a special nervous quality, thrumming like a physical vibration upon a single tense line of web. #Hunters of Yntyya from Homeland of Yntyya# is expounded in a more 'normal' stab, and the Weaver leaves off prodding the suspended pod and its gooshy softness, to re-approach the admired wares. #Clients are discussing payment with Yntyya#, she observes with a subtle shift in her ever-posing arms into a wheedling series of gestures. #Yntyya values Clothings at three three three three of payment units of Clients#

Eliza raises both of her narrow eyebrows at Yntyya's revelation. "Again, my apologies if I ask too many questions. I understand that Male-Client and Ladygirl-Client have been in negotiations? I offer a curious question for you. I am a hunter among my people as well. If I, or perhaps we, were to look after these individuals whom are hunting you -- would you value that as sufficient payment along with a request of mine? That I would want done immediatly? Or do you negotiate in more monetary values? You see, err, Yntyya, was it? I lack work and would enjoy something new to do."

Minnie gives in to her impulses after Janus whistles, hand flitting up to take hold of a corner of the long-sleeved tee's hem. A curled smile of appreciation brightens her face as she scrunches the fabric shamelessly and delights in the tactile sensation of honest-to-gods silk, laughing like a pixie as it slips and slides through her fingers. Interestingly enough, the traces of dirt she's left behind doesn't stick to the weave, but instead falls away in a rain of particles. Her mauling doesn't leave even the faintest sign of creasing. "Three three three three three what?" she echoes. Seeing's how she's just added another 30,000 credits to the price, it may be best to toss her back down the stairs now before haggling really begins.

The suggested retail price of the clothes hits poor Erik like a punch to the gut. He chokes, blinks hugely and tears his eyes away from the awesome overcoat to stare at Yntyya herself. "Three... thousand an' thurt'three?" It's at this moment that he realizes they probably should have asked about pricing and how many things she was going to make on their first visit. He worries his lower lip against his teeth, glancing again at the line of clothes so perfectly tailored so that he and he alone can pull off wearing them and making them look good. What Eliza offers seems to resonate with Erik and he nods his head numbly. "Reckon we -could- help at that."

The Weaver swings back 'round to face Eliza with a frightening alacrity, spider-half turning first, and leading the torso, then veiled head; the beaded weights on the shroud follow-through with a brief upsweep that almost...*almost* lets Eliza in on the secret of the Face of Yntyya. The nimble fingers spread like they're about to dart out and grab Eliza's unarmored head, but it becomes a fluid gesture reminiscent of an elegant old dame's startlement at her 80th birthday surprise party. The air dissolves with a sly, soothing cadence as the Weaver responds with: #Yntyya does not value cash units of Clients#, #Yntyya does value solution to Problem of Yntyya#, and then she scutters backwards in order to encompass both Janus and Eliza in the scope of her replies. #Hunters of Yntyya are closer now#, #Yntyya is greatly wary of Hunters of Yntyya#, #Yntyya becomes ill from being wary#, #Young of Yntyya become lost# - the air fairly bleeds with her loss.

Eliza has been in this situation so many times. Negotiating for mercenary work. So many times. "Whom is hunting you?" She asks. "What are they like, what are they armed with? And most importantly why are they hunting you?" She lets the question sink in. "And the most important question is: The clothing that you have here are for my friends. If I were to deal with your problem or at least assist in it . . . what is there in it for me? My time is not free."

Minnie just nods sagely at the values as translated by Janus, like, the merchant is expected to start high and stuff. Maybe she just doesn't understand numbers that go *that* high. Her grimy-stiff hair tries to stand on end when Yntyya seems about to pounce bodily on Eliza, but by the time she gets around to reaching for the pistol butt under her shirt, the perceived danger is already proven false. "Chaaa.." she sighs out the half-oath, and drops her hand back along her thigh, listening to the changing line of the conversation with perked brows. "Sure y'wanna buy with hot lead rounds? Bet I could get'r down t'half that, 'Rik."

A look of understanding blossoms on Janus' features and the glance he directs over to the dangling pods of silk bears none of the suppressed revulsion of earlier. His conclusion is complicated and subtle but he encapsulates it in just a few words: "She's dyin', Minnie." He drops his heavy grey gaze on to the girl beside him, searching her own eyes for a sign that she understands what he does here.

1. 1. Yntyya has more interest in Solution and less interest in cash units## takes Minnie's head off at the shoulders, or could have, it was directed so sharply towards the brash young lady. #Solution to Problem of Yntyya is the finding of Hunters and dealing with Hunters#, #Hunters of Yntyya are Masters of the Homeland of Yntyya#, #Yntyya escapes to live in Homeland of many Clients#, #Yntyya designs Clothings in peace#, glides the explanations on the air, smoothly as silk. The Weaver's humanoid digits wiggle at the end of her undulating arms, like a bean-counter hard at work on the desktop calculator. A new statement soon slices towards Eliza: #New Client requires Clothings designed by Yntyya#, and the arms reach beseechingly towards the armored woman, tapered fingertips plucking delicately at thin air. #Yntyya requires the accurate measures of the flesh of new Client# has a pointed feel to it, and the Arachnoid seems to be waiting for something to happen, limbs still wavering in an undedicated pattern before her.

Eliza looks between the Arachnoid and Janus with an uncertain look on her face. "Is it safe?" She asks what sounds like both of them. "Minnie, Dear." This is all she is going to say. It is the closest to "Sush!" That Eliza is actually going to say to her friend. "Dying is bad." She agrees with Janus, though she is sort of looking up at the spider-woman now with more than a little hesitation in her face. Maybe she figured it could get her measurements via eyeballing it? Breathing once or twice she tries to elbow Janus for either encouragement or denial. Its one thing to talk smack and face things its another to get touched by them! ". . . could you have it ready for me by the time that we bring you the heads of your hunters?" She asks. "I was looking for. . ." She degenerates into a series of mumbles. " . . . What are these things that hunt you? How do they hunt you, how do they fight?"

Minnie's eyebrows hoist a little higher, and her face is painted with shadows in addition to the grass-stains and eye make-up, as she accepts the other words as a chastisement. Almost, anyway. "Just'er kids that bit't," she comments defensively, shoving her hands into her hip pockets and managing to avoid taking the safety off the pistol and vaping her right leg. "F'we make th'baddies go 'way she can always make more?" Her eyes lift up again to gaze puzzledly at Eliza. "S'matter 'Liza...y'stark-ravin' under th'suit?"

Ah Minnie, how can you be so dense and still so adorable? Janus moves close to the girl and gathers her defensive little self up in his arms. That he also gets to muffle her mouth against his chest when he hugs her is simply coincidence right now. "Cash units are right scarce about now anyhow," he admits to Yntyya with an adorably dopey smile of his own. "So I reckon you tell us about these hunters and we'll have a looksie at what can do."

The airspace within the Parlor is pelted with a litany from the Weaver, #The Hunters are cruel and cunning#, #The Hunters hide from blows in the spaces between#, #The Hunters use the Makings of the Kin of Yntyya#, #The Hunters kill with Barbs and Blades#, whose intricate handplay has devolved into something like the agitated bobbing and weaving of cobras. Definitely not trying to take Eliza's measurements at this point. #Yntyya knows the Lair of the Hunters#, #Yntyya requires Clients to send away the Hunters#, #Hunters must go for ever#, #Yntyya will give the Clothings of Man Client#, #Yntyya will give the Clothings of New Client#, and thus comes the new price to the table.

Eliza gives Janus the look as her request goes unanswered. Not just any look. Its the look of death. Some help he is. He looses seventeen cute points for that. Maybe even eighteen if he doesn't help her out soon. Minnie makes her flush right to her neck. "N . . . no!" She says forcefully. "No! Just almost. I'm more icked by . . ." She sighs softly to herself. "All right. Fine. We'll take my measurements. I'm looking for something formal. Floor length and maybe a little daring in the back and front. I've . . . never had anything like that before and I would like it very much. I'll . . . we'll go deal with your hunters. But when we bring you the heads, I want my garment ready too. Is this satisfactory to you, Yntyya?"

Minnie huffs into Erik's 'Juiced!' shirt, inhales a couple lungfuls of park dirt (hers!) and man scent (his!), then subsides, blinking slowly. Her runners stop lightly booting him in the shins. The gun in her pants stops digging into his leg (or was she just glad to see him?). When she turns her head to the side to watch Eliza, she leaves a nice face smear across the lettering on his chest, but at least she's stopped yapping. The problem is, when she's not absorbed with talking, her eyes have more freedom to roam about, and that's when they start to really notice the other things that hang about in this space. The lazy spinny thing some of them are doing. The parts that almost show through in organic pink. Erik can probably feel her lithe little body going stiff with tension and a rather painful bout of intellectual curiosity.

Janus isn't trying to smother Minnie to death, so it's a pretty easy thing to worm out of his hold and get a look around at the parlor. Besides, he's far too gobsmacked by Eliza's request to remember why he was trying to get Minnie to stop talking in the first place. He stares over at the soldier girl, his smile changing over to something on the verge of making a very cutting and extremely foolish remark. Wisdom prevails - he's dealt with enough women to know when it's better to just shut up. "Right, it's a fair deal then. Point us in the right direction and we'll be off."

1. Yntyya is Designer# comes the whirling blade of a statement, #Correct measurements of the Client are necessary to serve well the Client#, #Yntyya must begin now if Yntyya must have Clothings ready to trade for Foe Morsels#, and by now the excited thrashings of the Weaver's arms have gone back to the gentle come-thee-hither motions, and the veil flickers side to side as the hidden head twitches with alien anticipation of knowing Eliza's true form.

Eliza covers her face with one hand for a moment. "Stand around the corner." She says to Janus. It doesn't seem to be a request either. It's a pure order. "Minnie, come here and um, Slap him if he decides to be a pig please." There is a touch of expectation on her voice along with a little bit of "Please don't leave me alone." This has to be one of the craziest things that she's ever done in her mind. Catches of armor are found and unlatched and she waits, on the point of removal until she is sure that she has at least half of her privacy. "Then we can be off."

The 'hahhh' sound coming from Minnie is her drawing in a fresh supply of air, with which to yelp with pure abandon: 'What in Holeshot're all *those* things?!'. But then she hears Eliza call her name. With a twist of her shoulders, she's hopped out of Erik's arms and is treading slowly over to join the femme merc, even making the effort to drop her gaze from the bits of horror dangling overhead. "Don't fuss, 'Liza. 'Rik would *never*," she assures the taller, almost nekkid!, girl. Meanwhile, she doesn't take her own eyes off Eliza. Wee piglette!

Janus holds his hands up like Eliza's got a gun to his head and is ready to shoot him if he doesn't comply. Really, it's not that far off. He paces down the length of the parlor, leaving the ladies - human and otherwise - to finish this business without him, and goes towards those windows, shrouded in silk as they are, to try to look down upon the Dregstown marketplace outside.

The Arachnoid is suddenly airborne, and one might have to squint to see the dragline leading upwards from the spinneret in her upwards-tilting abdomen. The two backmost legs are stretched back to pinch the thread and steady the Weaver from rotating on an axis. The humanoid torso is thus thrust forward and lower to match Eliza's own height, arms extended beyond the shrouded long head and moving with slight and ready ripples. Still a long way from touching distance, though, with perhaps three feet's worth of space between monster and merc.

Eliza has her eyes closed. "It's all right." She says to Janus even with her eyes closed and not really sure of where she is. "I wouldn't shoot you for that. Slap you though, sure!" Jovial tones and attempt at a joke. Armor except for boots is unclapsed and placed neatly in a pile and she keeps her back to Minnie as much as she will allow. Clad only in navy blue undergarments she spreads her arms a little. "Have at it." She says and opens her eyes so she can at least get a shot off if she is under attack. The things she will do for something unique. "Did he have to go through this too?"

Woo hoo! Get a load of those! Minnie's head tips to the side with largely unconscious, studious admiration. Lovely, pretty, shiny bionics. "Huh? Huh-yup, he did," she replies absently. "'Cept 'Rik didn't have t'show's 'roos." Hey! Why didn't he? The girl glances around for a distracted moment, her gaze finding Janus over thattaway. Doubtful if he can see any details on the street beyond the blobby impressions of tents, buildings, and vehicles. She turns back with a slight smile broadening the curves of her lips. "So what d'you need a fancypants dress for?" is her ohh so innocent question.

"Didn't show up in armor to the dress up party," Janus says over his shoulder, loudly enough for it to carry back down the parlor without needing for him to turn his head that way. He keeps looking down onto the street, despite the lack of detail, mostly because he's got nowhere else to look just now.

Annnd... #Done#, broadcasts the Weaver succinctly. She hadn't even laid a sharp icky little finger on the woman, just done some more of that mysterious hand waving from where she was, arms open to precisely the width of Eliza's shoulders. #Yntyya has taken the measure of the flesh of the Client#, #Yntyya designs the Daring Clothing of the Lady Client#, #Yntyya must begin to weave#, #Clients will find Hunters of Yntyya in the Wastes of the City of the Clients#, #Man Client must wear Clothing by Yntyya to find Hunters of Yntyya# - and she drops back the short distance to the ground in order to scutter away from Eliza and prepare to disengage one item of customized clothing from the gallery.

Eliza hasn't breathed and has had her eyes closed for most of the last minute. As she begins the rapid process of suiting up once more she comes to the awareness that Minnie was staring and she gives her a little bit of a despairing look. Here Eliza had been braced for the only groping that she will ever get being from an alien bug-eyed spider thing. But that was painless and she lets her breath out slowly. She is actually looking just a little pale around the cheeks but her color is going slowly back to normal. "Dressed." She says to Janus. She adds to Minnie with a sort of little shrug on her shoulders. "Like the mechanical man, I like to pretend I'm a real girl once and awhile I guess. And . . . I just don't have anything like that. Not that I'll ever wear it. But . . I can look in the mirror now and again."

Minnie wheels her gaze around at Janus' quip. Apparently her utter faith in him extends only as far as his ability to snag a soda can out of the air before it puts a dent in his noggin. She spends a moment looking puzzled after the Weaver has tappitty-tapped off to the corner, and comes to the pensive conclusion that: "She talks weird. S'like she's tellin' riddles." Her point? "S'hell'n'annoyin'." Right! Stop making her brain hurt from thinking! Turning back to Eliza in time to lend a compassionate ear to the woman's confession, she listens with her mouth fallen open slightly. And...has nothing to contribute to that.

Janus turns away from the windows and watches as the Weaver selects which of the garments he's supposed to wear to go find these Hunters. Please be the coat, please be the coat, please be the coat. A glance darts over at Minnie, a puzzled crunch of his brows darkening his face for a brief moment and then he looks up again at the clothes. Please be the hoodie, please be the hoodie... "Reckon the smell of it will draw them out or something?" he guesses, looking aside at Yntyya for any sign of confirmation.

The Weaver seems indecisive for a moment, arms reaching up and around to different sections of the gallery to no noticeable effect. The pants, Spiderbutt, the pants! #This Clothing by Yntyya will best protect# is announced nebulously into the space, and the awesome coat is abruptly cut loose, its natural folds appearing as it hangs from a single supportive thread, and with a delicate push pendulums towards Janus. He'll have to move forward some to get hold of it, but the intent behind the move would appear to maintain some distance between the Arachnoid and the Aussie. #The Hunters bear the Makings of the Kin of Yntyya#, #The Hunters will know the Clothing of the Client to be the Clothing by Yntyya# is slashed across that distance.

Eliza has apparently said everything that she is going to for the moment, still staring at the spider lady as though trying to decide exactly who and what she is and mulling over the fact that she has just done business with the devil. Wiggling the strapping on her armor she looks at Minnie and then at Janus and then begins backing towards the entrance. "Thank you for your time." She murmurs. "I look forward to seeing what you create. I like dark colors best."

Minnie looks first hopeful, then crestfallen, as the lucky free item turns out to be the coat. "But...hoodie..." She sighs, then sneaks one more glance up to the grotesque hangings. That one glimpse provides more than enough motivation for her to exit alongside Eliza. Too bad though. If the mercenary girl hadn't been so brisk to conclude business and take her leave, Minnie might have had time to prevail upon Yntyya to add racing stripes to the dress. Classy *and* go-go, all at the same time!

