2022-03-15 - Cannibal Girls Won't You Come Out Tonight

The woods. Not the summery backyard of Oak Avenue 1 to 5 -- but the sweltering, drenched, uncomfortable heat of some Mesoamerican jungle. Colourful flowers grow on vines that slowly choke the life out of the giant trees that all but blot out the blue overhead with their dense foliage. Is it raining? Who knows? With this kind of humidity, it doesn't matter.

A tapir drinks from the muddy green river. It looks around and it thinks itself safe -- until the spear embeds itself in its side. The tapir tries to run. A yellow and black weight drops on it from above, large fangs sinks into its neck, and twists. The tapir flails, and then lies still. The jaguar looks around. It shakes itself off, and it stretches, and it becomes a woman -- a tall, white woman with long gold hair and a remarkably skimpy fur bikini. It picks up the spear. It picks up the tapir like its weight means nothing. She starts walking along the river bank.

The same river bank upon which a small campfire heralds the presence of visitors -- or more prey. Sleeping bags around the dying embers. English-speaking foreigners, waking up. Watched, unawares, by the green eyes of jaguars and women.

'Camping' and 'Una' are not two words that particularly go together. Waking up in a sleeping bag, in the sweltering jungle heat? Dark eyes blink into wakefulness, staring at the dying fire, and freeze; the redhead shifts, experimentally, scrunches her eyes closed, and then exhales.

It's possible that she's actually completely unwilling to move, that as sweltering as the confines of her sleeping bag are, at least they're, you know, safe, because there are things moving out there, and that's... that's...

"Fuck me dead," she hisses. It does not sound like an invitation.

Woods? Ava loves nature, but she needs to prepare herself fully before falling asleep in it, and she certainly does not recall doing that. Most certainly not in sticky heat like this. "Ugh," is groaned out from the doctor as she squeezes her eyes open and shut a few times in the sleeping bag. Another voice has her frowning. At least she isn't alone.

"I can't tell if that sounds like the best or worst way to go. I suppose it depends on who is on the other side of it."

"I vote for worst," comes the groan from the third sleeping bag. "I'm already hot and sticky everywhere."

Ravn is very certain he did not go sleep like this -- in a sleeping bag on the hard ground in some emerald hell. A hand emerges from the safe comfort of his sleeping bag and he rummages on the ground next to himself. Anything useful to clue a man in as to where -- when?

The black silk jacket that his hand lands on is probably not what he expected. Silk does seem like a strange fabric to wear in this kind of climate -- and the cut of it is kind of Asian-looking, in the fashion of some Hollywood designer thinks he knows what a black Asian shirt should look like. So, basically, a weird mix of a Mao shirt and a karate gi, but black.

That, of course, means little next to the katana, with its black and red chequered handle. And the pants, and the black silk hood.

"Oh, you know. You're right. Fuck me to death," Ravn murmurs and lets his hand fall.

Reluctantly, Una attempts to sit up, though she's not willing to let go of the confines of her sleeping bag. Her hair has that deliberately-styled bedhead look to it; naturally, of course, the kohl lining her eyes hasn't so much as smudged, because that would be inconvenient and unattractive. "I have a knife strapped to my thigh," she announces, rummaging in the sleeping bag. "Which sounds ridiculously uncomfortable to sleep with, but... evidently I did."

She pauses. Grimaces. "No, definitely fuck this."

"At least you're always hot. So you've already got that going for you," Ava teases. "What fresh hell have we--" Her words get cut off as she sees what Ravn is wearing. She giggles. "Awwww, no! You look adorable, plus the silk has to feel nice, right? And you've got a cool sword, look at that!" She waves a hand out.

That's when she spots it and her eyes settle on the whisp thin vines and bitty flowers wrapped around her hand and wrist, before moving up her arm. "What in the hell?" She starts to shift out of her own bag, moving to look at her outfit, which is less clothes and more, well, nature. "Oh no. Oh, this is not even a full outfit. Half of my ass it out!" She looks behind herself. Her hand goes to her hair, running her hands through it, feeling up along her head. There's a pause, feeling the long tips of her pointed ears. "Hey! I'm an elf!" Well, at least there's that.

"Wait! I have no shoes!" That didn't last very long.

Ravn quickly pulls the black silk hood on; ninja costumes, however stereotypical, at least are good for hiding an uncomfortable flush. He pulls the jacket and pants on as well -- and shakes his head. "Somebody ought to tell me that when ninja actually existed, they dressed like the rest of the farmers because not standing out was the point."

Then he glances at Ava, and then at all the clothes Ava isn't wearing, and sighs. "Here's to hoping it stays warm because you, doctor, are definitely not dressed for a blizzard. Bloody hell. Don't take a deep breath lest you exfoliate."

Eyes flash green in the dark; it's a jungle, and a jungle is never quiet. Howler monkeys howl, snakes slither, and birds call in spite of the pitch darkness. It's the kind of dark that tells any viewer to put their coffee cup down because the jump scare is imminent.

"Oh my god," says Una. "Put some clothes on, Ava!" She's teasing... but she's also very deliberately keeping her gaze above the neckline. At least Una's clothes are a little more practical, though they're very much Hollywood's idea of a jungle explorer, all khaki, even if it's a skirt (all the better to access that high knife) rather than sensible trousers. This Dream seems to have confused its genres a bit.

She shoots a glance around, warily. "Jungles freak me out. Ok-- I'm up." Into a crouch, at least, so that she can strap her canteen to her hip and get a better look their surrounds from a little more height.

"Come on, Una, love. Let's see you! You got a knife, surely you can cut us if you don't like what we've got to say," Ava giggles. The Una is finally revealed. She gives a low whistle, not anything loud or enough to draw any kind of attention. "Sexy mama," she rowls, cat like. A little too catlike. Was that in cat? She pauses.

"I'm pretty sure you're an *Adventurer Ninja. Not just a ninja-ninja. You aren't supposed to fit in. You're supposed to look cool."

Ava shifts her weight, glancing around her sleeping bag, looking for her pack. Her adventurer's pack. "I've read my share of novels. I should be a druid right? Well cast roll. Does that mean I have the powers of one, or I just carried my usual ones over? What's one thing a Druid can do that I can't?" She crouches and looks towards the trees, putting a hand out. "Animals. Animal friends. A companion. Maybe?"

