Thursday, December 31, 2009

giftbox.

[Danicka Musil] Last night she was on her way home from shopping when she sent off a text message to the -- naturally -- first person she thought of who could clean up a horned and twisted dog so big that it shook the ground on impact. It included a street address and information on what had to be done, but it also included assurances:

I'm safe. I'm at my place. I'm exhausted.

Which was code for, sadly:

I can't be around you right now.

It's been about twenty-four hours now, though. Danicka's not at her place anymore. She's sitting in a coffee shop that she's been frequenting since she arrived in Chicago. The cups have rough black exteriors and glossy green interiors, perfect pottery. Everything is in dark, warm earth tones. It's somewhere between a lounge and coffee house. What Danicka has includes alcohol, and she is sitting in a table she usually sits in, beside the window despite the cold. She remembers sitting here one day in February before being almost literally dragged a few blocks away.

It makes no difference. She reads 100 Years of Solitude and sips her drink, her hair straightened and down.

[Genevre de Provence] Danicka's cell rings.

[Danicka Musil] Technically, Danicka's cellphone vibrates. It's sitting on the tabletop, though. She glances at the screen, one finger in her book, and her brows draw together. She taps the screen as she picks it up and puts it to her ear. "Hello?"

[Genevre de Provence] The french kin sounded a touch bummed or moody or something. "Bonjour, mon ami. Are you close by? I need to talk to someone, S'il vous plaît."

[Danicka Musil] "Whether I'm close by depends entirely on where you are, Genevre," Danicka says placidly. Over the phone, the Fang kinswoman can hear a page turn. In the cafe, anyone else present can see her look at the ceiling. "What happened?"

[Genevre de Provence] She looked about from her car "I am a couple of blocks from mon home." She had pulled over til the shaking stopped. "I went to zee Brozer'ood to check on Lonna. And Theron (which always sounds odd when she tries to say it right) was zere. Where are you? I would rahzer non talk about zis on the phone."

[Danicka Musil] Her eyes close a moment. "I also don't know where your home is, Genevre. Where are you?"

[Genevre de Provence] She spilled out the crossroads she was close to which maybe put her a few blocks from the coffee shop.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas sits down across from Danicka. He doesn't ask if he can or not; yet somehow, the gesture doesn't smack of dominance and presumption.

He smiles at her a little. She can see the way his eyes move over her, as though taking inventory. He produces a small box from inside his coat, which he then shrugs out of it, leaving it draped carelessly back over his chair.

It's unwrapped; looks like a leftover giftbox, the sort of thing chocolates might come in. It's a little late for christmas, though.

[Danicka Musil] The Fang on the other end is telling Ms. Musil where she is when Lukas sits down. Her eyes open at the presence of rage, the nearness of it, and her lips stay close together. On Genevre's end there's not so much as a sudden inhale to be heard. Just silence as she speaks. Then: "That's not far from me. I'm at the Red Lotus, do you know it?"

She confirms that Genevre does, and a moment later she's saying her goodbyes and hanging up. She closes her book. She sets her phone atop it. Danicka's sweater is the color of fresh milk. Her thin scarf is far brighter and more chaotic, reds and yellows and greens and purples, all darkened and subdued in the yarn. She looks from Lukas to the box, and back to him.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asks, then: "Genevre's on her way. She's upset about something." Just a warning. A heads up. Something.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Probably," Lukas admits. "I thought you might be running low."

He glances out the window as though expecting to see Genevre out there. Or perhaps himself, walking by, seeing Danicka inside; turning to come in. Deja vu washes over him. He looks back at her.

"It's been almost a year," he says, quiet.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In the box:

- A stack of stiff, discolored cloth squares (6)
- Tiny baggies of grey ash (6)
- Throwing darts, the sort one might find in a dart set (10)
- Small clay tokens in the crude shape of shields (7)
- Small clay tokens in the crude shape of spears (7)
- Small clay tokens inscribed with a circle pierced with eight lines -- the approximation of a spider (8)
to Danicka Musil

[Keith Sommers] ooc: So where are you fools?

[Danicka Musil] "I have one bandage," she says. As though taking inventory, giving it back, as though it matters to him. Or maybe just because she chants it in her head sometimes, what she has in her bag of tricks that makes her a little more like Mary Poppins than she already was. "One dart. Two beads. Four bags of dust. One vial."