Janus reaches for the coat and turns himself into it, his arms finding the sleeves and shrugging the rest of it on over his shoulders after them. The last thread suspending it snaps as he walks away, and adjusting the sit of his machine pistol under the new weight of the big overcoat he follows after the two girls. He leaves the Weaver with a promise, "Be right back!"

It's immediately apparent that the spooky spider lady is at the top of her trade. The coat, while roomy, hangs just so from Erik's shoulders and the seamless sleeve cuffs fit right proper to the end of his wrist. The Weaver watches, or appears to, through her dense veil, with a satisfied stillness in the aspect of her head. Once the clients' are gone from sight, with only the invisible lines under her feet thrumming and tensing to indicate their retreat through to the staircase, Yntyya rises to scutter towards one of the lower hanging packets, and reaches out delicate hands to stroke along the silk-wrapped sides.

Faintly, it twitches. Eliza has been insistant that the party have a little chat in her little domicile before going off to face the evil might of the hunters. She leads the two there unlocking the door and stooping immediatly to pick up the tiny kitten that is waiting for her there which she hugs under her chin happily. Squeezing her little friend she picks up her other friend; the rifle; with the other and and stands him lightly against the wall. "Home sweet home."

Minnie immediately excuses herself to detour into the House of Lunatic Scribbles, citing an urgent need to wash and change. It's a reasonable request since she's been ragamuffining it since early morning. "Just need couple minutes," she promises before darting off into the corridor, then pivots back to warn, "Don't sneak off without me!" Then she's rattling the key in her door and pushing through.

Janus excuses himself too and makes a detour into Eliza's bathroom to wash some of the Minnie-mud from his face and arms. It only takes a couple of minutes and then he's back, scrubbed and spruce, in Eliza's living room and looking around a place he can sit. "Goin' ta tell me what it is has you all wound up?" he wonders as he looks at the mercenary girl and her kitten. "Or should this wait for Minnie too?"

"Course not." Eliza calls after Minnie and then boogies into the little apartment. "It should wait for Minnie she confirms to Janus and bumps noses with her kitten. True love can be observed passing back and forth between them and soon a rhythmic little purr fills the room. Eliza finally kisses him on the nose and sets him down gently on the arm of the sofa and crosses to the refrigerator. Opening it she draws out a coil of spiced pastrami and a paring knife from the counter. Lancing off two quick slices she noms on one and offers the other to Janus on the end of the knife. "Do you not have a mildly bad feeling about her? The weaver that is?"

Well well well, Minnie is taking longer than the agreed-upon "couple minutes". Very probably she is currently tearing her place apart looking for a spare set of armor, jeep with mounted railgun, or robotic power suit. Or maybe her current outfit is being a bitch to remove due to being melded to her body by a chemical combination of blood, sweat, and grease. Either way, she isn't back yet.

Janus plucks the slice of meat off Eliza's knife - no way is he letting her near his mouth with a sharp pointy thing - and chews it down. "Out of all the giant spider women I've known, she's the nicest," he jokes, probably inappropriately. Like any good party, everyone's hanging out in the kitchen so he just eases himself up against the counter's edge in front of the sink and folds his arms to hear Eliza out.

Eliza shakes her head slightly. "I'm waiting for Minnie to say my piece. But I don't like it much." She turns and uses the knife to slice a couple of slices off of a block of cheddar and pops one into her mouth and offers the other bit to Janus. She would be so devestated if she knew he didn't trust her. "Where do you figure that she's gotten to? She takes longer than I."

He did trust her, until she threatened to kill him. Or threatened harm to his manly parts. Or threatened to bash his face in. Now he just maintains a discretionary distance. He takes the cheese at least and smiles a bit while he eats it. "She's got to explain it all to Keith, and then lie about it all on top of it, and then climb out the back window when he ain't lookin' and come back around and up." Erik has most definitely gotten some familiarity with the domestic situation across the hall.

The front door cracks open a peep, and Minnie's voice announces, "It's me, don't shoot," before she elbows her way in further, and finds her friends chowing warily on cold stuffs. Looks like a damp cloth was applied recently to scrub most of the yuck from her face, throat, and arms, leaving just the dark smudges under her eyes. Her hair's been nuzzled by a brush and been retied into a ponytail that sort of juts like a handle from the back of her head due to residual stiffness. Since by golly, someone here's got to wear a hoodie, she's assumed responsibility and donned one in a black zip-up top, charcoal leather trousers slapped on her lower half. At some point one might notice Eliza's pistol poking up from the waistband at her back. "Good, y'weren't just sittin' round waitin'," she observes incorrectly.

Eliza frowns at the door. "Am I that twitchy that everyone has to act all paranoid around me? I mean, come on . . . do you really think I'd shoot you for walking in the door?" Never mind that she threatened to do that to Janus half a dozen times. The knife is brought into play and snicksnick, Minnie is offered some cheddar and meat on the tip of it. She cuts another pair of slices for Janus and offers them too, then plops her own into her mouth. "Problem that I have with all of this is that I don't know what to think about a creature like her in the dregs. Most of the people are defenseless there and she openly refers to them as morsels. I let her examine me because I want a dress." She bites down on the cheddar and gestures with her left hand. "I'm not sure I like the idea of letting her prey on people."

Janus doesn't seem too bothered by it as he takes the snacky bit from Eliza and thoughtfully chews. "Don't think she leaves that parlor of 'ers. Morsels gotta come to her, and it sounded like they all mean to do 'er harm first." He looks from Eliza to Minnie, smiles for the girl and motions her over so that he can bask in the cuteness. "Ain't like she's dropping down from rooftops and gobblin folks up on the street."

Minnie pries the foody bits off the tip of the knife with a careful forefinger and thumb, then finds a clear edge of the counter by which to pull herself up and sit there gnawing, and then peering over her shoulder at Eliza when she relates her misgivings. Her expression doesn't change throughout, except for a moment when the lady merc mentions the dress. With a scoot-scoot of her rump, she willingly bumps closer to Janus before opining, "No kiddin' she's a scary bad momma. Haven't trusted'er since she called me a snack. But, what're y'gonna do, 'Liza? She's makin' you a dress'n'all...made 'Rik some fine threads too...doesn't that count as a little nice'n your book?"

Eliza shakes her head slowly. Deciding the heck with it, its time to be adventurous she brings out the block of cheese and the meat and sets them down lightly atop a cutting board. In squence she cuts more meat and cheese for each and offers it as she collects her thoughts. "Don't like to advertise this, but. I see things. Things normal people don't. It's part of what I do. Not just a soldier. I'm a Momano. A Devil Hunter. Or was at least. Don't know anymore, not quite sure. Being psi is part of that." She wiggles the tip of the knife around her eye to gesture towards it. "Can see and tell things you two probably can't. She's evil. Not a little evil or selfish. Eat you for dinner, kill you in your sleep sort of evil. If she's let live and reproduce then there's lots more evil isn't there? Maybe she isn't going around eating people but what happens when there are more of her? Insects lay eggs by the hundreds." She thumps the knife tip down into the cutting board. "I'd like to double-cross her. She'd do the same to us. That kind of black heart stinks of evil. Meet with these hunters and see what they have to say and if it makes good sense go with them and do her in. Then just take your clothes for yourself."

Janus doesn't seem too bothered by -this- either. He works on another mouthful of cheese and meat and stares at the Weaver-woven overcoat draped over the arm of Eliza's couch while he contemplates everything. "Awlright," he agrees easily with a shrug. "We'll go talk to 'em and the straight story. Reckon we'll know the truth of it if they talk first or shoot at us."

Minnie is quiet while the plotting goes on around her, finishing her initial bits of meat and cheese, but not reaching for more. The admission of psi-hood is awarded by a small nod from her, like all the little pieces of some puzzle just fell into place for her with that one little word: psi. The interest flickers in her eyes but there's no chance to prod with questions; the information's coming too fast and dire. Finally, her conflicting impulses subside into a stubborn neutrality, determinedly fence-sitting on the issues until someone else tips the scales for her. She licks some pastrami grease from the tip of her finger, watching Janus expectantly for his reply to Eliza's proposition...and looks just a little surprised at just which way the scales seem to have tipped. "Uh...huh?" She slowly looks from Erik to Eliza, then back to Erik. "Whoa-ahh, that's cold," is all she says.

Eliza glances at Janus as if in shock. So, that is dealt with. That leaves Minnie. "I'll bet some of those hanging pods wern't just offspring, but food." She sets her food down and sidles up to Minnie. "Morsel." She hisses in a little approxmation of the spider lady's voice. "Do you know what aracnhnoids and spiders do? They web you up, then paralyze you with venom and inject acid that slowly turns your insides; while you are awake and can't move, into goo. Then they slurp your liquified remains out and leave the husk to dry. How do you feel about her doing that to people? Maybe even innocent people who stumbled in there? She would, I promise. I'd never turn on a person like that, but she's not a person. She's a monster!"

Janus's head snaps away from the coat and he looks down at Minnie beside him, a worried frown stitched onto his features. "Ain't saying I'm all for a double cross. Might be these Hunters are ten times as worse as the Weaver. Just think it's worth making sure we're not wrong about this." He slips his hand across Minnie's shoulders and burrows it into her hood to lightly and reassuringly squeeze the base of her neck. "Mistakes like that are hard to fix."

Minnie crosses one leg over the other and hunches the line of her torso down in the classic Thinker pose, thumbing the curve of her lower lip in a preoccupied manner. Something's bothering her but she either isn't quite sure what it is, or she is sure but doesn't have the intellectual means to articulate it. Eliza's hoving into her immediate field of vision causes her eyes to cross momentarily, and then widen gradually with horror as the imagery presented effectively works it own magic on her sensibilities. Eliza has just got to keep it up a few seconds' more, and this little villager will be rustling up a pitchfork and grabbing a burning torch, and gleefully signing up for the next scheduled Rampaging Lynch Mob. She eventually drops her gaze from Eliza's, unable to cope with the infectious fervor as well as the personal challenge to her humanity. A small sigh escapes her nose when the warm weight of Erik's palm settles on her skin. "Yeah. Kay. An'f th'baddies....r'whatever they are....f'y'get th'knowin' that they're kill'n-your-sleep evil too? Then what? Y'gonna try'n'kill 'em all, 'Liza?"

Eliza glances sidelong at Minnie as she rubs one more bit of salt into the wound. "In fact . . . . I'm sure if we cut those pods down, we'd find some people. The right thing to do would be to burn the whole thing." A faint little breath from her, and both her hands cover her face for a moment. For just a second if one is watching the vulnerable look is back. "No easy answer to that question, Min. This is why I retired; part of why I didn't want to do this anymore. There isn't always a good straight answer at first and you have to use your own judgement. Maybe they'll be good. Maybe they'll reek of evil too and try to kill us right off the bat and we'll have to shoot them to live ourselves; I just don't know. Don't like or want to make these kinds of decisions but I keep having to." Hands come away from her face. "Let's go do this before I loose my nerve completely and need chems."

Seemingly in complete agreement at least with that last statement, Janus pushes away from the kitchen counter and goes over to recover the big coat gifted from the Weaver. "Said we'd do it," he reminds the pair in case they needed the reminding. He pulls the coat on like he was born in it, slipping his arms through the sleeves and tugging the rest of it up over his shoulders with a stylish flick of the collar. All he's lacking is a shotgun to do that cool *cha-chack* thing with.

Minnie lifts her eyes in their smudgy pockets of kohl and just stares at Eliza blankly for a few seconds. That thing that's bothering her keeps coming back and coming back the longer the femme merc monologues, trapped and chewing around in the back of her mind and making her a little wild-eyed. But something's making her feel a bit better, too, after all that. For some reason, she watches Eliza hide and struggle and recommit, and it makes her feel better. When Janus slips away, she straightens her spine up and grasps the edges of the counter, swinging her legs back and forth in anticipation of hefting herself off the side. Aww, doesn't Erik look dashing in the coat made by The Hands Of Pure Evil! Minnie drops the short distance, cushions with her knees, and comes up beside Eliza, looking up at the girl and finally having something to contribute. "Know what? You're pretty. You're goin't'look super hot'n a dress." And off she goes to the door.

Eliza stares after Minnie for a moment or two after she heads to the door. Her mouth opens and closes a few times until finally a reddish color settles in her skin and goes all the way to the collar of her armor and presumably beneath. "Thanks." She mumbles, clearly entirely not sure of how to deal with that sort of thing. She is going to let Minnie go without another word but Chaos lifts his head to throw a tired little unconcerned mew after her and then lets her go. Eliza looks at Janus for a second, takes a deep breath and then follows out too. An ambient echoing drip-drip sound greets and ushers the trio along into the simple maze of miniature piles and stacks that preclude the true junkyard behemoth that rises above the security walls like a dangerously polluted tidal wave about to break. Late afternoon already, and the shadows of the twelve-foot risers seem to suck at their feet, until one is reassured that it's only sticky old food wrappings and otherwise soft gooshy organic things that comprise the spongy ground covering. And the sampling of smells to be found here are, suffice to say, as cloyingly awful as Janus' new coat is enormously awesome.

Oh yes, and Minnie has shown some sense it would appear, having detoured once again into the shallows of her apartment to pull a piecemeal set of armor from the hall closet, as well as a nice hefty revolver to serve as back-up to the armament supplied by Eliza. It looks relatively new on her, in that she probably hasn't bothered to wear it that often, let alone seen battle in it. Moving with a touch of discomfort from the unaccustomed pinching of various straps, she wanders along somewhere behind or between the other two, somewhat absorbed by the slight impressions her runners create in the sod, and trying not to breathe too deeply.

Eliza is thankful for many things. She is thankful that she was listened to. She is thankful that she has such wonderful friends. She is thankful for her good aim and the equipment she brought. But what she is most thankful for right now, give the extreme nausea that the Junkyard can create, is her environmental suit. This means that no matter what, she doesn't have to smell any of it. She is bringing up the rear. Janus is bait afterall. Let him go first! And she is being very, very attentive.

And awesome the new coat is, especially in the way it flows, flaps and flutters so stylishly like it does in any but the weakest breeze. Just the act of walking is more than enough to ripple and lift the deep folds of alien silk. The only downside, if it even has one, is that it's so well tailored to Erik's frame that the idea of wearing real armor beneath it is impossible. How lucky it is that the man has that miracle jumpsuit of his from the far north, but the arctic camouflage pattern of it doesn't work so well with the bold and blocky greys of the overcoat. He's in the lead, taking it like he was born there, walking with a hand stuffed under that coat and holding lightly to the grip of his machine pistol from halfway around the planet.

Minnie admired that coat before this. But as her eyes drift back up from the squirting 'land mine' she'd managed to trod upon, she finds she doesn't mind giving it another slow once-over. "F'th'baddies, I mean, the hunters're wearin' anythin' like that, they must be some nifty cats, y'think-mebbe?" she muses aloud, takes a deeper breath in consequence, and starts to cough briefly. "Thinkin' they're after th'spiderlady 'cause th'gals back home need a new Fall line?" Sniffff-hack-hack-hack.

Just 'round the bend are a series of standing pools, created by rainfall in various overturned vehicle chassis and other impermeable materials sunk into the ground. Thick clouds of of spawned insect life turn the air into a buzzing, grainy entity.

Eliza plods along. She is paying very active attention to what is going on around her and like Janus, her hands rest in a position where her copious amounts of armaments are at least mostly easy to reach. Mostly, that is. Her attention is occupied mainly by the surroundings and she stops for a second to jog up after Janus. "I hate that we don't know what we are hunting for at all. We could walk right into them."

Janus agrees with Eliza by grunting sourly. "Reckon we shoulda asked th' Weaver be a bit more specific," he grouses with the blessing of hindsight. A glance back over his shoulder to check on Minnie, a quick smile to reassure her. "Then again, coat's supposed to draw 'em out somehow, roit? Might just stand 'ere and wait."

Minnie says, "Perception check, 1d20 plz." Janus rolls... __ (1d20) 9 Minnie rolls... __ (1d20) 7 Eliza rolls... __ (1d20) 19

A quick unconscious tally returns eleven significantly-sized pools in all. All with sufficient bacteria levels to start forming algae any day now. All seeping tiny rivulets into the surrounding landscape, to aid in the overall organic rot underfoot. All teeming with wrigglies, skimmies, and flitties, their erratic movements keeping each area boiling with movement.

