[The Hangover] No Place Like Home

Lie. Fib. Bullshit. Bribe.

When Metatron's angels of death were coming, you did what you had to do. Slicker than Mitch the Nymph was as he burst into the ephemeral after the Fairest, but even Nate Henley couldn't come out of this negotiation unscathed. Still, the ghosts agreed to help them, and Nate ran through the shadows after Mitchell Carr. His teeth grit as he charged through the night, hearing the triumphant wailing bearing down upon them in bullet time.

They were going to make it.

They had to make it.

Tonight had been a crazy fucking whimsy train that happened to bring home a defensive measure hitherto unknown. Metatron's Bane had to get to where it needed to go. Carr had to survive. Nate just preferred that it wasn't at the cost of his life.

The gate was ahead, relative safety almost there. He held out his hand, fingers outstretched for the gate back to the Real and crashed through with a push of Glamour --

A lot of things happened at once, where Gavin molting gold-leaf feathers to blister into a grizzly bear registered only on the immediate side of alarm as whispering shadows dampened the field and wrapped hoarfrost around the Huntsman's frame. Gavin swiped with wicked claws at the Huntsman, stretching and batting as it pivoted higher in a shower of stones ringing against its frame in the earsplitting hum of a cracked bell. Reality folded again as the trio threw themselves through the immediate Gate, rolling through scenery as the black path of shortcuts trimmed the light, and Gavin watched the screeching Angel of Blades shake off the stall in arching waves of searing lighting and aiming scimitars. 

A second tear of the Razorhand's paw peeled reality away from the Gate's entrance, joining the fray of biting heels with the weight of solid existence tramped down the Mask on the motley skiing along the wet and crowded pavement of Aftermath's industrial skeleton. The Autumn roared triumph under the wash of Summer Mantles that aimed their weaponry at the sudden hail of thunder and fury, hesitating lest they hit the racing motley in the shadow of piercing limbs. Yuan vaulted over a bench, taking aim just as one of the scimitars tore the Dancer's pointed ear clean off; Mitch contorting at an impossible angle to avoid his shoulder being pinned to the concrete pillar, while Henley brazenly threw sand at the monster with a bark of mad laughter before a secondary limb sent him spiraling through the air in a fantastic arc.

Gavin carved a chunk, taking one of the cyclonic limbs with his Arcadian gifts cleaving straight through the polished bone, while Cold Iron tore a swirling brand across the massive body via a hurricane of multiple, swinging arms. A second angelic form cried a mournful chorus that pierced the ears as Carr landed on the concrete, and launched into its center of mass with the Ogre's Blessing of Steed, throwing the Huntsman several feet to grind against the floor in a shower of sparks. The chaotic clockwork of twisting limbs carved chunks out of stone as Carr diverted all of his count concentration and twitch reflex into not getting pinned, as Yuan timed the pattern of weaving blades and took the shot and winged a piece of its shining helm.

There was a lot of inhuman screaming and audio distortion, where no one could track the immediate source of who, until Solomon's command cut through the earsplitting noises to herald his own cacophony of war with the instrument of concentrated machine fire and arrows of blinding prismatic light. Fae Cunning kept most of the heat off of Mitch, only catching a couple of bullets before he winked to the ephemeral to discourage the entity from immediately trying to follow. 

Somewhere in the shower of bone shard and slag and deafening gunfire, a Hobgoblin eel-turned-snake happily took its payment as it swallowed the torn Dancer's ear as its prize before returning to the Hedge. The Huntsman was blown apart, bringing the total encounter to about five seconds.

Carr hit the floor back in the Real, laughing hysterically in relief and bottled panic as he clenched one the impact sites.

The hulking grizzly bear heaved laboured growling breaths, slowing his movements with the pain as it radiated through his body in white hot waves. The agony of the wound was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He wasn't sure if he would remain alive if he shifted back, let alone conscious. He wasn't sent reeling so it was possible he wouldn't immediately bleed out, but it wasn't worth the risk. His added size and sturdiness lent some mobility he'd likely lose in short order returning to his human shape. People would have to bear with him for a bit while he got checked out. There was still the matter of the deadly and dangerous material laying about on the floor. He stood sentinel over the rare resource until his Summer allies could secure them from the opportunists slinking about the hub. The recent integration of his Icon had restored life lessons that made him see others in a less trusting light. 

The others down in the abyssal depths of the Thorns had seen a simple manila file folder that was stuffed an inch thick with loose neatly stacked and organized paper. Numerous tabs had run down the length of the folder's mouth. A Los Angeles county watermark was pressed into the surface indicating its origin, and a coffee stain rimming the spine and one edge its exposure to life.


What a wild ride it was to have traversed from the Thorns next to Arcadia all the way back to the mundane in such a short span. The Hedge was always a trip.

Henley's humorous tone drew his attention. The bear let out an affirmative but unintelligible growling response.