It's so much less than he gave her. He's seen her use one, perhaps two of the contents of the original box, or the second time he handed talens over. It's so much less.

"Dr. Slaughter wanted me to pass along her thanks for one of the bandages. I used another on Lonna Larson last night. I'm fairly certain she would have died," Danicka says quietly. She has no comment on how long it's been. She's tapping into thoughts she hasn't shared yet, and if she stops now...

...well.

She hasn't opened the box, either. She leans on the table. She could be passing endearments to his ears. She is not. "I gave one of the beads to a little boy in the twelfth century. He was rather scared afterward. And I used one of the vials to sneak behind a corrupted wolf ready for war so I could put a knife in his back."

Danicka reaches out and puts her fingertips on the sides of the box, drawing it across the table towards herself. She opens the lid and glances inside, frowns slightly at the unfamiliarity of some of them, but closes the lid again and looks at Lukas. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this earlier; please don't be angry."

[Theron Locke] After the scene in the Brotherhood earlier Theron had tried to return to sleep, but found that he was unable too. So here he was walking down the footpaths of Chicago, no real destination in mind as he wandered aimlessly.

Hands buried in the pockets of a Buffalo Leather Box jacket, protecting them from the elements.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] ....and vials of inky liquid (4)
to Danicka Musil

[Danicka Musil] [At a coffeehouse/lounge called the Red Lotus. Danicka and Lukas are at a table by the windows in front.]

[Theron Locke] It was just moments later than Theron found himself passing one of many coffeehouses in this strip. This one in particular was called the Red Lotus, and he would have kept walking on by had it not been for the two familiar figures that sat in the window. So he stopped and looked and found Lukas and Danicka to be sitting inside. A smile on his lips as he pulled a hand out of a jacket pocket and rapped his fingers lightly on the window to get their attention.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Oh, and:
- Tiny feathers, like those you might find in a pillow (4)
to Danicka Musil

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas looks ... a little stunned. He leans back, frowning, staring while she enumerates her expenditures. Some of it makes him feel a little better -- they weren't all her. She wasn't so badly hurt or so badly endangered she needed so many bandages, so many protective talens.

Some of it appalls him; makes him angry until he recognizes it for fear. And some of it doesn't even make sense.

When she finishes, and apologizes, his eyes close, ice blue lost behind black lashes. Danicka can see him take a breath, and let it out. Then he opens his eyes again. "I gave them to you so you'd use them if you needed to," he says. "It ... frightens me to think how often you needed to, but it makes me glad you had them."

He leans forward, elbows on the small cafe table; scrubs his face for a second with the heels of his hands.

"You know what the bandages, the darts, the ash and the vials are. There are three kinds of clay tokens in there. They're inscribed, so separate them out and don't confuse them. Two of them you'll be familiar with. The third is new. It'll make you hit harder, no matter what you use.

"There are also feathers. When you activate them, you'll be able to direct where they float. They'll let you smell and hear everything within ten feet.

"Dani&+269;ka...

"Be careful."

Lukas can feel his packmate's presence, so the rap on the window doesn't startle him. His affect does change subtly, almost imperceptibly, though. He sits back, spine a little straighter. And he touches the cold window with his fingertips -- still gloved -- smiling faintly back.

Come on in, Theron. You should know Genevre's on her way too, though.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre gave up on driving. She left her car parked on the street, and started walking. She was so mixed up inside right now. There was the unhappiness of 'It's over finally.' occassionally sending a ping of heartache. Then the overwhelming 'I'm free! It's over finally!' also screaming at her. Final goodbyes usally made things better. Now she just needed to figure out which one was how she truly felt. So she tightens the coat around her, and begins the trek to the Red Lotus.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [OK, so she just got:
6 bloody bandages
6 arrow killers
10 sense dep darts
7 soak talens
7 damage talens
8 trapdoor boons
4 nightshades
4 whisper feathers]
to Danicka Musil

[Theron Locke] Theron nods in acknowledgement that he has been given permission to join them. Though it's not hard to notice that brief moment when his Alpha was relaxed...not having to be on the "job". Theron had been through a lot to find that....things had progessed to a point where that might be a possibility.

He then responds to the last comment Thanks Lukas... apologies for the interruption he looks apologetic as his eyes flick to Danicka briefly Thanks for the heads up though...but I think things are going to be alright between Gen and I. She sent me her final goodbyes as he says the last he reaches up and pats the breast pocket of his jacket

He makes his way through the door of the Lounge and proceeds to their table "Evening Lukas, Danicka... sorry again for the interruption. I hope I was interrupting anything important? I'll find another table if you'd prefer?" his eyes switching from one to the other.