@PEMIT TO ELIZA: Oh. Except for that one, far left, beyond the pile of blown out tires. The patterns aren't so aimless there. Inexplicably, at some point within the cloud, bugs follow, veer away from, and sometimes bounce off of a vague, vertical outline of nothingness. You'd have to really stare for a couple moments to get a better sense of that unseen obstruction.

Eliza slows a little as she enters this little place and Janus's little speech ends up going in one ear and out the other. "Janus." She says, softly. "Perfect place for someone t'jump us. Dunno if I'm worried about hunters or gangers, but . . . eyes open and forward huh?" She pushes past him to take the proper lead because she has that nifty environmental stuff on. Something seems to catch her eye and her visored head looks around in several directions while she tries to figure out what it is that is amiss.

Minnie's gaze zings upwards momentarily to catch Erik's look, then goes back to reluctantly hovering about the area ahead, with its swamp-like ambience. "I vote, stand here. Or," she adds nervously, big hazel eyes starting to pinwheel with alarm as it almost seems like the billowing squadrons might be drifting their way, "way back over thattaway."

@PEMIT TO ELIZA: Occupying oneself with gazing off in various different directions does not help one pinpoint the oddity that exists in that particular pool.

Janus heaves in a heavy breath and immediately regrets it, but he's not about to go looking weak by doubling over and coughing out a lung. He clears his throat, does it again, then exhales everything in a loud rush. "Piles go back far enough, we could walk about in here all night and not see all of it." He swings his head around, sweeping a look over the jagged, tumbled terrain that's spread out from this point and winds up looking down at those collected pools with a dubious purse of his lips.

Minnie says, "Perception check, again!" Janus rolls... __ (1d20) 15 Eliza rolls... __ (1d20) 19

Are the swarms meandering closer, like some quasi-intelligent elemental sensing and stalking prey? There is a faint, nauseating breeze, and on it is carried by far more intense smells than the pheromones and perfumes of such hot-blooded bods as those of Janus and Minnie. Still, a wisp is all it takes, if one believes the droning rogue scientists whom we have all had the misfortune of encountering at one or the other tavern. They're so bloody annoying.

@PEMIT TO JANUS: Oh wait. Something odd goes on in a particular pool, the one far left, beyond the pile of blown out tires. The movement patterns of the swarm aren't so erratic there. Inexplicably, at some point within the cloud, bugs follow, veer away from, and sometimes bounce off of a vague, vertical outline of nothingness. You'd have to really stare for a couple moments to get a better sense of that unseen obstruction.

@PEMIT TO ELIZA: What do you know...giving the place another look-see in its entirety does yield fruit. Perhaps it wasn't there before, but yet another of these spatial anomalies is here, closer, stationed between two of the pools about fifteen feet distant. Rather obviously to you, a big hairy fly crawls rather than walks along the air in a broad arc about five feet up. It abruptly disappears, just pops out of existence.

Eliza is growing more and more paranoid. Something caught her eye. Reaching down to absently take hold of one of her boon companions, this is to say one of her beloved pistols she focuses inwards instead of outwards; trying to sense what she apparently cannot see. Quiet during this she is, not saying anything to anyone. Not even Janus.

This sort of thing is so far outside of Janus' jurisdiction he might as well be in Los Alamos. It's Eliza's deal and he seems to intuitively know this. He waits, gives the soldier girl her silence, and tries in his own way to figure out where they're supposed to go.

Eliza pages: Presence Sense. You paged Eliza with 'Roll a 1d100' Eliza rolls... __ (1d100) 50 You paged Eliza with 'Okay, upon opening up your senses you are able to confirm that there are at least two dimensional beings ahead of you, perhaps more. Nothing to set your lobes a-tingling, like supernatural entities or magical beasts, though.'

Eliza keeps quiet for another few seconds as she tries to make a decision or two. It's a big decision. How to go about this? What did she see, anyway? Or what did she sense? What is she going to do? What she's going to do is holster her little pistol and grab one of the big, bulky looking dimorphodons and point it at the ground about ten feet ahead of her. Being more a minature shotgun than a handgun the deep and throaty report that follows as she fires at this neutral spot is unmistakable. Debris goes flying in every direction. And probably pretty loud and sudden for poor Janus and Minnie. "Know you're there. Come on out and let's have a talk." The pistol is re-holstered. Must have been an attention getting device.

Minnie lets out a hissing sigh, when she gathers that the other two are holding their ground despite the visual suggestion of advancing insect troops. She crosses her arms loosely and taps one foot in a nervous dramatization, turning her gaze about to scope the escape routes. "Soo-oo," she finally prompts, oblivious to the personal/intuitive moments being indulged by each of her companions. And it comes as a bit of an adrenaline hit when Eliza's gun-switch concludes with a loud detonation, and a tremble in the loose debris underfoot. Skipping a step or two backwards, Minnie starts to drag her own revolver up and out, conveniently forgetting the e-pistol tucked behind her. Her really slow quickdraw halts just out of the gate as she observes Eliza's next move, and she also follows that example to reholster.

Janus winces at the report, a bunching of tension visible in the set of his shoulders under that overcoat of pure awesomeness, but he's earned his cool under fire and it holds its ground here so far.

There's a pause of somewhat impolite length, before Eliza's suggestion is answered to by a shimmering in the air about twelve feet distant from her, as well as one farther back, about twenty-two feet away above the far left pool. Within the next few seconds, the figures of two d-bees become solidly distinct in the junkyard-swamp setting.

Hunters of Yntyya Unapologetically dimensional, these 6ft hunchbacked freakshows view all 360-degrees of their surroundings with binocular, independent nipple-eyes. Not sorry. That's what they look like. It is possibly their oversized starfruit heads with the seemingly pointlessly frilly dewlaps which drag their spines into the ridged humps seen protruding up from their armor. The stone-encrusted packs resting over their lower backs are apparently necessary accessories, to help balance the weight. The rest is up to their biped legs, long slabs of iron muscle under thick sandpaper hides, bending at knobby folds and planting steady to earth with four taloned toes spreading at 90-degree angles from one another. About the same in length as the legs, their arms are bottom heavy, with thick cuffs of cartilage or stored fat banding their wrists. Four-fingered hands assembled much like the feet are adept at holding onto the large metal rings that appear to be their main weaponry. Half a dozen such hoops are hooked to each them by way of a weave-construction harness fitted over another woven garment resembling shimmery silver-blue chainmail that fits loosely but follows their peculiar builds as though made just for them. Overtop their packs rests a dull black gun that seems hollow and incomplete - perhaps the bundle of slick black bolts secured across their stooped chests are the missing parts.

Eliza takes a really deep breath inside of her armor. Why did she let herself sign up for this? She is supposed to be retired. She should be lying back on her sofa with her feet encased in slippers, petting her kitten. Now, here she is facing down unknown monsters again. Willing none of her irritation to come into her voice she nonetheless sounds just a little icy at first. But it warms. "Hi. How close were you planning to get?" I'd have . . . no matter. Are you Yntyya's hunters? Do you speak my tongue?"

"Mmarrkk off thhe Wweavverr iss onn bbigg ssofftt onne," barruks a voice that echoes confusingly from an upwards source. Upon the crest of a putrefying heap of cloth, plastic, and waste, another of the Hunters is shimmering into existence. It is jabbing one of its long sinewy arms, a bladed ring weapon in hand, down in Janus's direction.

Minnie says, "The Hunters have a natural hf rating of 10. You may roll if you feel the desc merits." Minnie rolls... __ (1d20) 3

The groan that comes from Janus is inaudible but is somehow felt all the same. Maybe it's the way he lets shoulders droop in resignation or the way he rolls his head to look at the third hunter with a stop along the way to implore silent gods above why they must be so cruel. Two of the creatures he was okay with, three creates problems, and the tension in his body gives away the expectation that more are yet to appear. "Roit, the coat. Sharp, ain't it? Figured it the best way for us to all have a little talkie about Miz Weavah."

Janus rolls... __ (1d20+4) 14 + 4 = 18

Eliza rolls... __ (1d20) 11

"Ahhhh?" queries Minnie conversationally as the unknown makes itself known. One will have to imagine what fantastic commentary she really meant to make within that monosyllable sigh-yelp. She moves slowly backwards another pace, and that one simple movement betrays her as her leg muscles jellify and cause her runners to skid out from under her, dropping her with a splat on her knee and shin guards. There she stays, just staring in helpless shock, while a small flurry of insects drifts over to examine her.

. . . . "And you see that we are not pointing our weapons at you, so the polite thing to do would be to return the favor. Unless you want to shoot first, and not talk at all? I'm well aware of what your Weaver is. Evil. Nasty. Don't like her much myself. 'Fore I decide what to do, I'd like to know what you're hunting her for. Where are you from anyway, and how did she and you get here?" Her arms are crossed in an expectant posture, face hidden behind her armor and with both hands fairly near to her armaments.

The Hunter on high was just jabbing its ring towards Janus for emphasis, apparently, since its motions slow to a poised rest, once its dewlap has stopped thrumming flashily and producing the warbling sounds that emitted through its lipless mouth. Two sets of nipple-eyes remain glued to Janus, while the Hunter nearest Eliza alternates between watching her and Janus. Minnie is apparently a non-issue. That nearest one begins to thrum now, big hinged mouth cracking open a tad to let the fleshy croak-words out: "Bbigg ssofftt onne ccarrrryinngg mmarrkk offff tthhe Wweavverr ttellllss wwhherre iss tthhe Wweavverr. Nnonne off tthhe ssofftt onness bbeccomme ggarroppttahhahh." That last word most likely came out wrong. But the meaning seems clear enough.

The squelching sound in the filth behind him tells Erik enough. He keeps his deep grey eyes turned up at that Hunter there on the trash heap, the one jabbing his weapon around, but steps up the incline towards poor, slimy Minnie and holds his arm down for her to help herself up with. "She asked us to file on down 'ere and cark the lot of ya, but 'ere we are all peaceable like, willing to talk things through." Nevermind that Eliza's shot a nice hole through the semiorganic shell of the junkyard floor, they come in peace.

Minnie's wide eyes roll on a slow, laborious journey between the three big critters, noticing along the way that there do not seem to be any weapons of bladed death hurtling their way, currently. She dares to breathe again, doing so with uncaring gasps through nose and mouth, and remarking in a concerned huff to Janus, "Sounded like a deal, what that one just said...right? Sounds fair t'me." Whatever this ggarroppttahhahh is, she wants no part of it. She hauls herself back to her feet with the aid of his arm, and shimmies like a dog briefly in an effort to dislodge some of the ick from her person, another thing of which she wants no part. It's nothing like the tame refreshing dirt of the Plaza Park. "Why's 'Liza gotsta complicate crap with hows'n'whyfors?" Ah Minnie, how easily the morals flee under pressure.

"Tthhe Wweavverr iss cchharrggedd wwitthh mmullttittudde ccrrimmess anndd Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka wwillll nnott rresstt bbefforre hherr iss aggainn inn tthhe nnett," expulses the elevated Hunter suddenly, its ruff shaking into a blur from the effort. "Bbigg ssofftt onne ssppeakkss nnoww orr ffeellllss tthhe ssppllitt off," the throaty-humming dies down a little while it considers a worthy translation, ".....PPAINN WWHHEELL." Not bad, Nipple-Eyes, not bad at all.

The farthest Hunter's dangly thing starts to vibrate in seeming hmm-uh-huh-uh-huh-yep-yep-yep appreciation of the inspired naming of their collective ring-weaponry. But when its mouth unseals and creeps open, only a thick pseudopod of a tongue lashes out, collecting a few dozen buzzing insects from a shallow crevice in its craggy face before zipping back into the depths of its gullet.

Eliza tilts her head to the side. If she is impressed or unimpressed it is hidden well behind her visor. Quick as that there is a gun in each of her hands but she does not fire. "So." She says. "Now that we've all got guns and . . . pain wheels pointed at each other, we can start shooting if you really want. Or, you can listen. Because it might just be worth your while." She gestures with the nasty looking pistol in her left hand. "What sort of crimes? We're at heart, good people. I don't like her any more than you do and if you put your damn wheel-thingies down and talk, maybe I'll even help you kill her."

Janus follows Eliza's lead and pushes back the Weavercoat to draw the laser pistol at his hip. It doesn't quite have the same intimidation value as Eliza's, and he's got only the one, but it sure looks like it belongs there all nestled snug in his big hand. "Reckon the alternative is we keep going on about 'groopta' and gettin' nowhere at all. Strewth, I like this coat and you blokes look just as freaky as she. I'd sleep easy after killing -all- of ya."

The nearest Hunter has achieved a state of unwavering poise, clawed toes burrowed through the spongy layer and gripping firmer ground. It directs one independent eye up to its fellow Hunter who made the ultimatum, and barruks a series of nonsensical noises that seems to reverberate through the piles of trash until the loose bits take on a bit of blur at the edges. The Hunter on high responds with a drawn out croak that would win First Prize at the Dwarven Annual Belch-o-rama, swinging its heavy head to end in a hiss at Janus's revealed weapon. Keeping that one eye trained on its apparently rebellious partner, the first freak alters the pitch of its thrums in preparation of switching back to human-speak. "Bbyy pprrotteccttinngg wwhherress off tthhe Wweavverr tthhe ssofftt onness pperrmmitt ggrreatt pperrill tto innffillttrratte tthhiss wworrlldd. Tthhe Wweavverr ggarroppttahhakknnahh mmullttittudde off Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka bbefforre essccappinngg tto ssofftt onne wworrlldd. Hhass bbrrokkenn....cchhainnss off mmuttinngg. Hhass ccommmmittttedd ffoull ddeedd off fferrttillizzattionn. Hhannddssomme ccausse fforr ssofftt onne inn sshhellll tto hhellpp. Wwe ppayy hhappppyy fforr hhellpp inn fforrccinngg bbigg ssofftt onne tto ttellll wwhherre iss tthhe Wweavverr." Its long arms bend and reach back, going for the weighted pack that's saddled over its pelvis.

Minnie fails to show solidarity by likewise pulling up her own weapon, piddly rounds or otherwise. Being more akin to the loose bits than Janus or Eliza, she grits her teeth at all the alien tremors, and creeps her hands up over her ears in a futile attempt to block it out. "Real thmooth, 'Rik," she mutters.

Eliza leans to the side towards Janus. "Do you 'ticularly care either way, so long as you get your coat?" She asks him in a low voice and then gestures towards the one that is smart enough to engage her in speech with the flat of her pistol. She's being careful not to actually point any guns at him. "You'll have to be more specific. I'm leaning towards helping you, and I bet I could get my friends to come too. And I know where the weaver is too. But, if you try to force anything out of him you force it out of me too. You might get me in the end but you can be sure I'll kill at least three of you first. Then will you still be able to finish your mission? No, talking is better. Be more descriptive. I realize that she's an evil, good for nothing bug. Are you saying that she has killed many? Chains of muting? She escaped from something?"

"Worst Weaverwoman did was mistake Minnie for a morsel," Janus mutters while he casts his eyes around at the three Hunters and tries to puzzle out just how closely they're actually working together out here. "Nothing but decent and interested in doing her job, not having tantrums and making threats like these three." It's a lot of answer for Eliza, probably.

The one stationed on the heap flutters its dewlap and interjects, "Ddullllinngg. Itt iss Cchhainnss off ddullllinngg. Itt iss nnott cchhainnss off mmuttinngg."

The lead(?) Hunter does not suffer to stand corrected. "Mmuttinngg iss ccorrrrecctt Ggarrakkmmaggahh." Is that...a tone of annoyance in its throaty hum?

"Tthhe Wweavverr ggarroppttahhahh wwitthh tterrrribblle sshharrppnnesssses." It bobs its head abruptly in quick, insolent gestures, almost causing it to topple over. "Ddullllinngg."