It's worth a shot. At least she has some idea how magic works thanks to her own. So she reaches out, trying to will that out into the Dream.

"Hell if I know what I'm supposed to be, besides deeply uncomfortable in fabric that can't breathe in high humidity." Ravn grumbles and looks around. Footwear? Bare feet? Those strange Japanese sandals? Nope, soft, black deerskin boots because apparently whoever put his costume together thought they'd look better on long legs. Which, admittedly, they do -- but the idea of dressing up to look sexy while unseen is enough of a mind fuck that the folklorist and historian almost feels dizzy.

He gets up and looks around. No tent. Machetes, packs. No boat. They walked here, then? Any sign of where we're going? Nope. "I guess we're heading upstream. Because any explorers' story is about heading deeper into the wilderness, after all."

The backpack provides a little more clue once investigated. It contains a blanket, 50 feet of strong rope, a grappling hook, and ten tins of what Ravn strongly suspects is an 'iron ration'. It has a picture of a smiling green goblin salesman on the label. And the rolled-up map --

-- depicts a winding river through symbols of trees. And in the distance, upriver, a stylised drawing of something that could be the Chichen Itza temple -- if you squint. Ravn squints. A lot. Mostly because doing so allows him to ignore Disney Princess Ava suddenly buried under colourful birds and small furry animals. There's a freaking toucan trying to land on her shoulder.

Una looks deeply uncomfortable at Ava's catlike rowl, immediately ducking her head away in order to determine what belongs she has, because that is... safer. Yes. "We are the worst party of adventurers ever," she grumbles. "Cat druid, ninja and-- oh god I hope I'm not supposed to be an archaelogist, Indiana Jones-style." That might explain the whip, tucked so tidily between her sleeping bag and her pack. She moans. Not sexily. (Very not sexily). "I mean, there's crossing genres, and then there's..."

That's the moment when she glances up, and sees, for the first time, the true extent of Ava's Disney Princess-ing. "Oh holy shit. Aren't we supposed to be being subtle? I feel like we're supposed to be being subtle. We should move out before this gets even worse. Upstream?"

The last is for Ravn, the question asked as Una reluctantly hoists her pack onto her shoulder, and (ugh) tucks her whip into her belt. At least she has a belt. At least she has clothes.

Ah!

"That's not what I was trying to do! I was trying to get one!" Ava squeaks, covering her face. "Um. Keep an eye out for danger for us! Scatter! Make sure nothing attacks without us knowing, pretty please!" she requests sweetly of the flock of birds and cute animals. "You're all very kind!"

The toucan trying to land on her shoulder means her having to open her arm out and move her head out of the way to make a lot of room. "Hello gorgeous." Ava moves to grab her own pack and huffs as she picks it up and slings it over her opposite shoulder. That's when her eyes fall on the bow. "Ahhh. Right. Elf. That makes sense. Grabbing the bow and then the quiver, she gives a little nod. "Looks like I might be more useful here than in the real world, guys," she snorts.

"I'm sure I'll be all the useful if we end up in a situation that requires somebody to pose for a Young Adult novel cover," Ravn grouses and hoists up his own sack. "Also, I think eating grass might be preferable to those rations. Keep your furry friends close, Ava, we might want chicken dinner."

A capybara looks sadly at Ava and then at the darkness of the jungle surrounding them.

If a capybara could speak, a capybara might say, "Guys, hate to interrupt your little therapy session about the funny costumes there, but, you know, we got company, and also, I like ear scratches."

A capybara can't, though. So it doesn't.

Ravn takes the first step away from the dying fire, beckoning for his companions to follow. "There's a path here. I guess we better start waaaaaaaaaaaaaa--

Humans are blind, concludes the capybara. Anyone with their face closer to the ground would have seen the snare. And now the ninja is dangling up there, caught by a rope around one ankle, hoisted up and trapped like a somewhat unfortunate rabbit.

"Unless this costume came with actual skill points," this being the appropriate term, when this is definitely an RPG of some kind, "in, I don't know, anything useful, I'm probably still absolu-- oh fuck."

Una's muttering, which, yes, completely coincided with Ravn's more audible suggestion, gets cut short by the ninja's capture. She blinks, craning her neck back and back and back to track where he's ended up. "I... I'm going to suggest that trying to shoot the rope out with the bow and arrow may be a bad plan," the redhead concludes. "I could untie the knot, but... that's going to hurt, coming down, isn't it? Unless your birdie friends will help, Ava?"

"Shit."

Ava winces. "Please tell me you didn't just break your ankle. Also, you should have checked for traps. What kind of ninja are you?" Glancing towards Ava, she nods vaguely and looks towards the animals. "They're all a little too small to really catch him, I think. If my plant powers work like they usually do, then I can get him down when you cut it, though. But that's a pretty big if."

Her eyes scan the dark around them. Does she have fancy elf night vision? Or is this just a cosplay? That's the question. "But traps, means that there's people around waiting for something to fall into those traps. So we may have to risk that if."

"I think my dignity is smarting more than my foot," Ravn returns and tries very hard to keep the groan out of his voice; unsurprised touch is unpleasant -- unsurprised snare and subsequent flailing is not his idea of a good time.

He tries to flex his body, pretzel up into a position where he can get a hold of the rope and maybe even have a shot at untying it -- or cutting it, once he works out how to draw a katana from the sheath on his back and use it like a knife, while hanging upside down from a tree. The things you don't learn in gym class.

If the capybara could talk it would say, "look behind you." It still cannot, though, so 'squeak' will have to do. 'Squeak' is enough to alert Ava to the fact that there are definitely shadows in the dark that were not there a moment ago.

A fact which Una will likely not dispute, looking a branch overhead upon which are distinct humanoid silhouettes in the dark -- and the glowing yellow-green eyes of a large cat. Is this the Amazonas? Because if it is, and the capybara and the tapir do seem to suggest it -- then this is jaguar country, and that thing up there is a jaguar. With friends.

"I'm not sure any of us have any dignity left," points out Una, not unsympathetically. (Actually, she seems faintly-- more than faintly-- impressed at Ravn's pretzeling.) "Okay-- Ravn may be able to get his own damn self down, which-- impressive."

Only, in glancing up she's caught sight of something else, and it's enough to widen her eyes, and exhale, sharply. "But do so quickly," is low and urgent. "And then we need to... shit. Do we run? We can't run. They have four legs, we only have two, and I'm not a runner."