[Theron Locke] (( I hope I wasn't - rather....))

[Park] This is a far cry from the neighborhood that saw the two of them knocking back beers and entertaining stares from a crestfallen woman on Christmas night.

It's a little further north, a few minutes' drive, yet there is a massive difference between the dive bar with the indecisive jukebox and the beleaguered clientele and the coffee house that the pair go to tonight. Whether Keith had come by the Brotherhood or Park had gone by the Loft, one of them had found the other tonight, and one of them had suggested that they go out into the city and get a cup of coffee and talk. There was plenty they could talk about, in theory. Their conversation had been cut off when last their paths crossed.

The moon overhead is full. What few people are out on the sidewalk at this time of night do their goddamned best to keep their eyes off of the pair as they walk down the street, if only because they feel as though they are up to absolutely no good, because they feel as though a wrong glance or a wrong word will incite violence against their persons. There isn't much to either of them; they're lean and young and easy enough to look at, but not easy enough to bear.

As they walk, conversation is at a minimum. Tempers are too high for idle chatter, and guards are at a high as they move through streets that Park confesses at one point to being surprised at; she'd thought, given the rumors that they're telling as far away as California, that the gutters would course with blood here.

Park has her hood up, and it isn't until they step over the threshold and her boots connect with the hardwood floor that she reaches up slim hands to lower it. She steps out of the way to allow the Silver Fang room to enter, and then she shakes out her hair and unzips her barn coat.

[Danicka Musil] There's more. Things like And last night, the dog? There were also two leeches. Tentacles again! Why always with the fucking tentacles and these assholes?

But she'd rant about bloodsuckers. Danicka dislikes them more than monsters, partly because they so often look human, because they take away her control so often, because... because she remembers things about them, knows them as well as she knows corrupted Lords and crazy Fangs. Danicka does not fear what she can't see, or what she doesn't know, or what she doesn't understand.

She's rather intimate with all the things she fears. And hates.

They speak of such things in their near-corner table that would warp the minds of mortals. They speak quietly, etching soft words into the air, and though Danicka doens't take notes on what he tells her, she files it away. She knows that to use this means draining her reserves of energy, exhausting herself, which makes them for preparation and last resort efforts. She knew that before. Her eyebrows flick up slightly when he explains the talens that increase damage done... by bullet, by knife, by whatever it is.

But she actually looks somewhat delighted when he tells her about the feathers. "That's so neat," she says, or is about to say, when he tells her to be careful. The smile fades. Her brow furrows. She adds, more quietly: "I am."

Danicka doesn't start when Theron knocks. She does blink, though, turning her head towards the rapping on the glass. It's debatable whether or not she knew he was there, saw him coming. She didn't make eye contact, but her peripheral vision is something stellar. Her attention to her surroundings borders on hypervigilant.

Lukas touches the glass. Danicka closes the box more tightly and twists in her seat, putting it in her bag hanging off the back of her chair. "How are things with he and Anežka?" she asks before Theron enters. It isn't a casual question. Not for her.

Whether Lukas has time to answer that or not, a few moments later Theron's right there, apologizing 'again' -- though that word makes her eyebrows tug together for a second in confusion. She sits up a little bit straighter, looking over at Lukas. Deferring.

[Danicka Musil]
Dice Rolled:[ 15 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 12 at target 3) Re-rolls: 1
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Keith Sommers] He's in a mood. He's usually in some kind of mood: curious, friendly, self-mocking, aloof, let's do violence tonight, let's do violence tomorrow, let's do violence yesterday and today, let's sit and do nothing, let's do nothing, wouldn't it be nice to just nothing, or -- he'll come across easy, joking, just wants to do something, anything. He's often restless, Keith, but today he's in a mood, and this means he's not just letting his Rage tug him toward random outbursts. This means he's feeling low, and it shows -- the way his shoulders slope, even though he carries his head (the way they're taught: the way they're supposed to carry 'em) high enough. The way his eyelids stay half-hooded, like he doesn't want to get into the bother of meeting anybody's eyes, because he'd much rather be estranged from the (would you believe -- fucked up! -- beloved, maybe?) frisson of hatred and fury that's spiritually righteous (or so he's heard).