The exposed hide of Lead Hunter turns a rosy shade of blue. Its nipple-eyes writhe back and forth between its partner and Eliza. You see what I have to go through to complete my mission? Do you see? "Ddifffficcullttyy sseerrioussllyy nnatturrall inn ccommmmunniccattionns. Ssofftt onne inn sshhellll wwassttess pprrecciouss ffeww ttimmess inn asskkinngg mmorre ccommmmunniccattionnss." Its free long-fingered hand slips under the flap of its pack, to begin rummaging. "Tthhe Wweavverr ggaarrrrrrr- kkillllss. Kkillllss mmulltttttt- mmannyy. Hherr bbrreakkss cchhainnss off MMUTTINNGG pprrotteccttinngg tthhe nnobblle Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka ffrromm tterrrribblle ssppllittttinnggs. Tterrrribblle ttrricckkinnggss. Hherr essccappess ffrromm ccrrimme jjusstticce. Ssofftt onne inn sshhellll llookkss. Hhappppyy ppayymmenntt." With a jerk, the hand emerges from the heavy pack with a carved and metal-encrusted box.

Lone Hunter off in the background hasn't had much to say throughout the exchange, perhaps being too distracted by the wiggly life that surrounds it, given that it is standing knee-deep in egg-laden water.

Eliza tips her head to the side. "The thing is." She says to Janus. "You can't see her like I do." She gesticulates to her own forehed with her pistol. "Evil. Nasty. I don't have any reason not to believe them." Head hips the other way and she focuses on the creatures for a little bit. "Do what you want." She says to Janus and by extension, to Minnie. "If she'd eat Minnie, she'd eat anyone else. And . . . I just know what she's capable of. I'm going to go kill her. Come with me if you want, and trust me, or don't. Sometimes you have to do what is right." She waves her hand at the hunter. "I'm not concerned about the payment." She quietly offers. "Tell me one thing. Is there anything that you can offer that would prove that she is . . . so evil. My friend is not convinced. I believe you, but he does not."

Rubbing her temples, Minnie keeps her face arranged in confused lines, trying to follow along the conversation, but mostly gaining a headache coupled with mild nausea for her troubles. "Kind'f ssoundss like back home'n th'Burbss," she manages, sponging up some of the hissy lisp unconsciously. "Th'ssquadss catchin' 'n'sshovin' th'big bad magic-assss craziess 'round'n sspecial chainss'n'crap."

Janus merely nods to Minnie, having heard her but having never been to her 'Burbs, is unable to agree or disagree to the similarities. "Not doing a thing, 'Liza," he says to the girl, speaking straight to the back of her helmet. "These bloke.... things have a job to do and I say we let 'em do it. If they fail at it, we'll go in and finish 'er off, no worries. Reckon you're right, they seem all riled up and ain't come all this way just for sport. Sheila's gotta go."

Eliza pages: btw, the squint is sense evil. From afar, Eliza is trying to get a sense of these things. See aura also if you'll permit both in one pose. Else that'll be next pose. You paged Eliza with 'You get a sense of evil in the space before you in patches that correlate with the location of the three visible Hunters. But it's not as strong or gripping a sense as you uncovered in the Weaver's parlor. Feels a bit officious. A bit tenacious. But it ain't supernatural.'

The lead Hunter appears stunned that its frabjurously happy box has been effectively pooh-poohed, and stands frozen there with it in hand like a rejected suitor. A significant moment of silence...relative silence, anyway, after the soft ones have finished dialoguing. Alternately agitated and pacified by the foreign vibrations in the air, the insect swarms drift higher and higher until several of the clouds are caught by the early evening breeze and carried off.

Presently, the one atop the junkheap barruks, "Bbigg ssofftt onne ddoess nnott bbellievve mmeanninngg hhe hhass nnott sseenn tthhe Wweavverr. Tthhe Wweavverr hhass ffacce off tterrrribblle pprrooffff. Amm tthhinnkkinngg hhe ccannnnott ttellll wwhherre iss tthhe Wweavverr."

"I know where she is, so why does it matter?" She asks to the lead Hunter. "I assure you that he has seen her. He is just dumb. Do you not have creatures on your world that are too stupid to understand what is bad for them?" Eliza half turns to look at Janus without taking her eyes off the others. "I'm just teasing. They don't know that, but I'm teasing. Anyway, look at it this way? You want the rest of your clothes? THen come with me and get them." Minnie she gives a long exasperated look that is well hidden behind her helmet. "She was going to eat you!" She cannot help but exclaim.

You paged Eliza with 'Which Hunter gets the See Aura?' Eliza pages: Lead one. You paged Eliza with 'Lead Hunter's aura is brighter than the Weaver's in terms of life experience, but not the brightest you've seen by far. Like the Weaver, however, that life is somewhat monotonously tinted with specialized tasks, as opposed to the diversity often exhibited by human auras. He seems to lack both magic and psychic activity hotspots, so the abilities witnessed so far must be based in science of sorts. Vague amounts of paranormal energy pervade the being, perhaps a build-up due to crossing over dimensions. No signs of possession. Definitely not human, aberrations a-plenty.'

Minnie stares uncomprehendingly back at Eliza for a few moments, then protests, "Wha? Was only sayin', that's what th'folks back home do with th'super baddies. Use super strong chains! Was only sayin' that." She shuffles her feet, finding it an easy feat seeing's how she's already churned the ground below her into a slippery salsa. "Stuff like that wasn't why I ran away. But anyway, like 'Rik's sayin'...these blokes got dibs, right? Did they even say anythin'bout givin'er a face full'f hot rounds?"

The laser pistol goes back into its holster and Erik pulls the coat into place, concealing it. "She's by the marketplace," he calls up to the Hunter perched up there on the trash pile, tilting his head in the correct direction off into Dregstown. "Old, green office building, know it when you find it." Each step squishes slickly as he starts walking up the incline and away from the whole scene and he holds his hand out for Minnie's as he moves past. "Let's go."

Alert eyes focus keenly upon Janus as the directions are so casually tossed out. Understandably, those eyes then twist back over to look for confirmation from Eliza, who has all this time been covered by each the Hunters' spare eye. Those wrinkled stalks may be ugly and perverted-looking, but they're darn useful. "Mmarrkkett? Ssofftt onne ccenntterr ggatthherrinngg?" the one croaks from above. "Ccoorrddinnattess ffavvorr ffeeddinngg ccrrimmess off tthhe Wweavverr. Wwhherre ddoess tthhe bbigg ssofftt onne ggo. Ddoess hhe ffavvorr tthhe Wweavverr," it demands of Eliza, with a threatening step forward and down, creating a small avalanche of hard plastic and metal bits.

Eliza is quiet for a few seconds; staring at Janus' retreating back in pure unadultrated shock. There is the faintest twitch to her frame and then she turns away herself and is not going to argue with it. "Leave him out of it. He does not favor the weaver." She gestures the way out of the Junkyard with her pistol. "Come on. I'll show you the way. And be sure to go invisible again." She just gives Janus and Minnie a long look and then begins to pad off herself, checking once to see if the things are coming.

Minnie pivots slowly, trying futilely to catch a glimpse of Eliza's face through the visor. Her hand darts up and grabs hold of Janus's, and she's skipping to fall into step. "What's goin' down - we leadin' th'way? We distractin' th'spiderchica while the blokes surround th'hide-out? Wait..." Something just happened, didn't it? Her gaze falls from Erik and arcs over her shoulder to Eliza once more. "Beg-pard? What's th'rumpus, 'Rik?...you're not comin' with?" A sort of confused dismay creeping into her demand.

"Haven't decided yet," Janus answers Minnie with a strange stoniness and a hard cast to his eyes, which remain fixed on the horizon rather than turning down to the girl when he speaks to her. "Standin' here yabbering in circles ain't helping me any, though. Y'really want to be involved in all of this?"

The wrought-metal box in the Lead Hunter's grasp is transferred carefully back into its bum-pack, while the critter uses the moments of hesitation and confusion to give each of the humans a careful eyeballing. A series of deep thumps comes from its dewlap, which swells and deflates in rapid succession. Could be interpreted as a 'tsk tsk tsk', but that couldn't possibly be correct. It's partner responds with a loud exaggerated gulp, and then its appearance begins to shimmer and melt, the violet-tinted sky behind it bleeding through. In the next second, that Hunter is gone from view. The trash around its feet stirs sluggishly for a moment, then, a couple of feet down, a burnt-out tv set suddenly rocks gently. Then below that, a layer of dirty plastic bags ripple. Presently, the Lead Hunter barruks, "Ssofftt onne inn sshhellll mmusstt onnllyy bbattttlle tthhe Wweavverr unnttill hherr ttoo wweakk tto bbrreakk cchhainnss off mmuttinngg. Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka wwillll bbrrinngg tthhe Wweavverr bbacckk tto jjusstticce fforr tterrrribblle ccrrimmess."

Eliza pauses, one foot off the ground when Janus speaks. She's looking at Minnie too. "Seems you decided pretty well until she decided to come. Course, now you change your mind. Situation reversed, even if I thought you were an idiot for it, I wouldn't let you go into a firefight by yourself and without me. You stick by your friends and watch their backs. S'pecially when they watch yours in the first place. Maybe I'm mistaken though and you were just going to take the long way there." There is a little bit of obvious hurt in her voice. "Uh." She says to the hunter. "Should I be using guns?" She waves the pistol around. "Or swords?"

The rear Hunter is likewise vanished from its tepid bowl of bug soup, only the vague stirrings of mindless droning insects, and faint water ripples marking its passage from that spot.

Minnie looks up at Janus's stern profile for a second, trying to read it with intent kohl-rimmed eyes. "I *know*, 'Rik,", she confides lowly. "Brain's hurtin' from all the nngghhnnhhgghhss-ppbbtthhtt, s'mine. Figure that's why th'folks back home decided was safer t'shoot th'bees 'stead'f askin' questions 'round'n'round that th'freaks don't even friggin' *answer*." A resentful glance is shot over and back to where the Hunters are...or rather, where she *thought* they were. The marked absence of all but one of them 'causes her to jump a little in mid-stride. She hurries on with, "'Liza would never say you're dumb, an' mean't. I think you're smart. Smarter than any body I know, honest-as-pants!" She is, too. As honest as a set of well-pressed slacks with an unfortunate case of panty-line. Because practically everyone else she knows is bat-shit crazy, at least in her estimation.

"This is all 'Liza knows, can't blame her fer gettin' all troppo at the idea," Erik reassures Minnie quietly, gesturing with vague circles of his hand towards his temple. Troppo indeed. "The smart bloke don't stick his hand in when the dogs are tusslin' over a scrap, though. Ain't my fight, ain't your fight. I'm going to give the coat back and go home."

The Hunters' frontman advances on Eliza's position rapidly, long limbs sweeping up and forward in an awkward-looking but effective stride. Its intent seems to be for closer examination of Eliza's pistol. "Ggunnss iss fforr ddissttanncce bbattttllinnggss. Bbattttlle tthhe Wweavverr wwitthh ddissttanncce iss ggoodd addvvicce." With an inward flail of one of its arms, it snags a ring from the flexible hook embedded in its woven harness, and attempts to brandish-display it. "Ppainn Wwhheell iss fforr ddissttanncce bbattttllinnggss. Ssppinne Tthhrrowwerrss iss fforr ddissttanncce bbattttllinnggss. Sssswwwwoorrrrddddssss," it tries out the strange new word, "iss fforr ddissttanncce bbattttllinnggss?"

Eliza may or may not hear Janus. On one hand she might be ignoring him. On the other hand she might be busy with the hunter in question. "Swords are not distance. Swords are sharp. Poke. Cut." Finally though, she can't seem to resist or put it off anymore and stops and looks at Janus squarely. "If it bothers you that much, give me the damn coat and I'll look after it. Or better yet, rather than give it back and such just go because you will get shot at anyway and I wouldn't want you to get nicked on something you don't believe in. Damned if I don't know any better, but I know when I'm doing the right thing." She gives Minnie an apologetic look that is hidden behind her faceplate. "I'm sorry you feel caught between us. If you want to go with him, I won't be hurt."

"What-all's th'all she knows?" Minnie wonders mostly to herself, since Janus is still philosophizing. She then double-takes, and echoes, "Give't back...t'th'weaverwoman? Then she'll know somethin's gone sour, right?" The girl muses over that briefly, for the moment disregarding the stunning realization that There Will Be No Nifty Silky Threads. Hereafter known only as TWBNNST: The Reckoning. "That's no-go-go, 'Rik...makes things harder for 'Liza," she concludes, around the same time Eliza makes her own bid for responsibility over the coat. Turning, she regards the armored figure bleakly as it speaker-speaks. "Yah. You will," she responds flatly when addressed. She takes to just standing there in a random lengthening shadow of stacked refuse, grip loosening in Janus's hand if he continues on his determined TWBNNST quest. Of course, should he want to, he could very easily just haul her along with him.

Janus doesn't keep going, doesn't haul Minnie along and, most of all, doesn't let go of her hand. So he does the only thing he can do and stops, turns and looks back at her. "Thought you were the one not keen on betraying 'er and giving her over to these Hunters, Min. She called you a morsel, these blokes wanted to make us *gurpta*. Even 'Liza's had her turn with the threats. Right now, I'm feeling like I should either put holes into -everyone-, or I should pretend none of this happened."

The Hunter brandishes the ring insistently. "Ppainn wwhheellss iss sshharrpp. Ssppllittss ssofftt onness ttrryyinngg ssttopp Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka ffinnddinngg tthhe Wweavverr. Iss nnott ggoodd fforr bbattttlle tthhe Wweavverr. Mmusstt tthhrroww ssppinness tto bbrreakk tterrrribblle sshhellll off tthhe Wweavverr." It goes suddenly quiet, large maw sealing shut, as it finally clues into the confrontation.

Eliza reaches out briefly to catch Minnie by the arm. Or try to at least. Ceramic coated fingertips perhaps threaten to press at the skin just a little. "No." She says. "I wouldn't. Don't expect you to get yourself into a fight. You're not the type." She turns away then, gesturing for the bug eyed monsters behind her to follow so that she can go off and deal with another bug eyed monsters. What will her accomplices do?

"You..." Minnie's head tips faintly, like she wasn't sure if she heard Janus correctly, which is possible, given the King of Speech Impediments croaking on and on in the background. Working it out for herself, she presently takes an offended breath of air, no longer aware of the putrid stench of the environs. Sense of smell is probably shot dead by now. "Well I *don't* think't nifty t'make a biz deal, then turn 'round'n'break't, just 'cause th'little fairy on your right shoulder's tellin' you your client's so bad she doesn't merit your pr'fessional service." Now that's a Fast-Food Delivery Girl who'll go *far* in the Fast-Food Delivery World! "But I'm here 'cause both'f you wanted to. What I *think*'s never's important's what I *know*." Statements like that pretty much prove themselves, don't they? "I'm gonna go grab some hotwheels, t'get 'Liza out'f there'f any'f'r deals'r'double deals go-go-go south." Janus leads the way, or maybe not, but finds the path to get out of the junkyard and back towards the Weaver's parlor. He hesitates outside of those open doors, doors that suddenly seem so much more ominous and yawning than they had just a few hours earlier. Working himself into a shadow, Erik waits for Eliza and her new friends, though he might not be waiting long at all. They could even already be there waiting for him and he'd never know it.

He may be right about that latter, at least as concerns the two Hunters who had vanished in the junkyard. The one who has thus far been prestigiously dubbed as Lead Hunter remains visible and lurching in Eliza's wake up until the two reach the populated streets. Then whether she's watching or not, it shimmers and disappears without explanation. By consideration or by accident, the faintest of nudges at her shoulder indicates that she is not alone.

Eliza hasn't much to say along the way. Truth be told she is still a little bit upset. This entire thing has been such a disaster and so wrong in her head. All she wanted to do is retire and be left alone. Now, she isn't only having to deal with evil spider like things but is now co-operating with other probably evil things to hunt her. This is exactly the sort of day that she was most interested in not having. As she is poked she faintly leans back against the contact to indicate that she is aware of it and then picks up her pace. "Do you have any specific plan? The entire entryway is lined with webbing. She will know that you are there before you can get close. Do you have a way around that?"

Janus continues to loiter in the shadows across the alley from the Weaver's parlor. Lurk lurk lurk. If he had six more legs (Editor's Note: Yes, we know spiders have eight legs.) he'd make a pretty good spider himself.