This would make significantly more sense if she actually explained what she was talking about.

"You can still run with broken dignity. Less so with a broken ankle," Ava reminds in a more doctor and less Druid tone. "Since we have to go through a jungle, we'd better hope it's just a little achy." She's watching the pretzel shifting with concern until that little squeak gets her attention. Eyes drift to the capybara, then towards the shadows that it's attempting to bring her attention towards. Eyes widen as she spots the multiple shadows.

"Are you able to tell what they are, Una?" Four legs? Does that make them animals? "Are they animals? Can I try to maybe cast Friendship or something? All I see is shadow. Do they look mad?"

A net made from vines that somehow manage to still flower drops from above. Ava finds herself suddenly trapped under its weight -- but at least her hands are free and her feet are still on the ground; a position that will allow at least some freedom of movement and agency (unlike the pretzel up there in the dark, still trying to reach for the hilt of his sword, seriously, not only did gym class not cover this, he skipped most of the classes).

A silhouette up there points something long and narrow at Una; a spear, presumably, though it might be a sharp stick or for that matter, a very long riding crop -- hard to see in the dark. A woman's voice calls down, "It's your lucky day, Doctor Irving. We have watched you for a long time."

The accent is strangely American. Midwestern, even.

Una may have overestimated the ability for the Ravn-pretzel to free himself. It is, however, much too late to remedy that: Ava's been trapped by that net, and Una straightens, one hand dropping towards her thigh-knife, the other lifting in an uncomfortable gesture of 'don't shoot'. It is, sadly, far too late to provide any further details to Ava-- though perhaps there was never enough time to avoid this.

"You have me at a disadvantage," she calls up, squinting in an attempt to get a better look at her interlocutor. "To whom am I speaking? And... why have you watched me? We mean no harm."

Even in dreams it's not every day you have a net dropped on you, and ow her ears! Ava was not considering how much it would hurt to have those pushed down against her head like that as the net fell. There's a little whine, but she still manages to stay on her feet with her hands free. Also, did they really just plop a still flowering vine net on a druid? That couldn't have been smart. Assuming this works.

You never know.

One of those nifty, little tricks Druids can do, making plants grow. The net is shifted so that she's standing at one of the gaps and she tries to will it as she would with her own powers. Hopefully, letting it grow to the point that the gap opens big enough that it just drops around her and lets her see what's going on. Hopefully, if it gets to that point, she can use it as a weapon. If not, well, maybe Dr. Una can sweet talk their way out of it!

The net winds and curls and clings. For a moment it feels as it contemplates the idea of obeying the elf -- and then it goes nah, actually, I'm good, and sticks to its original set of instructions; restrain that elf. Assuming that it plays by the tropes and rules of the kind of game that an elf would from in the first place? It's probably enchanted to somehow resist druidic or elvish manipulation.

"You have four spears pointed at you," calls that pleasant, Midwestern voice from up in the dark. "I suggest you come peacefully, Dr Irving. Our Lord is so eager to meet you."

It's the kind of voice that ought to continue with: And make you an offer you can't refuse.

Another net drops -- and winds its way around Ravn, putting an effective end to his attempts at getting to his blade. Only then does someone up there lash out and cuts the rope -- which is not something Ravn is entirely thrilled about, seeing as that it leads to his very uncomfortable face plant and subsequent, "Ow."

How much is Una enjoying this? Yeah: >.< that much. Ava's restrained, Ravn's on the ground in a less-than-fun way, and Una... Una's got the attention of these strangely American... uh strangers. Who know who she is.

She attempts another peer up into the trees, as if her vision might magically give her more details this time. "I'm not resisting," she promises. "There is no resistance. You know who I am; presumably that means you know I..." Uh. "Have respect for all cultures and people. Possibly not Nazis? Fantasy-Nazis? But..."

This is ridiculous. "Take me-- take us -- to your Lord. I trust you will treat my companions and I fairly."

Power is not working, so there's just the old fashioned way. Ava is going to work on prying the heavy net off of herself while her hands are free enough to do so. Hopefully that swarm of birds and small animals are still willing to help. "Help me get this thing off. Please help me! Chew! Chew!" Another call to her animal friends.

"I'll go, but I will not be taken in a net! This is ridiculous! Undignified! Who does this to people?!" Whap, whap, whap against the net. Let her out!

Maybe she's still mad about not having shoes.

Or maybe she's claustrophobic? Isn't that often said about coroners who put people into drawers all day?

There are titters from up there. Literal, goddamned titters.

Then it starts to rain women. There might be an element of hallelujah to it too, if one is into long legged blondes in surprisingly skimpy bikinis made from, it seems, primarily leopard fur. Pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair -- an entire range of characteristics one would not immediately draw to mind if someone was to say 'indigenous populations of the Amazonas'. Unless, of course, one was Edgar Rice Burroughs.

"You'll be our guest," declares the longest-legged blonde and beams at Una. "I am Longerra, and you will be my new sister. If our Lord judges you worthy."

A single woman is a redhead; a dark shade of chestnut. "Better let the elf out of that net before she eats her way through it," she observes.

"Knock her teeth out if she keeps trying," the blond scoffs. And why not? There are the small things of the jungle, some chewing helplessly on a net that does not tear, and some slinking away because leopards up there and strange women down here; an enchantment, it seems, that nothing elf-like shall harm this net, by tooth or by magic. It's really quite unfair.

Ravn opens his mouth and then closes it. Something tells him that maybe he would be lucky to get that mild a treatment. Maybe it's the two blondes tying him ankle and wrists and sticking in their spears as to carry him between them, like hunters returning with prey.

Una's surprise at the rain of women is far from unfeigned. And yet... there's an elf, a ninja, an archaeologist, a jungle; why not a tribe of leopard-fur bikini wearing blondes with American accents?

But: "... sister?"

It takes a moment or two more (sorry guys) before she thinks to add, "He'll come quietly, you know. The ninja. He's no threat; you don't need to tie him up like that. The elf, either. Truly. I'll... have to have words with your Lord if either of them are harmed in any way."

There are some heavy breaths come from under that net. Partly because Ava is desperately trying to get out from under it, and partly because it's clear that the elf underneath is trying not to flip out. It seems to be working so far, but who knows how much longer that's going to last under the weight and unfamiliarity, surrounded by who knows how many people, in an unfamiliar place, barely able to move. "Una," she manages through gritted teeth as her hands still tear at the net.

