Alec startles pretty badly when Edward flits up next to them, jolting hard enough that his teeth clack together, knees jerking inward to jab at Jacob's ribcage (accidentally, sorry Jake); it's certainly worse than he'd jumped when he spotted Jacob up on his rock in the clearing, at least. Had he— what, gotten comfortable being whisked through the forest at blistering speeds? Let his guard down, half-buried in fur and inhumanly warm all the way down his front? Alec quickly drops back to the ground, on the opposite side of Jacob from where the newcomer landed, straightening pointedly up to full height. He doesn't go for his bow immediately, though he will need to in a moment to deal with their friend the life-eating demon in the clearing, because he really doesn't feel like repeating that standoff now that they're so close to eliminating the threat.
It is more of a relief than he'd ever admit to out loud that none of Jacob's teen pack members have actively engaged the thing. Teenaged Shadowhunters would have been equipped to deal with it—certainly Alec had killed his first demon before he turned 16—but that's what they're born for, and raised for, and they do their duty so no one else has to take those risks. Whether or not they're horse-sized super-wolves. That's not the point.
On his feet again, Alec clocks Edward instantly for a vampire, even without the splash of sunlight giving him away. Or, alright, he clocks him for a vampire after a moment of arrested staring, because that's what vampires do to people by design. It's the speed, the pallor of his skin, the impossible beauty... and the fact that Alec has skirted around more than a few vampire clans in New York, always careful of the Accords (that aforementioned tenuous treaty that keeps the city from being a supernatural powder keg.) The revelation only leaves Alec with more questions than before.
Because shifters aren't werewolves, but the very idea of a Vampire clan working peacefully with anything wolf-shaped is borderline absurd to him.
Then Edward's words catch up with him and he glances across the creek, over the back of the demon, picking out human and unnaturally large animal shapes among the trees with the enhanced vision that another of his active runes affords him. That's five on-site, two next to him, and more coming? "God," he mutters before he can stop himself. "How many of you are there?"
This is their territory, obviously, and it's not like he's not used to a high population of non-humans in a place like NYC. He just wasn't expecting hardly anyone around the little nothing town clinging to the edge of the ocean.
Well. None of that actually matters right now, unless it factors into why someone would hire a warlock to summon a demon out here in the first place, and he still has no idea what the motive for that would be. Alec grinds his teeth, distinctly aware that his face has probably gone red and splotchy, and he is admittedly a little mollified when Jacob shoves the man for his troubles. Honestly if Alec survives this encounter with even a sliver of his dignity intact, it will be a miracle. "Alec Lightwood," he returns after a moment, pointedly ignoring the followup question. And the proffered nicety. "Once I put an arrow into the demon, it won't be able to go incorporeal anymore. If someone could hold it down so I can set on fire, that'd be great." It'll be holy fire, and done with a Rune, but that seems like unnecessary detail to go into right now.
A pause, as he pulls his bow back off his shoulder and tugs an arrow out of his quiver, somewhat embarrassed at needing to ask for the help. "And if someone could go distract it right now, before it finishes eating that tree."
no subject
It is more of a relief than he'd ever admit to out loud that none of Jacob's teen pack members have actively engaged the thing. Teenaged Shadowhunters would have been equipped to deal with it—certainly Alec had killed his first demon before he turned 16—but that's what they're born for, and raised for, and they do their duty so no one else has to take those risks. Whether or not they're horse-sized super-wolves. That's not the point.
On his feet again, Alec clocks Edward instantly for a vampire, even without the splash of sunlight giving him away. Or, alright, he clocks him for a vampire after a moment of arrested staring, because that's what vampires do to people by design. It's the speed, the pallor of his skin, the impossible beauty... and the fact that Alec has skirted around more than a few vampire clans in New York, always careful of the Accords (that aforementioned tenuous treaty that keeps the city from being a supernatural powder keg.) The revelation only leaves Alec with more questions than before.
Because shifters aren't werewolves, but the very idea of a Vampire clan working peacefully with anything wolf-shaped is borderline absurd to him.
Then Edward's words catch up with him and he glances across the creek, over the back of the demon, picking out human and unnaturally large animal shapes among the trees with the enhanced vision that another of his active runes affords him. That's five on-site, two next to him, and more coming? "God," he mutters before he can stop himself. "How many of you are there?"
This is their territory, obviously, and it's not like he's not used to a high population of non-humans in a place like NYC. He just wasn't expecting hardly anyone around the little nothing town clinging to the edge of the ocean.
Well. None of that actually matters right now, unless it factors into why someone would hire a warlock to summon a demon out here in the first place, and he still has no idea what the motive for that would be. Alec grinds his teeth, distinctly aware that his face has probably gone red and splotchy, and he is admittedly a little mollified when Jacob shoves the man for his troubles. Honestly if Alec survives this encounter with even a sliver of his dignity intact, it will be a miracle. "Alec Lightwood," he returns after a moment, pointedly ignoring the followup question. And the proffered nicety. "Once I put an arrow into the demon, it won't be able to go incorporeal anymore. If someone could hold it down so I can set on fire, that'd be great." It'll be holy fire, and done with a Rune, but that seems like unnecessary detail to go into right now.
A pause, as he pulls his bow back off his shoulder and tugs an arrow out of his quiver, somewhat embarrassed at needing to ask for the help. "And if someone could go distract it right now, before it finishes eating that tree."