The sun has yet to start its headlong escape from the sky, and the thoroughfares of Dregtown remain spotted with quarrelsome groups of denizens, their dark attire and their jeers and cries giving an overall impression of ravens monitoring Eliza's passage like grim specters. Apt imagery, when the Headhunter is all but leading a lynch party to the lair of a witch. They don't attempt to harass the lone armored figure; from past experience, those types are usually hellbent on a duel, or revenge, or something equally as likely to send their gauntleted fist into any face that gets in theirs. Beyond the drab green office building, the bazaar is winding down, and the long shadows of shoppers are added to the street's mix in spurts.

"Cconnttacctt wwitthh ssppecciall wwebbss earrllyy allerrtt tthhe Wweavverr," a hazy, muted sort of croak sounds off behind Eliza. "Lllliizzzzaa wwillll bbrreakk ssppecciall wwebbss?"

The second storey windows of the office building are still muffled by what ignorant passerby would assume to be dirty linen curtains. Those who have seen the Parlor and walked out alive know that it is many fine layers of dusty webbing. No movement can be detected beyond those windows, at least not with only the naked eye.

Eliza seems to think for a second as she approaches the doorway; looking around to see if she sees anyone. She does not see Janus, not as of yet. "I don't know." She says. "If she knows that I'm here, doesn't that defeat the purpose? I mean . . ." She shrugs lightly. "Do we want to try to surprise her, or go straight in? The web is a problem. I don't have anything that canset the place properly on fire to burn it. And if I cut the strands, she'll know that the jig is up. What would you do? There's a tunnel we have to go into before we get to her."

She might not see him but Janus sure sees Eliza. It's not easy to miss her, the indestructible shell woman all clean and polished here in the tumbledown ramshackle squalor of the deep Dregs. Maybe it's the coat that conceals him, but he rises up from where he's been crouching in wait against the crumbling brick wall in the sub-alley behind the the building opposite the Parlor and steps out into the larger thoroughfare and the several shades brighter variety of sunlight that manages to shine down into it.

The reply comes faintly again, not as whispers but more like a third generation echo. A group of shoppers passing in the gutter go quiet and look around cautiously until they are beyond hearing. "Lllliizzzzaa iss ssecconndd ssofftt onne ssenntt bbyy tthhe Wweavverr ttrryyinngg ssttopp Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka ffinnddinngg tthhe Wweavverr. Ffirrsstt ssofftt onne iss ddeadd. Lllliizzzzaa iss wwissellyy jjoinnedd wwitthh Hhrrurrkkarrupp-...tthhe Nnobblle Rracce." The Hunter is wisely stopped wasting time with redundancies. "Lllliizzzzaa ttellllss tthhe Wweavverr hherr hhass ggrropp-...kkillllss tthhe Nnobblle Rracce. Mmakke hhappppyy tthhe Wweavverr. Ffasstt bbattttlle tthhe Wweavverr. Tthhe Nnobblle Rracce hhellppss afftterr ffasstt bbattttlle bbegginnnninngg."

Eliza is in the middle of thinking for a second when Janus is seen. She visibly twitches with her left hand going for one of her holsters. Slowly though, she relaxes. "I am rather glad to see that you decided to join me. Good help is hard to find. I'll ask you why a little later. Thank you, though." She then turns to where she knows that the hidden hunters are. "Give me one of your pain wheels or whatever you called it. I will present it to her as proof. Do not enter the tunnel where the webbing is however, until you see the battle about to begin." Her hand is held out expectantly.

"Feel a lot better about this if we were doin' it fair," Janus remarks as he looks up from Eliza's faceplate and scans those gauzy, drapey windows above with a sweep of his eyes. "Call 'er out, let 'er know we've made other arrangements, right?" He stands with the coat, bought now in betrayal and soon to be blood, open and pushed back from his left hip by the hand he leaves riding on the butt of his holstered pistol. He throws a look around the more immediate area, addressing empty air. "Idea is we don't kill 'er? Just want to clap those chains on her?"

There's a considering pause, before Eliza's metal hand clinks faintly, and a weight gradually drags at it. The tempered ring, its outer edge honed into blade at strategic lengths, shimmers into being, with the blunt part resting in her grip. A cunning plan it is then, to be sure, to bypass the problem of the Weaver's security system. Since those tunnels are the only way into the Parlor and all...right? And apparently the Hunters, with their mission's goal so close, have decided to take Janus' change of change of heart in stride. "Tthhe ccapptturre off tthhe Wweavverr llivvinngg iss tthhe pprrefferrrredd ssuccccess. Tthhe Wweavverr hhass mmullttittudde ccrrimmess tto ffacce nnobblle jjusstticce. Ttellllinngg tthhe Wweavverr off wwissellyy jjoinninnggss wwitthh tthhe Nnobblle Rracce iss nnott ggoodd addvvissinnggss." The disembodied voice is too flat in this queer method of communication to convey any urgency or even vehemency, but one might assume that both are present.

Eliza hefts the new weight. "Well, it won't really matter because I'm going to jump her as soon as I get in there." She says to Janus. "You might think I'm being dishonest, but I think it's just being safe. She's evil. I cannot stress this enough. I just hope that she proves it to you somehow." She turns to the disembodied voice. "Look. I have the heaviest armor here, so I was going to possibly take a few hits . . . what sort of condition does she need to be in? Is it okay if I hack off a limb or two?"

Janus makes a motion with his right hand, wafting air and invisible extradimensional warriors towards the gaping maw of the Parlor's industrial double doors with their cracked and flaking green paint. "Right. Alive preferred, us not dead double preferred. That enough answer?" He directs this last question to Eliza, steels himself with a deep breath of air and walks across the roadway towards the waiting building and the lurking Weaverwoman within.

Silence extends several seconds. They might very well have taken Janus's "fair's fair" speech, decided that pesky soft ones think too damn much, and run off to do their own sneaky commando raid (because that's what noble races do). Then: "Lllliizzzzaa ddessirress tthhe Wweavverr lleggss fforr...hhhhaacccckkkkiinnnngggg...iss nnott kkillllss hherr." Ah, just a language barrier thing again. Hacking? What is this hacking of which you speak? "Tthhe Wweavverr ccann llivvinngg ssttill wwitthh nnott onne lleggss." How they know this for certain? A question best not dwelled upon at this point in time. A disturbance in the space around Eliza that quickly subsides suggests that the phased being(s) is/are on the move again, following Janus' conversation-ending cue efficiently.

Eliza has the information that she wants to know. "Right." She says. Checking her pistols, one of which is still missing and making sure that all is well she begins to jog after Janus, trying to catch him before he reaches the stairwell so that she can take point. It is better in her mind that her fool head get busted open than his. It's hard to jog up steps, but she can try.

Janus waits at the doorway for Eliza to go through first, then ducks and steps over the rubble that blocks those doors permanently open as he follows her through. It's dark, it's musty, it's strangely silent, but now he knows where he is and where he's heading. Right Erik, chin up, shoulders back, time to do the deed.

This place is seemingly as unchanging as an undiscovered crypt. There's the raggedly hanging cobwebs/drapes. There's the upturned bucket. There's the destroyed security desk and the firmly closed, obscenity-marked doors. There's the big hole in the ceiling. There's the two stairwells with their untouched layer of sticky dust over each step except didn't you guys leave all manner of tracks going up one of those stairwells not so very long ago? Quelle strange. And there's the darkling web tunnel.

Parlor of Yntyya Two separate stairwells access the gutted second floor of this squat former office building. The chipped blue painted walls have been obscured by layers of draping web that transform the open space into a dim, cavernous lair of nebulous concave surfaces, with a series of short tunnels leading to the creature's parlor. When it is day outside, parts of the filmy room glow with filtered sunlight; otherwise, much of the area is thrown into soft dark shadows. The main chamber is roughly circular, with a measured diameter of thirty feet at its widest point, and the vaulted ceilings a variable height of thirteen feet average given the layers of deceptive webbing. In what is more or less the center of the chamber, a treacherous hole in the floor drips a bit of tiling and other architectural debris, and the lobby floor can be seen more than fifteen feet below. It's not so much a parlor as it is some kind of alien meat locker. Depending from the heights to rotate slowly with the breeze overhead, are silken pods resembling sides of beef in some instances, with faint bands of pink showing through. The sizes and shapes are hardly uniform, ranging from backpack-sized to heavy-duty luggage. More attractive, as well as more identifiable, are the various garments of elegant manufacture, suspended delicately in thin air by virtually invisible threads.

Eliza doesn't have anything else to say. Normally chatty, Eliza shares a very similar attitude to Janus right now. A simple deed needs to be done. Up the steps she goes, dust billowing around at every footstep. She is careful too, swishing her foot on each step to scatter the dust upon it and sending it blowing it lightly around her ankles. Up she goes until she gets to the tunnel and then taking a breath she looks behind her and boldly steps forth up into the weaver's chamber.

Janus half-draws his pistol while he follows Eliza up the stairs, then remembers himself and stuffs the compact blaster back into its comfortable nylon sleeve. Puzzled, he idly scrapes his toe over some of the layered dust on the steps, sweeping it aside and peeking at what lurks beneath. Aged linoleum or something far more sinister (yet less gaudy)? <-repose

Eliza's attempts to scatter the thick carpet of dust don't so much blow it loose, as they do cause even more of the gungy stuff to cling to her boots. The more steps she performs the maneuver on, the more her boots from the ankles down develop into lovable, albeit sickly-looking, dust bunny slippers. It's a fashion statement that has zero chance of catching on, but at least a clear swath of stair steps has been left in her wake. Beneath is...totally melamine. That stuff made a comeback in 2435, don'tchaknow.

The festooned corridor swallows you up and crowds in around you with a return of its oppressive, sound-suppressing nature. As expected, every few steps finds that semi-familiar tension in the gauzy floor, the rippling of anchored silk lines that travel away down the passage. And after you have passed the midway point, the greeting comes, silky sibilance like a heated knife sliding lazily through a brick of synthetic butter:

1. Clients return#
2. Yntyya prepares a welcome in the Parlor of Yntyya##Yntyya counts two Clients only#

...........

1. Yntyya is sorry for loss of Ladygirl Client#

Aww. She sounds so sad, so very very very solicitous. You people are cads!

Eliza is unswayed. Perhaps in her pursuit of evil and subsequent loss of sanity she has become an evil creature herself? Or perhaps her convictions are just that strong. But there is no response from her and nothing to indicate that she is moved by the relative sadness in the voice of Yntyya. The tunnel is entered and unless something stops her she will step right around it to come face to face with the creature. A little rudely, she tosses the pain wheel to the ground where it lands with a dull metallic clatter that does not manage to echo throughout the cavernous and dilipated structure. Dust bunny slippers or not. "She is not dead." Eliza corrects. "I was surprised to find out that we were the second attempt you made at defeating your hunters. Who was the first?"

Janus was sure to set the record straight with Yntyya anyhow, but Eliza spares him the trouble of bringing up Minnie's untimely survival and subsequent running-off-to-fetch-the-getaway-car. Some bit of police training bubbles up at the most inopportune and unlikely moment to remind him that well-prepared criminal steal the getaway vehicle -prior- to the heist. He rounds the corner behind the protective shield of Eliza, dragging his toes somewhat unconsciously in an effort at getting the clinging dust creatures off of his boots.

Face to face with...nothing at first, unless Eliza has the presence of mind to search upwards. For the weaverwoman is mincing down through the gaps and layers overhead, tapered legs picking a delicate route along the webbing that barely stirs the web lines, the creature's grotesque size making a mockery of physics and gravity. Still more than fifteen feet across from the Momano's position, the Arachnoid also proceeds without pause to gain the solid flooring just beyond a series of woven curtains that hide some of her gallery of commissioned works.

1. Client speaks to the Hunters of Yntyya#

The air is chilled by the cool spikes of this accusation.

1. Former Client of Yntyya requests scarf#
2. Yntyya fills order with quality and loyalty#
3. Former Client returns to Parlor of Yntyya requesting many pieces of Yntyya#

The willing explanation continues while the Weaver scutters through changing densities of the web-screens, appearing to make her way closer to the center of the Parlor, or perhaps the far tunnel entrance, in this roundabout fashion.

1. Payment for so many pieces is high in monetary units#
2. Former Client makes deal with Yntyya to solve Problem of Yntyya#

For just a moment, the Weaver's form utterly disappears behind a deceptively nebulous hanging.

1. Former Client fails#

The statement falls like an axe head through the air, settles with a rending thud.

Yntyya The Weaver Description There she(?) is, gliding in a continuous dance of multi-jointed, tapered black limbs, eight in all if one takes the time to try and count the strobing blurs. To continue the theme, a bulky, spider-like abdomen protrudes outwards from the hip joints, sporting a pattern of black hairs over its bumpy leathery hide. Sprouting from the alien pelvis is a grey, hairless humanoid torso complete with a pair of arms and long, three-fingered hands. It's almost androgynous with its slender tonelessness, and the swaying, undulating motions it makes in leading its spider-half is sublimely graceful. A vest of glittering jewel patterns adorns the humanoid part, obscuring the no-doubt bizarre joining between torso and arachnoid. More mysterious still is the supposed head of this creature, currently obscured by a weighted and layered veil that only describes an elongated skull shape, with the occasional hint of slender, stalk-like neck. The entire package, while intriguing in specific areas, is an overall monstrosity, towering above five feet at its spider pelvis, and thereby reaching an overall height of eight feet, standing.

Eliza creeps forward a little bit, taking a breath as she steadies herself. The intention is to place herself reasonably on the ground near where the weaver is supposed to come down. "I spoke to your hunters, yes." She indicates the fallen pain wheel. "What surprised me was that in their initial discourse with me they indicated that you were being pursued as a criminal and that you have been guilty of many crimes. That, and I have the ability to look into one's soul and see what kind of person they are. You are very evil. I can understand that very well. It is a difficult world, Yntyya. That does not mean that they are incorrect however. You may well be innocent. What do you have to say to such things though, now that your tormentors; your hunters are dead? It matters not in the end to me, you asked me to do a job and I did it. Are you guilty of such things? Is that why you are here?"

It takes a great deal to unsettle Erik Janus. He's seen a great many things in his life and has, for better or worse, grown inured to much of the horror and wonder of the world, but something in what the Weaver tells them makes him quail and give forth a half-groan, half-sighing sound. "Oi, that was Minnie's friend," he remarks with a tone of regret. "The one who told 'er about this place, brought us here in the first place." He shakes his head, then heaves a breath and picks his head back up.

The Weaver reappears. She's already down, though, has been ever since the tale of the Former Client began. Now standing twenty-odd feet across the Parlor from Eliza and Janus, the revealed figure is slightly hunched, leg joints folded with a bit of extra poise. The shrouded head is low on its shoulders, and preternaturally still. One might suppose that she is examining the grounded steely hoop of the Noble Race.

1. Yntyya knows nothing of Innocent and Evil Things that concern Client of Yntyya#
2. Yntyya knows the Pain of Kin under the Master Race of the Homeworld of Yntyya#
3. Yntyya knows Design of Clothings#
4. Yntyya knows Morsels#
5. Yntyya knows Solution to Problem is destroying Hunters of Yntyya#
6. Yntyya knows creating Young#
7. Yntyya knows losing Young#

The air quality between the mercs and the monster is brittle with the stabs of these statements, and still the Weaver stands in its waiting, cunning, resigned, ready posture.

1. Yntyya knows Foes on metal beasts harming Male Client and Ladygirl Client#

Eliza looks at Janus for a moment and then at the pain wheel on the floor. If he could see her face hesitation would be writ all over it. What should she do? There is no clear solution here. No easy determination as to exactly what to do. This is why she retired. Arrgh! Apparently deciding something she begins to pad towards the Weaver thoughtfully, not the least bit hurried. Presumably towards where the clothes are being kept. She's unhurried and taking her time. "I suppose." She says, seeming to work her way a little closer. "That it doesn't concern me at least."

"You stopped them," Janus realizes, staring at Yntyya with widening eyes as the understanding dawns its fickle light behind them. "You were the one, stopped them roadgangers from bashing us up in the junkyard?" He steps forward, putting out an arm to lay his hand on Eliza's shoulder and hopefully stop her before she gets too far. "She helped us. Might have even saved us, Minnie an' I. Didn't realize it were her before... I can't see evil like it's written on foreheads, but I don't think helping people out is bad."

The Weaver's slender humanoid arms go from their cautious, defensive movements into a more open, graceful, but nonsensical pantomime through the air. Eliza's shift in tone seems to go some ways towards settling the paranoid Arachnoid.