There's the faint trace of the beginnings of panic underlying that tone. "Una help me. I can't get out. Help me." She is not having an actual panic attack, however. That's one for the win column. Her composure is holding out so far.

"Let the damned elf walk." The redhead reaches down and with a simple wave of a hand, the net falls apart into a pile of flowers and vines. "Where's she going to run off to, the jungle? Without her friend? Get on your feet, elf. Walk."

"Whatever, Karse." Longerra hitches a shoulder in that annoyed fashion of someone who refuses to acknowledge that her position as leader is being challenged, because to do so would be acknowledging that someone is in a position to challenge her. "Get moving."

Ravn wants to say something about not being quite comfortable either. He probably would have said it if some had not tied his mouth with a strip of leather -- leopard fur, again. Ick. The folklorist makes himself stay still and go limp. He's not alone in this. And a dream is not going to simply treat him like a prop -- unless the point is to force someone else to deal. Dreams don't just thwack you and leave you in the dust -- that'd be like throwing perfectly good food in the bin, you don't do that unless someone else needs the space in the fridge.

Which is not to say he isn't worried. Blond leopard fur bikini girls in the Amazonas make no sense -- unless this is some kind of play on the word 'amazon'. In which case he's starting to worry quite a bit about the whole warrior woman thing, because those ladies look like posing for an invisible camera is a lot more important to them than defending some mythical lost kingdom. Queendom. Whatever.

Una has, it is fair to say, been a little more wrapped up in her own anxieties (shit, she's the one they want, does that mean she needs to be the one to think fast and take the lead? shit, shit, shit, fuck) than in those of her companions, aside from the obvious 'hey, be nice to them'. It's Ava's call of her name that really wakes her up, resulting in a physical recoil, and eyes that widen with concern and dismay-- and apology.

Her hands lift, as though she's about to try something: after all, it's not as though these Amazons have taken her knife, but the exchange between Karse and Longerra draws a pause (during which time she's got her eyes trained on Ava, willing her to breathe, just hold on for a moment, breathe).

"Wait," she says, with as much command as she can muster (which is to say: absolutely none, leaving her sounding more like a small, scared child), once the net has been dismissed. "Give her time to... breathe? And him?"

She's not selling it. She's probably anti-selling it. Buying it? Whatever. She's doing it.

Ava is gasping and red in the face when the net comes off, her eyes a little wild. "Scatter," she tells the animals that were trying to help her, letting them move off to protect themselves accordingly. Her attention moves towards the direction of the voice that offered her help and she gives a thankful nod as she finds steadiness on her feet and begins to walk, indeed.

Her breath is shaky, but she is quick to check exactly where Una and Ravn are situation, her eyes widening in horror when she sees that Ravn's basically been loaded up like a pig on a spit. "He won't cause trouble either. You took his weapons, and you have us surrounded, what's he possibly going to do?" She moves to his side, or as close as they will let her get. "I just want to make sure he's not injured. Please?"

"Get moving." Longerra the tall blond is clearly out of patience. The tip of her spear lowers; it could be used for prodding next.

"Worry about yourself," murmurs the redhead, Karse.

The sleeping bags are left behind. Some of the women pick up the bags -- who knows, maybe they like rations with labels of grinning goblin faces. The jungle is wet and dark and fragrant -- and the sensation lingers, that there are things out there not seen. That maybe there are more women up there in the trees, amazons with magical nets and sharp spears -- and the animals that provide the skin for their leopard fur bikinis. Only, in this climate, one might reason as an afterthought, it would almost have to be jaguar? Black spots on yellow. One or the other. Either. Only a continent's worth of difference.

"When you meet our lord, be subservient," Longerra advises Una. "He is a male. Strong and proud. Fierce. You are very lucky."

"Not very bright, though." Karse again, murmuring. "Very male."

It looks like Una would like to argue further, but perhaps she's recognised, now, that if anything she's more likely right now to make things worse. She falls into line, giving unhappy glances to Ava and Ravn. "Are you okay?" she mouths-more-than-says.

In a bigger-though-still-not-large voice, she adds to her (captors? guides? something?), "Lucky. But aren't you strong and proud? Fierce. Why do you need a man?"

Her gaze lingers rather longer on Karse, with a little half nod for her. "Men so rarely are," is airy.

"I worry about my friends far more than I worry about myself. That's what real family is. You claim sisterhood with each other, so certainly you understand that," Ava offers to Karse with a frown of concern still angled towards Ravn. If he did wreck his ankle when he got pulled up in that trap, the way he's been tied can't be helping that injury. "Even if he is a man, he's our man." Maybe some kind of ownership claim will help here? Amazons aren't really her thing. That wasn't really her flavor of fantasy novel.

Her eyes flicker towards Una, brows knitting faintly at her mouthed question.

"Tell your elf that no one cares what she thinks," Karse whispers to Una as they walk. "She's lucky you're standing up for her. Elf is good eating."

Strangely, the redhead's words do not seem intended to intimidate. They might even be meant in a helpful fashion, provided one manages some very strange leaps of logic along the way. Leaps that don't extend far enough to include concern for the male.

Longerra does not hear the whisper. If any of the other blondes do, they say nothing about it. The leggy leader carries her head proudly, a cascade of blond hair down her back, in a fashion that only needs a neon-coloured sweatband in order to claim a lead role in some 1980s disco movie. "Why do we need men? Because that's how it is. A strong man gathers a band of females around him. They hunt for him and keep the territory safe, and they bear his cubs. They drive other males away, or turn them into food. That's how nature intended it. Everyone knows that."

Dr Irving is archaeologist and not anthropologist, but Una's neither: the look she aims at Karse is wide-eyed. "We will have a significant problem if anyone attempts to eat my elf," she says, quietly. "Or, uh, the male. They both belong to me."

Not a good Dream. Not a good Dream at all.

Her voice is still a little wobbly as she says, for Longerra's benefit, "Your ways are... new to me. Ours are different. My people don't share our men. Nor do we serve them." She may or may not be conscious of the double meaning implicit in that particular statement.

Again, she casts sidelong glances at the other two. Arguably, she's in the superior position in this little farce. Of course, arguably, she's also not.