That mood's sort've put a damper on Keith's natural ability to carry on a decent conversation, but he's got something on his mind anyway, and Park confesses that she'd thought the gutters would course with blood. He managed an offhand reply, something about it being too fucking cold for any liquid to course -- how fast does blood freeze, anyway, just outta the body? They're in, and by sheer chance (Keith's definitely not perceptive enough to have planned going to the same coffee shop as Lukas and Danicka and Theron, as his cousin's packmates) it's the Red Lotus they've gone to for some coffee.

In Keith goes after Park, in a mood, running his fingers through his hair, boy needs to stop or maybe one day he'll go bald, but shyah. Like that'll happen. "Where do you want to sit?" He follows that up with: "Let's sit by the window."

[Danicka Musil] 8 + 11
Dice Rolled:[ 19 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "They're through," Lukas says in the moments between Theron's knock, and Theron walking up to the table.

Then the Ahroun shakes his head at his packmate. "You're not interrupting, Theron. Come on, sit down. The waitress hasn't been by for me yet." His eyes flick past Theron; to Keith, to Park.

"Have you met them yet?" He nods at the pair. Newcomers. Lukas has been in this city a year; that's somehow become a long time in comparison.

[Genevre de Provence] The weather was screaming out for more snow, and the night sky that hid the full moon behind the engourged clouds showed it.

Genevre shuffled through the streets, along the sidewalks, til she finally found the Red Lotus. Two things caught her eye. The table by the window where Danicka, Lukas and Theron sat. And yet, this time, seeing him, there was no ache. No screaming pain of loss.

And then the second window where she saw Keith with another garou. She smiled and went to their window and knocked, trying to get Keith's attentions. When he looked, she would blow him a kiss. Then made her way inside.

[Danicka Musil] There are, when Theron arrives, two chairs at the table where Lukas and Danicka sit. There may very well be a third chair by the time that Genevre arrives, pulled over by the Theurge to seat himself. The table isn't very large; Danicka is putting her book away now, too, the greenish cover mottled with various animals. Snakes. Birds.

She is blinking at Lukas as people are making their way inside, but not in surprise. She does, however, lift a hand and flag down Genevre when the Fang enters, waving her over.

[Theron Locke] Theron turns his head to the two Lukas point, he shakes his head in response "I don't believe I have. They people I should meet ?" turning his face back to Lukas.

Eventually finding his way into a spare seat as he sits down. Hearing the door of the lounge open, he directs his gaze there. His Alpha had told him to expect Genevere, so it's not surprise when he sees her entering. When and if she gets his attention , he gives her a nod of acknowledgement and a small smile.

Turning back to Lukas and Danicka , he directs his next question to the later "Does Lukas know about last night?" he asks this question before saying anything more.

[Park] It's an easy enough question, but one that is asked as Park is surveying the bodies currently occupying the coffee house's belly. It's late on a weeknight, but most of the people in here have the next day off, have had the entire week off, these students and young professionals and artists, people with nowhere else to go on a Wednesday night than the local lounge. Many of them find themselves growing uneasy. The polite-looking young man with the gorgeous blonde is, in a word, intense; the tall, dark-haired fellow who joins him is far less unnerving, yet there is an edge to his presence that makes the weaker willed of the bodies start to grow uncomfortable.

Park reaches up to gather her hair into her right hand before tossing it over one shoulder, allowing it to drape behind her rather than about her upper body, and says, "Let's."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "The woman is one of Thunder's. You might remember her from when we went before the Council ((annnd we're just leaving that there cuz we don't know how that ends)). The man is one of Kate's, and she likes him quite a bit. You might as well meet them both."

The question that follows gets Lukas's attention, though he doesn't do more than look between his packmate and his mate. Then he raises his hand in greeting at Park and Keith as they approach.

"Hey," he says. "You guys want to move a table over and combine?"

[Danicka Musil] A different woman would, after just -- finally -- hearing that his relationship with her mate's sister ended, feel sympathy for him, however misguided. She's oblivious to any interaction between Theron and Genevre other than a dance that was, as Lukas told her, just a dance. Danicka is missing more information on the social dynamics swirling inside the Red Lotus tonight than anyone else, but she carries herself with a calm grace that suggests she knows everything Theron is thinking, everything Genevre is feeling, everything Lukas wants to say but isn't.

She might.