1. Foes are Problem of Clients of Yntyya# slides across the space, hush and lulling, like the subtle thrill of a dull razor.
2. Yntyya solves Problem of Clients with quality and loyalty# adds itself richly to the air as the Weaver begins a high-stepping dance forward as well, not exactly towards Eliza but aiming to get closer to the discarded metal ring. If Eliza is in fact aiming to view the designer gallery again, she will eventually have to veer on a right-hand turn wall-wards.
3. Clients solve Problem of Yntyya with quality and loyalty# concludes in a curious, leading way, however, as that veiled head flickers side to side. Upon reaching the five-foot hole in the rough center of the floor, the creature begins to skirt lightly around it, going in the direction that has less chance of colliding with Eliza's path.
4. Yntyya counts one proof only#
5. Proof is not Foe Morsel#
6. Proof is blade#
7. Yntyya asks amount of Hunters found and amount of Hunters killed#

Eliza is caught by Janus and makes no effort to pull away. Sort of hanging there. Her mind is racing. Trying to process all of this and becoming unsuccessful. "Is that true?" She asks, very quietly. "Did you physically aid this one, and the one that is not here?" There is silence for a moment, and a brief bit of concentration as Eliza turns to sit on a bit of debris. "One moment."

Janus doesn't have a lot to say or do. He takes his hand back and lets Eliza and Yntyya have their conversation.

The Weaver's approach is slowed by caution once more when Eliza and Janus appear to exhibit some agitation or other over the most recent revelations. There is enough understanding of human behavior here, that she knows it must mean something. It confirms something. She pauses at the cusp of the hole, humanoid hands beginning to make wringing, grasping gestures at one another.

1. Clients of Yntyya do not stop Hunters# the realization prickles through the air.
2. Hunters of Yntyya remain in Homeland of Clients# and then, the draped head and torso give a sudden twitch, spideresque legs going rigid.
   1. Hunters Foes Masters approaching the Parlor of Yntyya##

The words like flying daggers make the air lethal.

Now, Janus will notice something about Eliza. Her face had been turned towards the Weaver after she sat down. But there is a growing sort of agitation. Leaning forward it is almost like she is interested in the weaver she suddenly sits bolt upright and both hands jerk to cover her forehead. A little yelp accompanies it. Eliza's vulnerable sound. Standing quickly she begins to back up; hands slightly upraised. Janus will hear words in his head. Eliza's voice too. But she hasn't said anything. "Under psi attack." She is now a hundred percent convinced of her earlier decsion too. She half expects him to come up with a reason to rationalize it but is a little far gone to care now as she begins to jog forward again, at a good clip.

Janus knows that sound. Vulnerable Eliza has always and always will get a very different set of responses from Erik than tough-girl Eliza would ever think possible, and it's always been that vulnerable Eliza has never been in a state of mind enough to remember later what those responses from him have been. Not so this time. He puts his own hand to his forehead and gives the girl a -look-, confused and startled, but her decision becomes his decision and he pulls his pistol now and hurries after her.

1. Yntyya the Weaver is tricked by Clients#

The Arachnoid pays no heed to the silent staggering antics of Eliza, still caught up in the moment of betrayal. Her laments whirl through the air, sharp slaps that are almost physical, and a sharpness that becomes edgier and edgier until one can sense a thin whistling accompanying each wave of sound.

1. Clients would not be harmed by Yntyya#
2. Yntyya would honor deal with Clients#

Her arms move in a surreal blur, and a cold glow spreads over her torso, then spider abdomen, and finally the long jointed legs, leaving an icy film in its wake. Now that the confrontation is on, with Eliza and then Janus sprinting across the chamber towards the gaping hole that still separates them somewhat, the formidable creature rears its torso back, and the two forelegs raise from the floor and back, like cobras about to strike. As the abrupt jerk causes the Shroud of Yntyya to ripple upwards, beginning to fly up and off, a last promise is offered over the space on the thrust of a cruel blade.

1. 1. Yntyya the Weaver will consume Essence of Foes and wrap Bodies of Foes in Pain for ever##

Eliza is not going to reach the Weaver with her initial action, given the problem of that fantastic little hole in the ground. But this does not stop her from closing irregardless. She does not, this time, go for her trusty pistols. Other intentions are made clear by the drawing of the twain blades at her back. These too are held with indications of some practice and kept close to her body as she skirts the hole, trying to get into Yntyya's melee range.

Janus learned a lot of things in his time up north, and one of those was to never get close to the big nasty superdimensional horrors when you're armed with a gun and they're not. When Eliza's swords come out he drops to a knee, stopping in an instant and cradling his peculiar pistol in a two-handed grip, barrel pointed up at poor, betrayed Yntyya. "Don't have to end with blood, Weaver. Froggie blokes down below came to capture, not kill." He could have said 'put your hands in the air and exit the building slowly', but that's not Erik's way.

It's too late. One must make such last-second negotiations with the full knowledge that those precious moments could have witnessed a gunshot instead. A life-saving gunshot. It is much too late, but in withholding that shot Erik Janus has possibly managed to save something else entirely. Only he will know for sure in time.

And so, the Shroud of Yntyya floats up. A short glimpse of what lies beneath the veil would have been a dark and murky impression of eyes, of veins, of bone, of teeth, that would not be enough, not until the deep of night when your dreaming mind suddenly remembers all, and you wake half-deafened by your own screams.

This is much worse. The veil flies off, aided by an unnatural blast of air that sends the cover winging madly off to be lost in some unknown corner. A high, unhinged shriek bursts and echoes on what seems to be another plane; it just may be your own astral self howling to escape.

You see the Face of Yntyya. The long head is a landmass of dark scabs and burn tissue, from which both coarse hair and grey bone erupts in short spikes as the skull takes on a plated carapace structure that tapers towards the back. The actual face bears some resemblance to the arachnid species of this world, although its chelicerae are proportionately smaller, two close-set pointy tusks curving down into the maw. An additional set of scythe-like mandibles sprout from roughly where the palps would be, capable of extending wide and pinching together just below the fangs. A chinless lower jaw hinges farther back, yawning powerfully to reveal the dark inner pit of the Weaver's mouth. A row of four pearly eyeballs ranges above the chelicerae, twitching and staring. On either side, short muscular protrusions bear yet another pair of golf ball-sized orbs. Above and between those are large, bulging domes of slick shiny black, swivelling balefully in their sockets.

The head surges forward on its hairy stalk of a neck, and the jaw and mandibles gape open to issue a wet hiss that expands and fills the chamber so completely that it effectively snuffs out any other sounds for several moments. Inhuman features or not, there can be no doubt of the hatred and malevolence in that onslaught of sound. But it's more than just blighted vision and hearing with which one must contend. In those smothering, blurring moments you become acutely aware of the existence of Chaos in a way that has never been experienced on this tiny world among the stars.

There's clearly a language barrier, but Janus goes with the gut feeling that his offer of peaceable-like surrender has been rejected. There's a disconcerting lack of sound - no more words offered up, no thrilling eruption of noisy laser fire or rattling chatter of bullet reports. Beneath the Scream of Yntyya the tiny click as Erik depresses the trigger of his pistol is lost, but the thin needle of red light than lances out of the gun towards her is unmistakable.

The Weaver is coming out of its rending shriek, drawing back in preparation for perhaps another lunge, this time more lethal, at her nearer target. There is no effort made to defend against the instantaneous appearance of the red beam.

The entire form of the Weaver takes on a red gleam as the laser(?) drills at its main body, the glow traveling along the ripples and ridges of that strange coating of ice. Then the color fades away, leaving no noticeable injury on the huge creature.

The Weaver lunges along the rim of the gaping hole, raised legs pistoning out and down towards Eliza's chest area, with the intent to bash the armored figure sprawling.

It's strange. No matter how prepared you think you are for some eventuality something always gets you. No matter how much you figure you've hardened yourself or told yourself that something is going to be bad, invariably something manages to surprise you. This is no different. Stepping in to do battle, Eliza doesn't have the sense to look away. Perhaps her psyche is drug addled today, perhaps she just has a natural fear of spiders. But the shriek that comes from her as the Weaver's face is revealed is a very natural one that will probably do much to damage her reputation later. What's also strange is car accident phenomenon. You know, where you see a horrible accident and you can't look away because there might be brains on the road. And when you see them, you can't look away from that either. Very much the case as she stands with body utterly unsure of what to do and ends up making no real effort to get out of the way of the Weaver's attack. And so, the impact lands; chitinous shell making dented furrows in the chestplate of her armor and tossing her back quite solidly enough feet that she lands on her back with a clatter of plastic and metal.

The little laser pistol suddenly feels woefully inadequate in Janus' hand. Oh, if he'd only smuggled that railgun into the city! There's nothing else for it now, though. The Weaver moves, he tracks her with the gun and shoots again, trying - too late - to do something before she reaches Eliza.

Coming out of the lunge, the Weaver is half-straddling the hole in the floor, but with so many legs to help brace on solid ground, it's not exactly a comedic accident waiting to happen. Once again, the Arachnoid is either unable or unwilling to prevent the beam from spreading the red glow across its entire surface area. This time, when the glow dissipates, there are what appear to be hairline frost-fractures all along the protective coating.

Yntyya's torso swings to face Erik now. The sublime grace of her humanoid arms no longer have the same effect when performing beneath the horror of that head. Now the movements have their own special menace, four-fingered hands curling up into hard fists, before flying straight upwards, gathering up a mystic force that comes like mist into the right balled hand. That hand flings down and outwards, wicked fingers splayed while the manifestation of dozens of steel needles fly from them at Janus's gun arm. One hissed word accompanies the action.

1. Atrophy#

Eliza shakes her head slowly as if to clear it. Getting all the spidery cobwebs out. Oh, wait. Those are not in her head. How sad. Instead of getting them out of her head she does her best to brush them off of her visor and then begins the task of getting to her feet. Dropping her swords, she pushes off from the ground and rises to her knees first and then her feet. Smoothly combined into the motion are a reach towards her heavy pistols. Getting them out, the safeties are clicked off as she orientates herself to face the weaver again.

Janus twitches, nearly brings his arm up to protect his face from the shower of needles that hurtle towards him, but he catches himself and, snarling, fires off another shot at Yntyya.

This time the Weaver anticipates the movements of Erik's gun, and darts to the side in a headlong scutter around the hole.

Web walls disintegrate and collapse to the floor as the laser travels through them and off, piercing the gloom of the other side tunnel, until there is heard a muffled detonation when it finally connects with a hidden support beam. The Weaver charges forward with frightening speed, converging on Erik's position with hands and arms grasping forward and scythe-mandibles wide, looking to get a hold of the tall man before the real fun stuff ensues.

Things move too quickly suddenly. Worry about the holes he's blasting through the building mix with the sudden flare of (dangah dangah dangah!) that Janus' mind shouts at him in true Aussie style. He barely has time to propel himself to his feet and grab with his free hand for the vibroknife kept close to his chest.

Janus is too slow. All of his thoughts of using the blade to knock aside grabbing arms and mandibles come too late as she's upon him before he even gets the knife free. Woe.

Eliza does not hesitate even as the Weaver lunges for Janus. Some might hold fire in tight quarters, but she is aware that he is far less armored than she. And so both of her pistols are aimed for the spider's center of mass and both triggers pulled. From her direction there is a muted roar and a verdant green flash as plasma accelerates a pair of broad projectiles towards her.

The Weaver starts to come out of her mad pounce with an iron-handed grip in the awesome fabric of Janus' right shoulder, another sunk into the thick material over his left breast. Then her gainly abdomen is struck broadside with twin impacts that rock it to the side a couple of feet, legs flailing to recover balance. The ice effect shielding her body courses and runs with lime-tinted cracks, then vanishes entirely.

Janus kicks in the Weaver's grasp and averts his eyes in some primitive response to the heat of Eliza's plasma blasts detonating so near. He finishes wrenching his knife free and the blade activates with a soothing hum as he swings it out and hacks at some spidery limb.

Yntyya the Weaver continues to list sidewards from the impact of the shells, but her murderous attention is still on Janus, and attempts to save her foreleg from the slash by hauling the man bodily upwards and out of the knife's range.

He's as easy as a rag doll to hoist into the air, his chest brought level with the Weaver's mandibles. Since they cannot stretch *quite* wide enough to encompass the span of his layered body and thereby pull him into the sharp hooks of her chelicerae, the gruesome head instead gnashes forward to sink those dripping fangs into Erik's jumpsuit without the aid of the scythe-pincers.

Gnash gnash gnash! With no small frustration, Scary Weaver Face comes up with poofs of cloth and filler trailing from its iridescent black fangs. It can't seem to break through the tough inner padding to get to the soft flesh underneath. Should've gone for the incredible edible head!

Janus hacks with his humming knife, bringing it down again and again at the snapping, biting Head of Yntyya. With no footing to use for leverage, if he even had a chance to break free of the Weaver's strength under the best of circumstances, there's nothing left for him to do but try to cut and blast his way free.

The first few stab attacks skate and slide a few times along the bony, leathery surface of that horrible visage, until the supercharged field meets up with a vulnerable fold and manages to sink in a couple of inches, until dark fluids spout up around the wound. The Weaver shrieks, jerking away from the knife, and washing the aloft human in an uncomfortable spray of saliva-ridden air.

Eliza hesitates for a moment now, trying to figure out what to do. There is rescuing Janus immediatly which would require another pair of shots . . and now that he is being nommed upon he is finally uncomfortably close. And so the choice becomes obvious. Holstering her pistols and taking up her fallen blades, Eliza moves to close the distance between her and the weaver.

The way Janus is now being held literally at arm's length, it's pretty clear that the Weaver does not want to give the guy any more opportunity to carve at her face. The potential boost to one's horror status in dimensional monsterdom just isn't worth the headache. Spying Eliza's new approach, the creature throws the weight of its abdomen further to the side, and uses the kinetic energy traveling up her torso to swing Erik's mass in Eliza's direction, releasing her grip so that he's thrown sidelong at the sword mistress.

Eliza is setting herself up for a hand to hand rush at the spider-lady. And with her close proximity and given the suddeness of Janus being used as an impromptu bludgeon she calculates that she does not have time to get out of the way. The manuver that is done instead is to invert her swords and tuck them close to her body as not to skewer him and drop her center of mass as low as possible (to a knee) in an effort to let the blow break across her armor or potentially deflect.

Though he wasn't able to do much for himself hanging there from the Weaver's arms, it was nonetheless preferable to being flung across the parlor. He tries his best to right himself as he soars, his arms flapping almost comically and his knees tucking in right as he bangs across Eliza's hard outer shell, somersalts once in the air behind her and lands hard on the web-carpeted ground. He's stunned for a moment, coughs once, then rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself to his knees. Miraculously, he managed to keep a grip on his weapons, so there's that...

Having dropped downwards and braced herself to let Janus roll over her shoulders Eliza straightens up again with a look of determination hidden beneath her helmet. Orientating herself with a blade in each hand she lunges in towards the spider's side, trying to avoid the hole as carefully as she can. A limb is selected; one of the forward arms that she used to grasp at both her and her companion and the two silvery weapons lash out towards it in tandem. She has taken to wonder at this point, where the heck the cavalry is also.

The paranoid Arachnoid must be starting to feel vulnerable, out in the open with its magic armor fallen to pieces. Retreating backwards by two leggy paces, it attempts to escape the ill-fated swings with a feint back towards the open hole. Finding itself free and clear, the Weaver gallops over the hole and seems about to drop down through it, when its legs stutter and suddenly brace to help it lunge away again with a hiss of outrage. Apparently there's something in the lobby that it would rather not face at the moment.

Janus brings up his comparatively little pistol braced in both his hands, knife held tightly against the firearm's frame. He tips his head, sighting down the stubby weapon's length and pulls a line on Yntyya as she scurries across the parlor. There's no mistaking what she saw below - Hunters; Eliza's cavalry. "Can still give it up, Yntyya!" he calls out to her, holding his fire for the second time in too short a span. "Answer for what crimes you've done."