"You called him the strong one, but it sounds to me like you're the actual strength in this whole thing. What does he actually give you in exchange that you can't do for yourself? Outside of the mating function, of course."

Ava gives Una a small glance, encouraging. Her child lifts, shoulders squaring. "Be a doctor," she mouths towards the other woman. "You got this," she mouths after.

Of course, a worried glance keeps getting shot towards Ravn, but there's little she can do there.

Longerra pays the elf no heed. A couple of the other women do glance at her, and at each other. Karse smirks. The elf may be touching on things that have been whispered among them before. After all, what's a man for, aside the obvious?

Ravn keeps quiet. It's hard to speak up for yourself when gagged -- and the folklorist is familiar enough with a number of the narrative tropes in play here to realise that right now, his best bet is in fact to shut up and wait for the right moment. Or maybe it's just the way those women look at him -- like he's a particularly juicy piece of meat, and not in a romantic context. Might be best to not give any of them any need to shut him up. Which is very much not to say he isn't watching everything intently, hoping that when an opportunity to make a difference arises, he will be prepared to take advantage of it.

And those ropes hurt. God, do they hurt.

Chichén Itza he predicted, and sure enough -- the path along the river bank takes the small band to what's probably some ancient Mayan temple complex, now reclaimed by the jungle. Ancient stone step pyramids and statues of ominously grinning jaguar people and winged serpents. Vines, flowering, climbing, reclaiming. Regrowing. Among them, jaguars -- living ones, not stone, watching. Explaining, perhaps, why no one has spotted this site from the air?

Or maybe satellites aren't a thing, Ravn reflects. Ninjas aren't. Elves aren't either. And Dr Jones, well, archaeologists are a thing but Dr Irving looks like she belongs in 1939. At which point aerial surveillance involved zeppelins. The joys of being a historian, you know when help is probably not coming.

"Make yourself pretty," Longerra says to Una. "Be fierce. Be proud. If he likes you, you get to live here forever."

And that, according to the blonde's voice, is the best thing a woman could possibly hope for.

'Be a doctor' says Ava. 'Make yourself pretty' says Longerra. (Come to think of it, 'if he likes you, you get to live here forever' is not especially a selling point, except Una's not so dim as to be under the illusion that people he doesn't like get to just walk away happy.)

Una's fingertips brush against the knife concealed beneath her skirt, though there's no clear use for it yet. Perhaps it's just a comfort thing: insurance, just in case.

Despite her disquiet, Una can't help but exhale in surprise and-- yes, okay-- awe as the temple complex appears before them.

"I serve no man," she says, scoffing, in answer to Longerra. "Nor woman either. Why should any of you follow him? You should be free. Choose for yourselves."

She's still not selling it.

At all.

The glances are noticed and noted, along with the specific woman responsible for them. So there were was dissension in the ranks. It was to be expected. Not just a trope, but not every can be happy living a life of servitude to a person who she still hasn't receiving the benefits of.

Her eyes widen as they come upon the site. Her fingers brush the plants, face lit up despite their predicament. Ava can't help it, it is beautiful here despite everything.

"Oh! I understand now. So while you hunt and keep everything safe, and you bear the children, and provide -- well, everything from the sounds of it, my goodness you guys really are truly amazing, I've never met anyone so strong and amazing, he keeps this place clean for your returns and watches the children for you? He makes sure you are happy upon your return from your hunts" she whispers to a couple of the women with curious eyes.

Such opinionated women -- the archaeologist and the elf. Longerra walks in front and she seems not particularly interested in the opinions of either. Some of the side glances the other warrior women pass between one another, though, hint of tiny slivers of doubt. The redhead Karse in particular wears a small frown; one might suspect that similar thoughts have occurred to that one in the past.

Corridors made from stone wind their way into the temple complex. It's all in ruins now but it retains much of the glory of a time when it was not; even with vines creeping and foliage reclaiming, this is a site to stand the test of time. And a grave robber's paradise at that; statues with gold jewellery intact, golden sun discs adorning the walls -- whoever these jungle women are, they do not seem to ascribe much value to the yellow metal. At least not enough to bother taking it down and doing anything with it.

The hall leads to a grand corridor, which in turn opens up into an inner sanctum of a sorts -- and this is nothing short of oppulent. Rich furs are piled up on a very large bed; bowls of fresh fruit stand at hand, and bottles of, well, it's probably wine, and where the hell they get it from is anyone's question. Rich woven curtains shield the room from breezes and drafts -- and the same question applies, unless these ladies keep a field of sheep somewhere unseen.

On that bed lies a man. He is beefcake. Seven feet of rippling muscle, wearing only a very small leopard fur loincloth that leaves nothing to the imagination if he was to get inspired. He's oiled up and ready to eat, if one's tastes should run in that direction. A powerful frame, a powerful jaw, and a mane of dark brown hair -- he looks up from doing apparently nothing at all but lie about as Longerra announces, "Lord Los! We bring you fresh mates and fresh meat!"

"How lucky you all are," murmurs Una, picking up on Ava's thread, given her own clearly has ended up a horrible, knotted mess that helps no one. She ends giving Karse a lingering glance, brows raised. "Isn't it wonderful to live in a society where everyone pulls their weight."

The archaeologist that Una is (or isn't) is ridiculously impressed by the temple complex. It's something in the narrative prompts the redhead to reach out and try and pick up the necklace on one of those statues... and if she didn't set the whole statue to wobbling, she might even have gone through with the attempted theft. Maybe... oh yes. Not a thief. Right. Hands back at their sides; onwards.

Arriving in the inner sanctum, however, and catching sight of Lord Los draws a somewhat strangled sound from the redhead (and not the kind that implies 'ooooh yes, give me some of that piece of meat', let's be clear). Her cheeks have gone pink, and she turns her gaze very deliberately away from him, targeted somewhere behind his left shoulder, so that she can lift her chin and look defiant, and not actually have to look at the glistening... muscle.

"Truly. Having someone that appreciates all that you do for him must be a gift. Our man is much like that. He lacks in muscle, yes. But his strength is in his heart and kindness." We'll go with that. Maybe they'll be less likely to eat Ravn if they're curious about the differences between him and their Lord. "He does much for us but ask little in return. We all lend each other our strengths instead of relying on just one's to serve ourselves." Ava-elf beams at the women she knows are listening for the reasons she wants them to be, Karse especially.

