[ Alex is nearly at the gates, toeing off his shoes and tucking them aside to find later. He'd heard the conversation over the eat pieces between Newt, Daryl and a guy named Glenn, but that was hardly going to keep him in one place when a friend was out in the forest trying not to become kibble to some 1/2 dead deranged ... thing. Daryl was nowhere in sight, so Alex presumed he was already out and on his way to retrieve Newt, and there was one lycan slipping out behind him.
He's shifting as he runs, the change to his half form coming fast and easy. Whiskers fan widely as he falls still just inside the tree line, nose, ears and eyes at work. He doesn't speak, but uses Daryl and Newt to pinpoint their own locations while they furtively whisper back and forth.
His footfalls are as silent as his purebred namesake, weight distributing against the forest floor. He smells the creatures all around him, his fur bristling down the length of his back. And then he hears Newt whisper that he sees one and the forest around him, which had been buzzing with night sounds, falls eerily silent.
And then Alex hears it, shambling and rooting around a short distance off and sure enough, below the scent of the forest and its many residents is Newt's own scent. ]
Leave that one to me. [ His voice is low, and while there is a tougher quality to it, Newt should at least recognize it as Alex's voice. Daryl didn't know him, however, and neither of the two had seen him in this form, so some precaution was called for. Alex was eternally grateful that the ear piece fit his feline ears as well as his human ones. ]
If either of you will please refrain from screaming or trying to kill me when you see me, that'd be great... I'll be the 7 foot tall leopard-man... I doubt I'll be hard to miss. [ And so his own hunt begins. Alex doesn't know Daryl's scent directly, but he can smell another human out here though their exact location is hard to narrow down with everyone being so quiet. He drops to all fours, hands acting as another set of paws as he begins to creep forward, stalking the 'walker' in front of him. His pupils dilate, cupped ears alert and fully forward as his whiskers fan. His tongue flicks over his nose, scents sharpening.
He closes in on the shambling 'walker', his form low to the ground and silent. When it shifts, turning away from him (and possibly toward where Newt is hiding), the lycan leaps with a series of taunt muscles as if a spring has been cut. He hits the creature flat in the back, and besides either of them perhaps catching sight of him while he leaps, the muffled sound of bodies hitting the ground is the only giveaway. His lips peel back in a silent snarl as he pins the creature down, sitting atop of it, and he reaches behind his back and pulls free the knife he'd taken to carrying on him at all times.
He'd taken Daryl's warnings to heart and made a point of not killing the 'walkers' with his fangs, though the technique would likely have proven quite effective; it also would've earned him a mouthful of their blood and he was uncertain he wanted to risk his healing factor not working. He pulls the knife free, his other hand holding the creature's face to the forest floor. He wished he could say he'd had some military training or something, but his next move is simply learned from any number of ridiculous horror movies; he shoves the blade up into the base of the creatures' skull.
It's as effective as a rock or tree limb could've been, but far quieter, and the 'walker' falls still beneath him. He pants softly, whiskers flattening against his muzzle before fanning wide again, and tries to keep his volume as close to whisper level as possible. ]
Another happy little thread jack!
He's shifting as he runs, the change to his half form coming fast and easy. Whiskers fan widely as he falls still just inside the tree line, nose, ears and eyes at work. He doesn't speak, but uses Daryl and Newt to pinpoint their own locations while they furtively whisper back and forth.
His footfalls are as silent as his purebred namesake, weight distributing against the forest floor. He smells the creatures all around him, his fur bristling down the length of his back. And then he hears Newt whisper that he sees one and the forest around him, which had been buzzing with night sounds, falls eerily silent.
And then Alex hears it, shambling and rooting around a short distance off and sure enough, below the scent of the forest and its many residents is Newt's own scent. ]
Leave that one to me. [ His voice is low, and while there is a tougher quality to it, Newt should at least recognize it as Alex's voice. Daryl didn't know him, however, and neither of the two had seen him in this form, so some precaution was called for. Alex was eternally grateful that the ear piece fit his feline ears as well as his human ones. ]
If either of you will please refrain from screaming or trying to kill me when you see me, that'd be great... I'll be the 7 foot tall leopard-man... I doubt I'll be hard to miss. [ And so his own hunt begins. Alex doesn't know Daryl's scent directly, but he can smell another human out here though their exact location is hard to narrow down with everyone being so quiet. He drops to all fours, hands acting as another set of paws as he begins to creep forward, stalking the 'walker' in front of him. His pupils dilate, cupped ears alert and fully forward as his whiskers fan. His tongue flicks over his nose, scents sharpening.
He closes in on the shambling 'walker', his form low to the ground and silent. When it shifts, turning away from him (and possibly toward where Newt is hiding), the lycan leaps with a series of taunt muscles as if a spring has been cut. He hits the creature flat in the back, and besides either of them perhaps catching sight of him while he leaps, the muffled sound of bodies hitting the ground is the only giveaway. His lips peel back in a silent snarl as he pins the creature down, sitting atop of it, and he reaches behind his back and pulls free the knife he'd taken to carrying on him at all times.
He'd taken Daryl's warnings to heart and made a point of not killing the 'walkers' with his fangs, though the technique would likely have proven quite effective; it also would've earned him a mouthful of their blood and he was uncertain he wanted to risk his healing factor not working. He pulls the knife free, his other hand holding the creature's face to the forest floor. He wished he could say he'd had some military training or something, but his next move is simply learned from any number of ridiculous horror movies; he shoves the blade up into the base of the creatures' skull.
It's as effective as a rock or tree limb could've been, but far quieter, and the 'walker' falls still beneath him. He pants softly, whiskers flattening against his muzzle before fanning wide again, and tries to keep his volume as close to whisper level as possible. ]
Got it.