Eliza is not quite as forgiving as Janus is. Maybe it's because she's inherantly evil, perhaps her insanity or maybe because she was thrown halfway across the room. But her attack continues. Despite her silvery edges meeting little more than air a mirror of the same attack is done, except this time for one of the spider's larger legs. It's just a bigger target and something a little more likely to connect with. First leg that happens to be facing her at roughly middle level.

The Weaver scrambles madly to avoid both the hole and Eliza's next onslaught, going the only route available now short of climbing the walls: It tries to flee back towards the loose curtains lining the clothes gallery.

The third arachnid leg on the right side disappears in a grotesque mist of cold dark ichor, as Eliza chops it down like firewood, leaving only a single, dripping jointed stump. Really nice punctuation to Janus' reopening of peace talks. The Weaver dashes on with renewed energy born of acute pain, and screams across the chamber at Erik, a volley of cold reproachful spears.

1. 1. Justice of Hunters is Death of Yntyya##

Still fleeing Eliza, it rushes beyond the first series of rippling curtains, form still easily visible.

"'Liza, that's enough!" Janus barks, not just a statement but a stern command. He keeps his gun trained in the general direction of Yntyaa's form but he rises, slipping his knife into its sheath as he does so. "This ain't justice, it's a lynching." He steps carefully towards the edge of the hole and peers down to the lobby below, then calls, "Oi! *Hrrrgupt*! You come up!"

Eliza shakes her head a little bit. "Turn your back on a psionic magic user. Wonderful idea. Why don't you just stand in front of her with a big target? If you're going to throw orders at least think them through. With any luck, she'll turn your brains to goo for bit." She gestures with her swords towards the clothing room and steps behind what she hopes is a bit of debris for cover. "But if you insist. One hostile act though, and I'm going in. And we're going to have a long and wonderful talk when this is done about things that you obviously have no conception of. Musn't be monsters wherever you're from."

Behind the web layers, the outline of the Weaver dances and writhes in a fit of rage and agony, at one point whirling like a dog futilely chasing its own tail. Over near Eliza, the hairy, gory remains of the severed leg have stopped twitching with belated muscle impulses. The air is pierced again and again with an endless disjointed half-mad litany now.

1. 1. The Hunters desire capture of Yntyya the Weaver to bring Yntyya alive to Homeland where Yntyya dies by Ritual Killing of Master Race Betrayers Foes Clients can still deal can still be Clients of Yntyya if Clients Foes Betrayers solve the Hunters if Clients destroy the Hunters##

Recovering a little more from the loss of limb, the Weaver stumbles deeper into the cloistered gallery.

Through the hole, Janus can see the big starfruit head of one of the Hunters staring up at him, a black longarm resembling a harpoon launcher directed upwards. Hide turned the color of the brown-grey rubble surrounding it, the creature merely beats air from its dewlap in response to Erik's hail. This must be that mute rear guard.

Janus's gun wavers but remains aimed in Yntyaa's general direction. He stabs at the air with his other hand, pointing accusingly at Eliza. "Only monster in this room right now is -you-, 'Liza. I stood in front of her and she didn't do a thing but help, then you come along and decide she's evil. I would've attacked us too, doing what we've done here today. I let you talk me into going back on my word, and now I got'ta make it right." He pauses, huffing unhappily, then adds, "You said I had pink hair!" Because that explains it all. The girl's batshit crazy and he should have known better than to believe any of this.

Eliza is right in the middle of taking a few steps towards the weaver when she hears Janus. There is a sort of hurt and indignant sound from her and then she vibrates a little like one trying to master the grip on themselves. "I'm cold sober. But I'll remember that. You don't understand, because you aern't psi. Aern't gifted." Her voice lowers and is sounding increasingly hurt. "Doesn't matter. Go home, if you don't have the understanding or the stomach. Get out of my way." Eliza then turns and calls into the hole. "Yntyya is escaping! You'd better come up here."

The Weaver takes this opportunity to...disappear from immediate view. Whether she merely scampered beyond a thicker clot of web, or invoked yet another magical defence, isn't certain at the moment. However, when she 'speaks', the air is fraught as usual with a sensation of slicing blades, and it's a pretty sure bet for those who've been bothering to listen for such things, that the Arachnoid is still in roughly the same compass direction as she was before the two humans began their personal battle of wills.

1. The Hunters of Yntyya are here#
2. Yntyya is not returning to Homeworld of Master Race#
   1. Yntyya the Weaver will kill all Foes today and solve Problem of Yntyya for ever##

Janus merely shakes his head, expressing a dose of disagreement with what Eliza says but he doesn't choose this as the time to argue with her about any of it. "Who is the Master Race, Yntyya?" he calls into the webbing instead, gesturing with little flicks of his gun when he details the choices: "The Hunters, or you?" It's decision time, Erik. Which way will you go?

Eliza doesn't have much to say at this moment in time. Sheathing her swords she draws her heavy pistols again and begins to pad forwards towards the curtain in question. "Of course the Hunters are the Master Race. Any evil worth their salt will lie in any way possible to make themelves look like the victim."

On the cue of that announcement from the Weaver, the form of one of the Hunters begins to shimmer into view at the mouth of the unused tunnel. A black bastard of a gun is in its hands and aimed at the general parlor interior as it yawps, "Wwhhyy ddo tthhe ssofftt onness ssttanndd ssttillll wwhhenn tthhe Wweavverr rrunnss!" With a twitch, it angles the alien firearm upwards and unleashes a long black bolt with a glowing weighted tail into the air. Barbs can be seen raising up from the surface as it streams across the parlor between hanging meat packets, in the direction of the other tunnel entrance.

The glowing-ended harpoon streaks through one veil of webbing, another, then is snagged and caught like a hapless fly in the thicker mesh of the outer tunnel wall. That would appear to be that, until the glow abruptly spreads through the bolt and erupts in a flaring detonation that sets the entire network of woven drapes shaking, and sends a tremor through the building structure. In the wake of that, a fire begins to spread, traveling insidiously along each individual thread. The Weaver just can't resist answering Janus, but it is a hush tone that pervades the airspace, floating like cold little crystals in wintertime, even while the crackling fire builds.

1. The Hunters of Yntyya are the Master Race#
2. The Kin of Yntyya are superior to the lowly Tribe of the Hunters#
3. The Hunters are many#
4. The Kin are few#

There's a significant pause then, and then the blaze overtaking the sections of web suddenly dies, snuffing out completely to leave only a billowing haze of smoke.

1. The Kin of Yntyya are made the Slaves of the Hunters#

The gun in Janus' hand flicks towards the Hunter, mistaking the firing of that harpoon as an attack on himself. He watches the projectile sail past, turning himself at the hips and waist to track it, and his eyes slowly widen as the fire begins to spread. "Why do you make slaves of 'em?" he demands of the Hunter then, turning back to face the creature and backpedaling slowly towards the smoking, scorched mouth of the first tunnel. "What are her crimes?"

Eliza stops for a moment once again to turn to study Janus. "If I said I had five million credits, would you just believe me? If I said I was a boy, would you believe me then? What if I said that I was innocent? Then what? If you want to sit and talk, go ahead. All you are doing by negotiating is . . . ." And then she just waves her hand in irritation and turns with an exasperated sigh and begins to pad forth one last time. Both pistols come up and are held at the ready as she properly advances to try and get sight of her quarry.

The only visible Hunter moves its nipple-eyes independently in wildly gyrating circles, also apparently searching for a sign of the creature. It slips another black bolt with a glowing back-end into the open chamber of the harpoon gun. Seeing Janus edging over towards the tunnel, it begins chicken-walking towards the tunnel suspiciously, whilst thrumming loudly with touch of hiss thrown in, "Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka ttellllss off tthhe Wweavverr ccrrimmess tto ssofftt onness ttwwo ttimmess aggainn. Kkillllinnggss. Bbrreakkinnggss Cchhainnss off Ddullllinngg." It suddenly swivels on its hips, spread toeclaws bracing the gritty floor, and tosses off another shot across the parlor, this one flying in an arc towards a shivering span of filmy drapes that conceals the gallery. The spines on the bolt raise up, and this time multiple snags in the curtains cause the thing to swing end over end, shredding web, until it finally comes to a dangling rest about a foot above the floor. The glow seems to be taking its sweet time expanding towards the head of the harpoon bolt. "Fferrttillizzinngg Eggss. Essccappinngg," the Hunter continues on heedlessly, turning back towards Janus while reaching to its pack for yet another bolt.

The ragged layers of weave manage to hold onto the harpoon bolt as they abruptly take on a bit of illogical drift, sailing upwards on the swell of a breeze, which incidentally puts more distance between the potential bomb and the newly revealed gallery, where can be seen the familiar outlines of tailored clothing sets, plus an additional, new item. A flowing shoulder-less gown of several diaphanous layers of dark chiffon. The Weaver's voice whispers but the creature still does not give away its whereabouts.

1. Art of Yntyya must live#

And there it is: the clothing; the crux of the entire debacle. Janus swivels his head to look there, wondering after the harpoon and started by the reminder of what brought them all to this point in the first place. The Weaver, escaped from slavery and killed her captors on the way to the amnesty of another world; whose only crime seems to be a will to survive and continue her species. The Hunters, whose vagueness of answer does nothing to quash Erik's dreadful sense that mistakes have been made. He grunts and goes for the only thing he can be sure of, dancing towards the line of clothing to pull them down and pile them over a shoulder.

Eliza is very carefully making her way into the parlor at this moment. Eyes open, body ready and alert by the way that he moves. And it is apparently a very convinenent thing. She had talked about being gifted many times before and now she demonstrates it by throwing herself suddenly to the side and landing in a neat little roll a little distance away from where she was standing and away from the potential boom-ness, though the latter is just a plesant side effect. And why does she do this? Gut instict. Feeling. Maybe even . . . . sixth sense.

The Hunter jerks in shock as Erik suddenly darts away from the little confrontation it had at least *imagined* was ensuing between them. "Ggabbahheyy?" it croaks, swinging its massive head, then body, right around, the movement sweeping quantities of low-hanging smoke into swirling eddies. With a click, the next bolt is locked into place in the launcher. One eye follows Janus's dashing beeline, the other swivels to view Eliza as she seems to take some sort of weird tumble. Could just be a tumble, but, the Hunter's no fool. It braces, waiting for the other shoe, or web, or explosive bolt, to drop.

Speaking of that bolt, it still dangles, dud-like, from various lines of the layered mesh that float on a breeze that has now abruptly faded. With the weight of the harpoon dragging it downwards swiftly again, the ragged curtain sweeps a mere six feet from Erik's position as that nut tears into the gallery, pulling articles of spun clothing down in a mad heist. By some stroke of damned Aussie luck, the recent acrobatics of the bolt seem to have mixed up the carefully balanced densities of the glowing chemicals set within, causing the flow of chain reactions towards the front-situated core to move more sluggishly than normal. But move, it does. And Janus must either bypass the ticking timebomb again on his way out of the gallery, or keep running towards the clear area of the gallery space that Eliza has quite recently rolled rather pointedly away from.

Speaking of that vacated area, the floor and surrounding webs are suddenly illuminated in a diffuse blue glow, created by something coming straight down so swiftly that its exact shape is blurred. Only a second later, when the brightness lessens a few hundred watts, can there be seen a massive icicle-like spear tip, buried in the shattered floor. And as the sound and shock waves ripple outwards from that impact, the warped blade melts away into mist...it was only energy, shaped by magic. In the next second, the floor abruptly caves in, sections of concrete and rebar falling piece by piece into the lobby below. Above, coming into partial view as she scutters crazily along twisted Escher-esque pathways of web, the Weaver climbs through the upper reaches of the Parlor, hissing with ire at the escape of her Foe.

The Art of Yntyya should not be mistreated so, but Erik seems to be in a place beyond caring. Not willing to double back and pass that explosion-in-a-can a second time he forges forward, sprinting between the diaphanous walls of the gallery and bearing in on the questionable sanctuary of the floor's most recent hole. It's a gamble, but would the Weaver attack her own craft?

Eliza is completely unconcerned with art as of this moment. Sacrilidge though it may be, Eliza feels that she cannot be distracted with such things; even though the mentioned dress must be for her. Her motion carries her frame to a one-knee'd-kneel and both of her hands come up to track where the weaver has gone with her pistols. An involuntary flinch at the crashing fate that would have awaited her cannot be helped but her hands lift. She only has a partial view of the Weaver but it should be enough given her weapon's power. It can punch through silk, right? Well, the harpoon didn't do so well but . . . A hesitation to make final aiming corrections and then both of them have something to say. They are very loud and persuasive debaters.

Not knowing how near they are or whom they're pointed at, Janus ducks at the sound of Eliza's guns and continues his mad, weaving course through the 'walls' of the gallery. He reaches the edge of the freshly opened hole in a skid and a slide, dropping to one hip to cross the last little bit of distance, then leans crazily over the yawning opening to thrust the clothes into empty space and let them fall to the lobby below. A quick check for Hunter #3; it wouldn't do to have the garments detonated by another of those weird bombs. Not after all of this.

The Hunter's head twitches while its eyestalks do most of the work, careening around to take note of the failed attack, and from that point tracing upwards to the source. The moving source. As the shape of the Weaver winks in and out of clarity passing behind and beyond the false ceilings, the Reptilian's dewlap puffs and deflates rapidly, beating out staccato sound as loud and rapid as helicopter blades. Its harpoon gun comes up and begins tracking the scuttling figure, before pulling ahead to the anticipated destination, leading the target.

The call is taken up by the Hunter stationed below. Through the smaller hole off to the side, Janus can see the gangly-limbed creature shuffling in a tight rotation beneath the larger central hole, many-ridged head tilted right back as it attempts to gauge distance and trajectory with its arms thrust upwards, a harpoon bolt waiting to be unleashed. If a bundle were to be dropped from the ceiling hole about fifteen feet distant, the Hunter, with its supposed 360-degree visual scope would probably notice it. Whether it would be deterred from its current aim is debatable, however.

Webbing billows and evaporates in the wake of the green blorp of plasma, the air quality becoming rippled. The Weaver is almost upside down when it hits the top of her patterned abdomen, scarring a path of withered hair down the side of the bloated carapace, and jarring her off of her course with a keening scream of pain from wide-opened jaws. The seven remaining legs flail wildly, then reorder themselves into classic formation as the back legs instantly direct a flow of almost invisible weblines from the abdomen's spinnerets, which anchor to other stable surfaces, saving the Arachnoid from an untimely plummet. The horrible head of the creature arcs back, gazing with cold, upside-down, bulging-eyed intent down at the Headhunter. The humanoid arms have started an intricate mystical dance through the air, but nothing seems to have manifested as yet.

The defective projectile near the gallery chooses this time to remind everyone of its still deadly abilities, as the chemicals finally gather at the core. With a flash and a thunderous *POF*, that section of the gallery is awash in flames and smoke that ripple outwards with the shockwave. The floor beneath beginning yet another collapse to the lobby below.

Janus lets the bundle go, gown and all, then hauls his head out of the hole and rolls away from it and onto his back. Yanking his pistol from its holster again he darts his gaze about, seeking and searching the bulbous shape of Yntyya. He finds her, or maybe it's one of the larger morsel pods hidden behind that curtain of silk? But he fires anyway, sending a thin lance of laser light burning across the gallery.

Luckily, it was not a pod, or one of the combatants below might have had to contend with a falling-sandbag accident the likes of which the world has not seen since Phantom of the Opera. That was based on a true story, wasn't it? The laser strikes home along the burnt and blistered side of the Arachnoid's abdomen. A flap of the brittle hide peels open and lets a spout of slick dark green pus paint dripping trails along the increasingly deteriorated ceiling structure. The mystical energy being gathered by the Weaver's arms flees like water, as she writhes in distraction, and starts to swing from her dragline.

The second-storey Hunter takes advantage of the chaos and lets fly another of its glowing bolts towards the elusive midsection of the monster. The barbs spring out on the way to its target. "Tthhe Wweavverr mmusstt bbe ggrrounnddedd unnttill tthhe cchhainnss off ddullllinngg arre sseccurrinngg," it barruks to nobody in particular, its attention still directed upwards in anticipation.

The Weaver's back legs direct another series of web lines across the ceiling space to anchor against a vertical wall, while the others begin hauling her wounded body along, and hopefully out of at least this harm's way.