As they make it into the room and they come across the man, her expression is disappointed. She leans towards Karse an whispers softly. "Would he have been what you chose had you been given a choice?" she wonders quietly with those big, multicolored eyes.

That's a lot of glistening muscle sitting up at what must be perceived as an insult or a challenge. A lot of glistening, oiled muscle flexing. A lot of glistening, oiled, bronzed muscle yelling, "What? That scrawny reed? What is this you bring me, Longerra? There is not enough meat on those bones to feed a cub!"

Ravn, from his hanging position, is inclined to agree. Not worth eating. You can let him go now. He coughs. Asthmatic, too. Probably going to infect y'all with bad lung.

Longerra hisses; this was obviously not the outcome she expected. "I told you to be quiet, elf! You are lucky to not be meat on a stick -- yet!"

"Elf?" Lord Los, whatever he's the lord of, lets his gaze glide up and down Ava's body in a way that can easily be described as hungry, but maybe not in the way that anyone would find enticing; it's definitely the I wonder what she's like with barbecue sauce kind of gaze.

"The archeologist claims she owns them both," Karse injects, almost lazily, leaning on her spear. "I suppose she might want to fight you for them. It is the way to settle arguments, after all."

Longerra blinks. "Fight me? I am the first mate!"

"For now," Karse agrees, looking if anything even lazier.

"He's not worth eating, my Lord," ventures Una. She's gone a little pale in the face at this prospect of needing to fight for her friends, but that reserve of absolute composure she carries around has welled up appropriately, and she's not-- at least-- having a panic attack. "Neither of them are. The elf is so full of spite I'm sure her flesh is poisoned, and... and the male is sickly. Weak. Let them live."

Somehow, this is easier: less leadership, more playing a role. Or maybe it's the adrenaline that must, surely, be coursing through her veins. That doesn't mean her fingertips aren't twitching against that knife again. It also doesn't mean her gaze isn't tracking between where she stands and Longerra, as if to calculate the distance-- the trajectory that might be needed by, say, a well-weighted knife.

"I could fight for them. If I must."

Spite?! Ava smirks a little at that, she can't help it. Una's gonna get a swat for that later. Out of spite. "Did he just say you were skinnier than me?" Ava asides to Ravn with a little huff before she looks down at her near nothing that the leaves are covering and pushes a finger into her side.

This is not the time, Ava. Focus. Survive this and you can go for more runs later.

"Wait? First Mate? Shouldn't you be the Master? Since you do all the work? I understand the title of Lord and all, but... you are in charge, aren't you? You have to be obeyed in battle, trusted explicitly. They have to know, above all, that you are the one to look to for orders, yes? I'm confused. Does the Lord battle, too, then? For your honor?"

Ava pauses. "Oh wait. You said it was --you-- that chases the other men off, right?"

Her confused look grows deeper.

Longerra growls. The tall blond grasps her spear and points it at Una. "I will fight you," she snarls. "You could have been blessed by Lord Los. Instead, you get to be his dinner."

"Actually," Karse drawls. "She's tired from her travels and at a disadvantage. I suppose we could wait a few weeks, let her get settled in, teach her how to use a spear so that our Lord is not shamed by the miserable display..."

Lord Los groans. Maybe he does not want to wait a few weeks for dinner.

"Out of the question," Longerra hisses. A few weeks is a long time for your leadership role to hang in the balance.

"I suppose I could stand in for her," Karse shrugs.

"Out of the question," says Longerra, and suddenly looks a lot less enthusiastic.

"Oh yes," Lord Los says, delighted. "Maybe we can finally get a redhead who isn't always making trouble."

Una probably deserves the swat. Una's sweating under all of this, and-- is it really only now sinking in to her head that these people really, really, really do intend on eating our trio of heroes? It may be. Or maybe it's that Longerra is now planning actual violence and death (it being very unlikely that Una can fight her way out of this). Either way, she looks pale, and on edge, and that might well devolve further (into a loss of composure?) except... Karse.

Karse is Una's favourite, and that's clear enough from the relief flooding the redhead's expression-- and, perhaps equally, the sudden connecting of dots that's going on behind brown eyes.

Hastily: "I accept Karse as my champion. As happy as I would be to take the time to learn your customs, and prepare myself not to shame anyone... I appreciate that is not a timely or preferable option."

Smart Una. Ava lets out a breath as Karse steps up to the plate so eagerly. Clearly that woman has just been waiting for this day. Obviously, most of the eyes are going to be on this situation. Ava's eyes are turning towards Ravn, however. The Lord gave permission for him to be freed, but things have been crazy, so has anyone actually done it? Maybe not.

The doctor, worried about him, is moving in that direction, but not running because she doesn't want to make it look like she's trying to escape or anything. She kneels onto the floor near where he was placed and if he hasn't been freed yet, starts to try releasing his bindings, hands first so that he can help.

Somebody throws Karse a spear. She twirls it and the grin that spreads over her face is reminiscent of that of a cat that's just spotted the fattest blackbird ever -- about to land in its mouth. "I hope you haven't eaten too much tapir lately," she drawls, to Longerra. "I hate the aftertaste in the meat."

The blonde hisses and grasps her own spear, and starts to circle the redhead. "You're a troublemaker, Karse. Always think you're too good for the rest of us. You're not good. You're just different."

Several women form a circle around the two. Several of those drop to all fours and -- turn into jaguars. Maybe those jaguars outside were women too. Their leopard fur bikinis, against all probability, seems to transform with them.

Ravn is not about to reject Ava's help. His wrists hurt like everloving fudge, and he feels sick from being carried through the jungle hanging from a stick like that. "Thank God for, uh, Karse," he mutters, low enough that he hopes only his two companions can even hear him. "I'll try to not think of how her name means garden cress in my language."

"Enough posturing," declares the oiled up, glistening specimen of glorious manhood on the fur pile. "Whoever yields, loses. Longerra wins, we eat the elf and the other one. Karse wins, we eat Longerra and my new mate gets to keep her pets."

With all eyes on Karse and Longerra, Una ducks down to join Ava and Ravn. Maybe it's the jaguars the women just turned into, or the bloodshed that's about to happen; whatever it is, she looks a little pale, and more than a little apologetic. "Sorry," she mutters. "Completely screwed the pooch on trying to talk my way out of this. Are you all right? She is going to win, right? Redheaded garden cress, presumably also a jaguar woman."