Theron doesn't know Danicka very well. And he has no idea the reaction she has when he asks her -- not Lukas -- if Lukas knows about what happened last night. Her forehead is smooth, and a small, gentle smile curls the corners of her mouth. It's soothing. She nods. "He knows."

[Keith Sommers] Keith is a direct person (it seems, usually). Let's, Park says, and Keith chooses a table without looking around; without much thought except for the moon overhead, and whatever it is that's putting him into a bad mood tonight, whatever it is he and Grandfather Thunder's philodox are going to discuss. Which is to say, he sat down without noticing Lukas. He doesn't even notice Genevre, at first, until she knocks on the window. That gets him. He doesn't quite flinch, but he goes dangerously still (tenses) for a second. His eyebrows furrow, and he looks out. She blows him a kiss, the furrow deepens. He picks up a menu, studies it. Says something to Park, and looks up to see what she's going to make of it -- and that's when Lukas waves, and calls over, and Keith sits up (he'd started to slouch once he was in the booth, drumming his fingers on his leg, drumdrum, drumdrum). He opens his mouth to reply -- checks himself; the presence of Danicka and Theron and Genevre. He lifts his voice, says: "Lukas. If there's enough room, why not."

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre enters and is flagged down by Danicka. She glances over to Keith for a moment, then joins those of the Unbroken at their table. "I did non realize you 'ad company, Danicka."

[Danicka Musil] "Actually," Danicka says, pushing her chair back as she rises to her feet, "let's move. There's a larger table over there," she adds, pointing to one in the middle of the room that will seat six. No one is there. All the minitables, suitable for two or three people, are taken up by couples or small groups. Nobody's sitting at the two square tables with six chairs around it.

She plucks her coat and purse from the back of the chair and shakes her straightened hair off her shoulder, smiling at Genevre. "Neither did I. I just happen to be a lighthouse for our people, or something."

Notably, when she reaches the table, Danicka takes the seat to the left of the head.

[Park] Whatever Keith says to Park grabs her full attention. She doesn't reach for her own menu right away, doesn't shuck out of her barn coat or toy with her hair again. She looks straight across the low table at the Ahroun, briefly pulling her lower lip between her teeth to chew at a tag of skin, and replies in a quiet voice not meant to carry far enough to be heard. That settles the matter; they're being waved at.

The woman looks over at the Fostern who had called a meeting of the Council last week, her expression nigh unto unreadable. Keith accepts the invitation, and the woman--who had only been introduced as Covered Sky-yuf by the Philodox Elder last week, who had not supplied her human name unless asked for it--glances between the two of them before standing again.

Her eyes find the Lord kinswoman easily enough, but she doesn't stare or sniff or scoot as close to her as she can get. The Fang who had blown Keith a kiss is likewise given no special attention. There's a suggestion that they move, and Park appears amenable to this.

"Lukas," she greets the Fostern, and her eyes flick to his packmate.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Let's do it," Lukas says, and gets up.

The six of them make a small commotion in the cafe as they move, winter coats and all. At the new table, Lukas doesn't hesitate to take the seat at the head of the table, beside Danicka.

"Have you guys all met? This is Dani&+269;ka, my girlfriend, and Theron, my brother. That's Keith and Genevre, Kate's cousins. And this is -- " he hesitates for a second; he realizes he has no idea what Park's human name is, " -- my cousin Sky."

[Genevre de Provence] When they all move around and go about switching tables, Genevre does her best to get a seat next to Keith. A smile was given to Danicka. "I suppose it can wait, mon ami."

[Theron Locke] The conversation he was going to have with Danicka, stopped for the moment. He moved with the group as they changed tables.

Theron offers both Park and Keith a nod of greeting, the former now recognised as the philodox he had stood before "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

[Danicka Musil] The word 'girlfriend' makes Danicka smile in a flash, for some reason. It fades as she nods a greeting to Keith and Park, the two she hasn't met. To Genevre, a simple one-shouldered shrug and a nod of assent: "As you will."

Settling into her seat, she replaces her saucer and mug on the table in front of her, loosening her tightly-knit, brightly-colored scarf around her throat a bit more. "I'm afraid I've already eaten, but they have decent sandwiches here. And the pecan-pear salad is very good."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "If you need to talk," he says to Danicka, and more vaguely, to Genevre, "I should probably have a word with Sky and Keith."