Even while the first shot misses its mark and continues to describe a tight parabola into the heights, before finally getting tangled up...from the central hole in the chamber floor streaks another bolt, its barbs springing out just as it clears the hole and streaks up at the scrambling Arachnoid.

The Weaver continues on its mad flight towards more cover, legs a strobing blur, while a piercing hiss of bright rage leaks on and on through the parlor space.

• THUNK* The harpoon plunges its head into the hairy carapace of the Weaver's ruined abdomen, spikes holding it in place while the chemicals begin their steady, glowing trek along the bolt's hollow pathways. The unnatural screaming slices the air anew, filling your ears to ringing.

Eliza stares the Weaver down. Maybe it is dumb to do such things to a spellcaster, but Eliza never set any records on intelligence or self-preservation. Her left hand holsters the pistol there as it joins with the right one in a steady and two-handed grip. She only barely notices the arachnid's failure at spellcasting and is only half concious of Janus. One eye is closed as very careful aim is taken towards the Weaver's hind end, her next shot when it comes looking to take her through the spinnerets. Obviously in no hurry, she interrupts her actions when the harpoon strikes and goes deep; pausing for a second and then choosing not to fire at all.

The Weaver appears to be lurching along the finely-layered line in a bad way, runners of dark goop flowing groundwards from her wounds. Smoke from the gallery fire begins to billow into the upper chamber, but not enough to hide within. An undisturbed layering of web at the other side of the room lies within her reach. But instead of using the last of her reserves to scuttle the line that leads into its deceptive folds, the Arachnoid falters and suddenly makes a swift leap into thin air, leaving its anchored webs behind. In the finest tradition of the Kamikaze, she falls at a directed angle floorward, aiming her massive bulk for one particular assailant while the chemical bomb lodged at her abdomen tick-tick-ticks down.

1. Creations of Yntyya remember all Yntyya has seen# hisses through the space as she falls.

The Hunter is getting its wish, it seems. It begins an initial awkward backwards shuffle, while another long ass, belching croak is released from its maw, but the creature's angle adjusts along with the retreat, until, horrifically, the bodies of Master and Slave race collide head-on. The Hunter collapses like a bundle of twigs under the Weaver, knocked into a twisted sprawl underneath the lethal bulk of its abdomen. "Ggabbabbahhahh!" it groans desperately.

Wasting little time, Janus scrambles to his feet and grabs for the nearest handful of webs that present themselves. He pulls, tugs, tears and rips on his way to the smaller, newer hole in the floor. Lifeline, parachute or an illusory safety net, he grips tight to the web and leaps down through the hole with, he hopes, just enough of the loose strands to slow or stop him before he breaks something important in the rubble below.

Since Janus is not actually a spider (although admittedly he has done a few passable impersonations), the webbing doesn't behave for him like it would for the expert Yntyya. However, he does manage to ride the loose bunch of strands downwards, with enough left unsnapped by the time he runs out of line, to land as nicely as he pleases in the ruined lobby below.

In the lobby, the mute Hunter observes the appearance of Janus, well, mutely. The bulk of its attention remains on the large hole above it, over which it had seen the Weaver fly on its murderous suicide-pact leap. Another of those bomb-harpoons is loaded up as it chicken-walks backwards, craning its head and trying to get a glimpse of anything worth shooting at. "Ssofftt onne inn sshhellll hhellppss," comments the trapped Hunter from beneath the fallen Weaver. Or was that a request?

Is Eliza even aware that Janus has left her to fight on alone? Maybe, but maybe not too. She is occupied completely with the plight of the trapped one. Perhaps she is just dumb at this point (and likely all of the time) but she lunges. Since one pistol is holstered already, the claws on that hand snap forth and swing low. The intention is to sever the shaft of the weapon near the head before the glowing goo can reach it. Foolish? Very likely so.

The desperately extended blade slices neatly through the lodged shaft, and neon fluids splatter from the section of useless tube that flips end over end to the ground. Unluckily, there is still a small quantity of the chemical within the remainder of the shaft. Enough to continue the chain reaction into the last chamber of the harpoon bolt. Nearby, the protruding eyes of the Hunter revolve from the failed cut, back up to the armored figure, staring without expression or attempt at last words.

1. Yntyya will live through Final Great Creation#

The cryptic vow prickles through the air like fine sleet, before the space ruptures with the blinding light and noise of the detonation. Scraps of alien hide and flesh pelt the parlor, some falling through the original hole to rain upon the other visible Hunter. The concussive force of the blast encompasses, then knocks Eliza backwards. When the lighting levels around the site return to acceptable levels, survivors will note that the spider abdomen is a burning, caved-in carcass now. The spot that used to be occupied by the trapped Hunter's head is a blackened, chunky smear.

Well that sounded bad. Janus straightens himself, caught halfway through picking up the clothes from the tumble of concrete and dust they landed in to look up through the hole after the boom of the explosion. From there he looks over at the Hunter down in the lobby with him, wary and cautious but not ready to make any moves first.

An admirable attempt but one that failed nonetheless. A blind and desperate lunge. She is aware before she misses that it is not going to connect, with the strike poorly aimed and off the cuff. It is fortunate that she at least has the sense to carry the swipe's motion into a turn-away from the blast to let her armor shield her. Even still, she is sent to the floor a second time. She is becoming well aquainted with it today. Hello, floor. Meet Eliza. Eliza, meet floor. Knocked sprawling it takes her some seconds to recover. The second blow of the day is always worse. Slowly she rises with both pistols out to take stock and look around.

The mute Hunter claps its mouth shut in a lipless seal to avoid accidentally ingesting either filthy insect guts or bits of honorable comrade. It slowly backs away from the sloppy hole, big head swinging down to regard Janus's actions in an inquisitive manner, while pieces of this or that roll off its shoulders.

"Sufferin' Supercharger, y'tryin't'demolish th'place'r what're'y'doin'?" Minnie demands, appearing through the lobby's entryway. Behind her lurches the form of the third Hunter, now shimmering into existence. Had they been hanging out on the curb all this time?

Upstairs, the bulk of the Arachnoid is still and unmoving while it burns, remaining legs constricted into forever-acute angles of shock. As Eliza surveys the damage, there is movement. The fallen, intact humanoid torso ripples, the arms unfold to push at the ground, and the long black head comes up from the billows of acrid smoke, rearing a mere three feet from the ground while its dulled, leaking eyes seek out Eliza.

Janus hurriedly gathers up the remaining garments and throws them all over his shoulder again before he moves towards Minnie and the door and makes frantic, wide-eyed gestures for her to get back out on the street. "Liza's still up there, I need to see if she's awlrigh'. You get wheels? Here." The clothes come down into his arms and he thrusts them out upon the poor girl.

Eliza remains a little bit woozy. You can have all the padding you want, but that last impact with the floor caught her just a little badly. So it is two rising spider-torso-thing-face that she sees, not one. With both pistols in her hands she points at it and then realizes that until her vision clears it is unlikely she is going to hit it. So she settles for the next best thing. Both guns are pointed downwards towards the mauled floor where the remains of the weaver are and discharge, seeking to drop her a floor down for the other weaver to deal with. Downstairs, Minnie and Janus will hear at least that pair of shots in answer to her being all right.

The No-Speaky-Eengleesh Hunter doesn't bar Janus passage to the lobby entrance, just wheeling in stunned-looking silence until it becomes aware of its remaining comrade. At that point, its dewlap thrums out some succinct creaks and croaks. The Hunter-Come-Lately abruptly brushes past Minnie and makes for the same staircase its now-deceased companion had taken before, already reaching back into its buttpack and rummaging around for something than clinks and clanks. It doesn't even manage to set foot on the faintly disturbed dust of the steps, before the sizzling reports are heard above, and suddenly the section of high ceiling that's closer to the opposite staircase turns a molten green as heat-fissures race along the surface. A large-scale collapse seems imminent.

Minnie holds out her arms without much forethought to receive the goods, the soft bunches easily hugged to her breastplate while she shuffles backwards. "Got wheels, huh-yup," she confirms distractedly, while her eyes peer upwards to check out the new holes in the ceiling. "'Liza...an'...Spiderfreak...? Then what're *you* doin' down..." That's about as far as she gets, probably conversing with Erik's back by now, when the building shakes, and that ominous rumbling starts up. With a little squeak of a gasp, Minnie backs up against the dirty, drapey wall of the lobby archway, and stares in horrified fascination at the downwards bloat of the ceiling.

"Roit, 'Liza's fine," Erik decides as the entire structure starts its rumbling and shuddering acceleration into entropy. He wheels around on his heel steps forward into Minnie and goes to scoop her up onto his shoulder in the same way and with the same casual ease as he'd done with the garments only a few moments before. "Tryin' to get us killed still too," he adds, just because he needs to, and hurries over the old rubble blocking the front doors open in an attempt to get Minnie and himself outside and out of the way of any more falling pieces of ceiling.

The eyes of Yntyya gaze unblinking at Eliza while the floor beneath it is destroyed. No time for words, and it doesn't even try. Its chipped mandibles open wide in what might be a grin, or one last display of violent hate. Then it is gone in a rising cloud of powdered mortar as a huge section of the parlor floor falls to pieces.

Sometimes you have to hope for the best. As the floor collapses, Eliza just sort of hopes that her little area is going to stay mostly intact and this time her luck holds even though she was expecting to go down with the Weaver. Standing up and backing up swiftly she looks left and then right and there is a pang of dissapointment as she see the condition that what had been the display area was in. But there is no time to cry over it, that can come later. She scoots over to one of the holes in the floor and drops to sit on her bum on the rim of it, hooking the claws of her left hand into the 'floor' before she scoots off again. Dangling for a second a little painfully to release herself and drop the last little ways. Then she heads for the lobby.

The lobby is filled with a terrible cataclysm of sound and fury, the plummeting form of the ravaged Weaver largely unseen amid the shower of concrete, iron, insulation, tiling, and other mundane construction materials. The mute Hunter is gone too, probably shimmered out of phase to flee from all the flying chunks of debris. The other Hunter bravely waits it out on the other side of the lobby, abandoning its pack-rifling in favor of readying one of those stupid destructive harpoons in its stupid destructive harpoon gun. But wait a sec. That bolt wasn't glowing at one end. Whew. "Lllliizzzzaa," it barruks, even before Momano Girl drops in. The dust has yet to settle, after all. She might be there amongst all that mess. It shambles forth into the roiling clouds of gloom, picking its way along with its crazy tripod feet.

Wheee! Minnie gets to watch the demolition from her mobile, rollicking position, just clutching the bundle of silken items and enjoying(?) the show while Janus does all the work getting them out of that choking deathtrap. "Th'gal's go-goin' supernova, 'Rik!" she reports over her shoulder over his shoulder. And then they're out on the steps, the rush of debris still following them out to spew over the immediate street side, where an old-style military jeep waits curbside. Janus doesn't look back and doesn't stop moving until he reaches the jeep, at which point he leans forward and dumps Minnie down into the open passenger seat. Does he think he's driving? He turns around then, rolling to the side and leaning back against the front wheel well and squinting through the cloud of dust that's followed him out of the building. "Alright?" he queries Minnie, glancing over at her and reaching a hand into the vehicle to reassuringly squeeze her knee.

Eliza is not going supernova. In fact, she is on her way towards the building entry at a hurried walk when she is accosted. At this point, there is no sign of Janus, Minnie or any other sort of comrade . . . except this hunter. Quite on her own now, by her belief, she inclines her head, wary and careful to look at the creature. "Yes?" She asks, a little curtly. Those outside may be surprised there is no more shooting and the building hasn't gone nova yet. Or done the electric boogaloo.

Knee-guard. Minnie's still wearing her armor bits, but it's the thought that counts. "Me?" she responds, puzzled. Why wouldn't she be all right? Just had to beat Keith's face in for the super-sekrit location of this here jeep, is all! She also shot out both his knee caps! And other things that simply aren't true. "My stuff was th'easy part," she shrugs out the remark, while looking the man over carefully. "So...'Rik...did y'come t'help 'Liza? R't'stop'er?"

The Hunter turns its head a bit, nipple-eyes swiveling in wide circles to locate Eliza through the heavy haze. "Ddoess Lllliizzzzaa hhavve hhurrttss? Hherr wwill bbeccommess kkilllledd llikke Ppaggohhrrukkahhggrrappuhh bbeccommess kkilllledd," it barfs out into the gloom. Off near the epicenter of the collapse, the silhouette of the other Hunter shimmers into view, bending over something while it jingle-jangles a length of something faintly glinting from its pack.

"Reckon it were a bit o' both," Erik answers Minnie with a mild shrug of his awesomely overcoated shoulders. Knee-guard it is then; he gives the rigid ceramiplast shell a pair of pats of his hand before drawing it away and folding his arms across his body. Lips purse and eyes watch the building doors. While there's no more shooting and no more falling building, the ribbity sounds of the Hunters tell him something's still going on in there. Restlessness and curiosity grow and war with a need to stay outside with the jeep and its treasured cargo. The sense of responsibility wins out after a brief but difficult struggle and he waits right where he is.

Inside of the building the conversation continues, although Eliza is still edging towards the door. "I do not." She says, mostly honestly. "A little knock on the head. Armor held. A little concerned about the repair costs, but whatever. I'll be fine. Are you going home now?" The question is a little expectant.

The mute Hunter wastes no time hooking the silver chain into the crook of the Weaver's gaping maw, criss-crossing them around the mandibles, and drawing them tight in order to clamp the crescent appendages together. The prisoner doesn't even appear to be alive anymore, with caked black orbs dim and motionless in their eyesockets, and the same stillness extending along the entire broken remains in and amongst the rubble. Yet still the D-Bee secures the Arachnoid skull, then knots the remaining leads around the limp grey humanoid arms.

"Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka ggoess tto hhomme wwitthh vviccttorryy. Tthhe Wweavverr wwillll ffacce tterrrribblle jjusstticce fforr mmannyy ccrrimmess. Lllliizzzzaa ddesserrvvess tthhannkkss ffrromm ssofftt onne wworrlldd fforr hhellppinngg rremmovve tthhe Wweavverr bbefforre wworrlldd bbeccommess llikke hhomme off tthhe Nnobblle Rracce." The chirruping Lead Hunter has resaddled its harpoon gun across its back and has begun rummaging through its pack once more, to come up once more with the ornate iron box. "Ssofftt onness ggivvinngg hhellpp wwitthh nno hhappppyy ppayymmenntt iss sserrvvanntt. Sserrvvanntt ccommess bbacckk tto hhomme off tthhe Nnobblle Rracce." With that point made, it holds the box out again, this time shuffling over to lay it down with a *plunk* in Eliza's path. "Hhrrurrkkarruppttkka nnoww wwillll enndd tthhe ppllacce wwhherre iss mmadde tterrrribblle bbyy tthhe Wweavverr. Tthhe tterrrribblle ppllacce wwillll bburrnn." One of the D-Bee's eyes twitches to fix directly on the armored figure whose face it has never seen. Then the Reptiloid shambles through the ruins to join its companion, who has begun to shimmer once more, along with the body of the Weaver. From its pack it removes a small stack of tubes that glow at both ends. That should be the last thing seen of the Noble Race. Because anyone sticking around after that should seriously have their head examined.

Outside, Minnie spends some time straightening out her armload of clothes, eyes running over each one wistfully since her gloved hands aren't able to absorb the delightfully sublime tactile sensations therein. The neatly rolled bundle is then set in the backseat, leaving her free to shift behind the wheel of the vehicle, whereupon she starts up the engine again. The fires in the upper storeys of the building are now crackling away in earnest, sending a column of black smoke into the red sky. Gossamer strands float up on the breeze that breaks the smoke down into a filthy haze. Normally undetectable on their own, the sheer multitude of loose webbing rising from the building creates a shimmering mini-reenactment of the Northern Lights in the sky, for just a minute, before gaining altitude and dispersing.

Yay, something burning in Dregtown...again...it draws a small crowd of spectators who care about this sort of thing. Sooner or later, some Burster will come and sort things out. Either heroically snuff out the flames, or turn the whole thing into a towering inferno, while cackling madness. S'all good. S'all bad, too. "Well. We should go-go," Minnie comments to whomever of her friends has stuck around and needs a lift back to civilization. Probably just Janus. "An' just so y'know? I'm never takin' you out shoppin' ever 'gain," she deadpans.