Beat. Then, equally low voiced: "I still do have a knife, if it comes to it."

"She's one of the ones who doesn't like how things are being run around here, either. If she wins, that's another point in our favor," Ava points out. As Una joins them, she gestures towards Ravn's feet. "See if you can unwind those," she tells the redhead. "I need to try to heal him fast, so we can run if we have to." Hopefully their whispers are covered by the sounds of loud women and battle.

Her eyes move back towards the oiled up man, and then towards Una and the knife. "Keep the knife hidden for now," she suggests. "If things go south and he tries to 'mate' with you, stick it right here." Ava gestures to the point in her own throat where to stick it into the man's where it should mean instant death. Even on a man of that size. "As hard and fast as you can. Get as deep as you can, okay? Then pull it out. Don't leave it in. That way if it doesn't kill him instantly, he'll bleed to death really fast."

Her lips are tight as she reaches out to grip Una's arm protectively. "It's a lot. But you are stronger than you've been believing yourself to be this whole time. Him dead is better than you being forced into that bed, do you understand me?"

"God, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Ravn murmurs, a shade paler. The idea that a Dream might inflict that kind of horror seems to not have occurred to him previously. The idea of unwanted touch goes over poorly with him, as does the idea of having to stab a man in the throat. He's not going to try to decide how he feels about the idea of someone being forced into the amazon king's bed -- and to be honest, getting eaten by them doesn't sound that great, either. In fact, everything about this scenario sounds kind of not great.

"Set his hair on fire," he says softly. "Or whatever you can do. They never expect it -- no one expects a fork in the fork because cutlery doesn't fly."

The amazon women of suspiciously European appearance circle one another -- Longerra with her spear, Karse with hers, both slowly twirling them in a display that seems almost ritualised, both waiting for the other to blink first. They are graceful in a way, and so very beautiful -- if your idea of beautiful is essentially a circa 1990 fantasy of feathery blond hair, long legs, and slender limbs. Is jungle cocaine chic a thing, Ravn asks himself and then stops himself from going down some mental path of those girls need a sandwich but I'm not volunteering to be the filling.

Longerra's spear flashes forward, suddenly and without warning. It's the kind of stab that would catch careless prey unawares, spear tip through abdomen -- but Karse isn't where Longerra thought Karse would be. Karse's leap is sideways and her spear flashes too -- and guts several furry pillows.

'Lord Los' rolls to the side and growls. "Careful, woman! You nearly hit me!"

"Whupsie," mutters Karse, and looks at her opponent. Longerra's eyes narrow. They circle.

By Una's expression, the full reality of being taken as one of Los' wives had not sunk in: she's halfway into reaching to untie Ravn's ankles, and freezes, eyes scared-rabbit wide. It takes a few moments for her to process this: to work it through enough to keep her calm from being overtaken by that quiet, rising dread. Well, and after all, isn't that rising dread, that panic, the whole point of the Dream? This shouldn't be unexpected.

Ava's hand on her arm helps, though, and Ravn's suggestion-- which draws a flick of her wide-eyed gaze, just for a moment-- seems to as well. She exhales, sharp and low.

"Okay," she says, recovering herself enough to put syllables together, and to press her lips into a tight, determined line. "That's right. I've got plenty of weapons, even when I don't have an actual weapon. I'm won't be a victim."

Returning to the task of untying Ravn's ankles (gently, very gently), she glances over her shoulder at the fight that's unfolding there... wincing when Karse guts those pillows.

"She better win," she mutters. "Kill both of them, even. Come on Karse... you can do this!"

Maybe it's just the nature of Ava's work, and the things she's had to see done to bodies returned from the Veil and having died from mortal hands. Expect the worst, be surprised by anything less. That supportive hand on Una's arm squeezes. "Damn right you won't," she agrees with a firm nod. Ravn's suggestions are good ones, meaning that Ava's head continues to bob, those ears wobbling a little on either side of her head. It'd be cute to her if this weren't such a shitty situation.

She finally gets to be an elf but she doesn't get to enjoy it. Stupid Veil. "She'll win. She has to." The doctor begins to scoot down towards Ravn's ankles, rubbing her hands together. "This better work like it does in the books." Hell, she'll settle for it working how it does in the real world, even. Her hands move to gently settle onto his ankles, letting him see the touch coming before they settle. Breath is taken in slowly as she tries to ease that healing magic gently through him. Luckily she has a lot of practice with that sort of magic. Unluckily, she's not an actual Druid, so who knows what kind of actual crossover there might be here.

Whatever it is exactly Ava is doing to the ankles down there, it must be helping; Ravn's jaw becomes less tight and his expression less pained. "I'm really not great at running," he murmurs and thinks of an island in the Caribbean somewhere, and trying to keep up with Una and Ariadne, and finding himself face down in the sand trying to breathe instead. "But I'm good at disappearing into a shadow and sneaking out. I'm a ninja, after all." Wry humour for the win.

The jaguar women circle each other, with slow, carefully measured movements -- like cats on a stairwell, moving in slow motion, almost synchronised, mirroring each other and the first cat to blink loses an ear. And then, as if on some invisible cue, both women throw their spears.

Longerra's spear connects with Karse's shoulder. Karse's spear embeds itself in Lord Los' abdomen. Whupsie.

Suddenly, everything is howling and roaring large cats. Longerra leaps -- now a lean, murderous jaguar. Karse leaps -- now a black panther. Los roars the loudest of them all, and rises up -- now a furious lion.

No, Ravn, this is not the time to be nerd boy pointing out that lions are on the wrong damn continent. Like the leopard fur.

Una sits back upon her heels, idle hands resting awkwardly upon her thighs, and frowns at the fight in process. That she's tense about the outcome is clear in the way she's holding herself otherwise, though she keeps defiantly attempting to lift her chin and look imperious, or possibly murderous (it's hard to tell, since she's not really successful with either). "They're definitely also ninjas," she remarks, idly, as she tracks the fight's progress. "Only a ninja can sneak up on another ninja."

