#dreaming

And back into the shadow. The trap still appears set, the cruel jaws gaping in wait... a crucial difference is that now there is no trigger!

Brown Dog tries a different approach, chatting with the hunting dogs and reminding everyone of rule #1... or is it rule #14? He lays big eyes on them 'Would YOU want someone else's pet to eat you?'

He gets growled at a few times, but the some of the pack do look less enthused about this hunt. Maybe their owner doesn't understand?

"What is.. get out of here" The sidhe tells Brown Dog, not seeing Lovecraft at all "God I hope you're fixed, don't try to hump one of my hounds"

Brown Dog gives an innocent look and as she yells 'races off' well, a short distance. While the hunt repreps, but Lovecraft's work remains unnoticed. The ninny is a good distraction at least

Lovecraft purrs. Mischief is very pleasant indeed.

Whether to wait and make sure this hunt is well and truly ineffective, or to move on and trust that it is, is up to Lovecraft; Bast knows you can't trust a dog to take charge

A nudge to Brown Dog, they'll move on. She has helped, but shan't coddle the Reindeer. After all, you don't end up being an immortal steed without some tricks up your sleeves, and if they cannot outwit a few dogs, well, maybe they deserve to be hunted.

She tells herself, to counteract the good deed that weighs on her like an upset tummy.

Brown Dog wags happily. His lack of brain cells apparently loans him the advantage of bliss in odd situations. The two move move on down the trod. They are definitely on the right path, as that encounter indicates

Lovecraft keeps on, looking for telltale signs. The sounds of bells, the hint of pine in the air, the ugh smell of cocoa.

Pine scent is spreading like someone put a dozen air fresheners in one small car

They make their way further on, and both having superior (Read as not freicking monkey ) senses do hear bells.

It looks like the trod has split in three, all heading north. The bells come from the first trod

and/or SLEIGH bells?

NO... Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

Indeed, the bells are heavier sounding, not joyful AT ALL

Lovecraft stops short. Baffled. How could the dread metal exist here, in the depths of the dreaming. Her ears flatten against the sound. Hesitating against that path.

Brown Dog whines

He doesn't like the sound either

Maybe the center path? or the one on the opposite side? Whine

Lovecraft's back prickles, but she remembers that even RIGHT NOW, her symon is adventuring in the dreaming. The Dreaming does not present things without reason - and it is as nasty as a cat in some ways. If she ignores this toll, will it fall upon her Person?

Reluctantly as Brown Dog being hauled towards a sudsy bathtub, she starts down the unpleasant path.

Brown Dog whines again, but follows towards the iron bells

And they see it...

They see him.

Santa

But something is wrong. He looks plastic, and the bell he rings is not COLD iron, but it is iron of some sort, faux iron? He tolls it back and forth. "Ho Ho ho... if you've been good you get a gift. Poor people don't get gifts, so poor kids are BAD. A SPECIAL today at Target's... HO HO HO"

Brown dog growls. A banality intrusion in the Dreaming is DANGEROUS to almost everyone.

Lovecraft's back arches and her fur stands on end. HISS SPIT

"You do not belong here." She hisses

It weakens the silver it walks on.

"HELLO KITTY MERCH, NOW AT PENNYS!" 'Santa' ho hos. NO, this is not the jolly old elf, or even the clever reverse burglar who breaks in and drops stuff off. This is what so many now cynical mortals, former dreamer, now seea bout them, a constant bombardment of greed and materialism

Lovecraft thinks quickly. She looks over the "Santa" Examining him in detail. Particularly, his outfit.

Generic is a good word, plastic fits. There are buttons and buckles, the hat, black boots with laces. Mittens. Red and white with that unnatural shine

Lovecraft gives Brown Dog a swat into action. "His pants! Grab at the ankle, rip, and tear! Ware the bells!"

Brown Dog moves forward and Grabs what no changeling or chimera could, the pants of a banality manifestation! and tears! He doesn't bite flesh, no, that is BAD Dog. He bites clothe though, TUG OF WAR HE LOVES TUG OF WAR

Lovecraft leaps for an arm, her claws bared to rip and tear, not flesh for once, but fabric

"You know how much these cost?" Corporate Santa cries out "Stupid dog, you should buy Blue Star Dog Food and eat.."

Lovecraft rips at the fabric and feels woozy, she tears it, but she also feels drained... she is chimera and this thing is toxic to her

Still, she digs her her hind legs even as she launches away for what is (rather inappropriately in her mind) called a "bunny kick"

(Glamour roll for Lovecraft)

/roll 6

It seeks ot leech her, undo her, but she is LOVECRAFT! She was old before her namesake, she was born in darkness and darkness grew scared of her! She is all that is terrible in cats! Let the world tremble at her lashing tail and fear the strike of claw from the shadows!

(ST Note, Lovecraft PR is not to be accepted as fact, as cats are known to lie for their own amusement, pride, or what not. HOwever drama is a big thing i nthe dreaming so there we are)

She resists the banality and gets anotehr tear..

and there is now a HOLE in Santa's pants

As Brown Dog pulled the cheap store costume free

As she lands, she calls out in her loudest caterwaul, an eerie yowl.

"Behold the poor fool, he wears no new raiment for Yule!"