That's about the moment when the spears go flying, though, and the thought largely disappears from Una's head as she straightens, lifting her ass off of her feet as she exhales sharply. "Shit," she says. And then, again: "Ohhhhhh shit. He's a lion. He's--"

He's something else, too, but Una's gone cross-eyed dealing with it, fingertips pressing tightly into the soft skin of her thighs as she focuses, intently, upon Los-the-Lion, and the spear that... slams its way out of his chest.

Remove the knife from the wound, isn't that what you said, Ava? Spear, knife... same difference, right?

"Whatever you have to do to survive, Ravn, do it." That's Ava's suggestion. Her eyes are on the battle now, narrowing faintly. There's a little arch of a brow as Karse's spear hits the Lord. After the stabbing of the pillows, there's no actual surprise on the elf's face. "Going after the real Alpha is the only way to make the actual change." Her lips press. But this means Karse may have more than one opponent now.

She lets the power flow through her again as she focuses on the red head in battle this time around, giving her a momentary boost that she just might need to survive this coup attempt. She may not need it, the woman seems perfectly capable. But you never know what might help, right? Of course, that's when she sees that spear coming ripping out of the lion and her small smirk grows. "You learn quick," she chuckles.

Remove the knife and he will bleed out fast. Truer words have been spoken, no doubt, but these are true enough. The doctor's decree holds: Blood fountains from the chest of the large lion as the spear falls out. He roars -- a deep and primal rage that reverbates in the stone floors and echoes off the walls until echoes disappear down the corridors where they no doubt linger for a century or two.

Blood gushes out. The stone floor becomes slippery. The cats -- yellow and black -- tear at each other like furious bundles of teeth and fur and claws and rage.

And the others? The jaguars and the women, watching? They watch.

Apparently, this is how leadership disputes are settled around here. No one else raises a spear to defend. No one comes to Los' aid; the lion flails and then stops flailing, and eventually falls silent.

"How about we get the fuck out of here?" Ravn murmurs, echoing the sentiments of his companions. He wants to be anywhere else. Preferably before anyone in a leopard fur bikini gets some crazy notion that a tribe of women needs a male propped up on fur pillows for reasons. Yes. Let's go, girls.

"I listen," is Una's distracted reply, barely a whisper on its own let alone amidst the roaring of Los. Even so, the reality of what her actions has wrought-- that's a thing. She stares at the fountain of blood; at the blood pools on the stone floor; at that end of the man-turned-lion. She's dropped back into her earlier position, now, ass resulting upon her feet, knees flat on the floor. Her attention finally slides from the end of Los to the fighting cats. Her fingers are crossed.

"Yeah," she says, finally, several seconds after Ravn's murmur. "Let's get out of here. I think the panther has it." Good says her tone, quietly satisfied. "There'll be real change around here, I think."

"That... that sounds smart. Let's go." Ava is keeping an eye on the cats, but her hands vaguely near her companions so that she can tell where they are, feel their movements. Once they begins to shift, she shifts with them. There's a little relief as it looks like Karse wins against both man and beast. But that doesn't mean that they are safe, so the best thing to do now before they become the victory feast? Run like hell.

Scoot scoot scoot towards the door. Try not to draw attention. She'll try to get the other two out through the door before she goes out herself. If she needs to, she can always send in a fireball to distract while they run.

Lookit each little ninja. There's Elf Ninja and Archeologist Ninja and Ninja Ninja, and the one thing they all seem to have in common is that they're way better at scooting quietly out of sight than seems reasonable.

It has to be ritualistic in nature. The circle, the fight. The growling jaguar and the growling panther, the dead lion. Maybe this lot can only think of one problem at a time, only solve one problem at a time? Whatever the reason might be -- if any of the jaguars and bikini clad ladies standing around the circle notice the three 'visitors' absconding, none of them choose to react.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Word must spread rapidly through-out the little community because once our trio of unlikely heroes exit the temple building, no one stops them there, either. A few large jaguars raise their heads and watch them with eerie yellow eyes, but they remain where they are. It's as if the forest itself, the very jungle is quiet -- the king is dead, and succession is being determined.

Probably a really great time to get moving, and Ravn at least is all in favour of not pausing for a look at the scenery. He does not waste his breath trying to talk. The folklorist no doubt will have quite a lot to say about white jaguar women with a lion king and leopard fur bikinis in the middle of some Mesoamerican jungle -- but he's going to say them later, when breathing is not an issue.

Go, go, go: Una's not especially athletic, but it turns out she's not completely incompetent, either, particularly when she's doing everything in her power to keep moving, one foot after another. There's a glance over her shoulder, though, as they go, as if part of her would like to see the outcome of this fight, would perhaps even like the satisfaction of these Veil constructs getting their just deserts... but not as much as she would like to get out, and get out now. She'll just have to trust that Karse wins.

She's as silent as Ravn, her brows knit in concentration and thought though maybe that's as much related to intense focus on movement than on anything else they've experienced.

Go, go, go.

When it comings to watching people getting their just deserts or avoiding being just dessert, it's probably best to ere on the side of caution. Ava's breath is held as she moves along with the others, her eyes wide and face stretched in an expression of raw nerves. She's not exactly the stealthy type, herself, and tiptoeing through an ancient place with bare feet is grosser than she'd like to admit. But far preferable to being dead.

A hand is gripping to the back of Una's shirt in her nerves, making sure she doesn't get too far from the others.

The green vines of the jungle close like the curtain as the play comes to an end; the rest is silence, and the whooping calls of toucans and howler monkeys, and the chirping of colourful birds, and a myriad of other animal sounds because as it happens, jungles are ridiculously noisy.

Might were-jaguars be able to track the three escapees? Beyond a doubt. One can but hope that they are too busy sorting out their internal power structure for a bit longer. Maybe Karse the black panther will be a better leader than Longerra the jaguar. Maybe some male cub will be allowed to live and become the next lord of the pack. Maybe some biologist is going to rapel in from a chopper some day and lecture the lot of them on the fact that while yes, the African lion forms packs of females around a single male, but jaguars do not -- they're solitary and only come together in the mating season.

Maybe they'll eat the biologist. Maybe they won't. Maybe some day the biologist will emerge from the jungles of Cabo Selva Profunda here, and solve the eternal question of whether were-cats use litter boxes.

And maybe Kitty Pryde will look a little baffled when Ravn wakes up in his own bed, takes one look at his small black cat, and then quickly counts to ten. Don't punt the cat. The cat is not going to turn into a fierce cannibal girl.