[Keith Sommers] It isn't difficult to get a seat next to Keith for the Silver Fang kin -- at least, Keith puts no difficulties in her way. He chooses a seat at the foot of the table, just about opposite Lukas, but he doesn't take it immediately. Instead, he nods courteously to Danicka -- gaze resting on her collarbone, flicking up to her face -- then a nod of similarly measurable courtesy is given to Theron. "Likewise," he says, to Theron; a brief quirk of the mouth is meant to extend a similar sentiment (pleasure, not likewise) to Danicka. THEN he'll sit. "I'll apologize upfront if I make for bad company tonight," he says, and the furrow appears between his eyebrows again. He shrugs it off. Then: "What's their coffee like?" It's idle; he doesn't expect Danicka to know. He doesn't expect her not to know. It's filler. "And how is everybody?" He clues into something: "Ah. I don't want to keep you girls from girltalk."

[Genevre de Provence] Gen waved a hand. "It can wait. It is.....girl stuff." She smiled, her eyes going from Lukas to Keith and back, trying to give a hint about just what she needed to talk to Danicka about.

Then she heard Keith's comment and reached over to gently take his hand if he allows. "No worries, mon ami."

[Danicka Musil] [perception + empathy]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Park] Introductions are handed out in order of importance and familiarity, Danicka taking the seat to the left of the head and the rest of the group falling in from there. She is introduced as Sky, and she doesn't move to correct or amend, to offer up anything other than what has been given. Sky seems perfectly acceptable. Maybe her parents were hippies, or they just liked the way it sounded in English.

Park winds up sitting between Theron and Keith, across from Genevre, who is given a more thorough investigatory glance once she has taken up her seat. Coat is draped over the back of her chair, revealing the woman to be wearing a gray thermal shirt underneath. She hikes up the sleeves, and when Lukas says he should probably have a word with the two of them, she glances down the table.

The woman doesn't talk much. She hasn't said more than three words since they walked in, and all of them were directed at the Fang.

[Theron Locke] Theron just sits quietly and watches all the interactions, previously he would have been fixated on Genevre. But tonight it appeared he was more relaxed around her.. perhaps important events had been left in the past and now they would both move on freely.

He turns to Keith "Don't worry... I'm in the same boat. A bad night and a lack of sleep doesn't really help matters."

[Danicka Musil] It isn't Genevre who has Danicka's attention as to the matter of whether they need to talk or not. She looks at Lukas for a protracted moment, then allows Genevre's dismissal of the topic to end the matter of whether or not they'll be excusing themselves. She looks over at Keith. "Their coffee is their reason for existing. It's fantastic, and they use excellent cognac.

"And thank you," she says with a smile, "I'm doing quite well tonight."

If it's relatively speaking, it's still not a lie.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas agrees to Genevre's dismissal with a wordless gesture of his hand. The Shadow Lord slouches a little in his chair, relaxed; one arm over the back, the other hand atop the table. It's that hand that turns briefly palm-up. Then he addresses Park:

"So how are you settling in? I've barely seen you since you came to town."

[Keith Sommers] He's not really very good at hiding his thoughts. To whit: he offers Genevre a somewhat perplexed look; puts his other hand over hers, pat, pat, there there, yes, they're Shadowlords aren't they, but it's okay, then deposits her hand on the table. Keith is a gentleman, or he tried to be, sometimes, even when the moon is full. As he does this, he's raising his eyebrows (expressive, those) at Danicka. Attentive. He grins, then. "Do I take it this a regular spot for you?" Theron says he's had a bad night and a lack of sleep, and he gets a look. "I'm sorry to hear that, man. What happened?"

[Park] A quiet smile tugs at Park's lips when Lukas states he's barely seen her since she came to town, as though she finds something vaguely humorous about what he's said. She doesn't laugh, though. She just folds her hands in her lap beneath the table and takes up the other half of the conversation.

His voice is deep enough that she doesn't have to strain to hear from beyond arm's length away. When she speaks, it is not in a soft or quiet voice but rather a low, confident alto.

"I keep strange hours," she says. That is to say: she's barely seen him, either. A beat, and then, "I'm settling in well. It's nice to sleep in a bed again, I haven't been in one place long enough to have one for months."

[Danicka Musil] Tonight Danicka is dressed like a schoolteacher of sorts. Her sweater is modest, her scarf eccentric but not offensive, her pencil skirt a subtle gray and almost knee-length; demure. Her tights -- or stockings, impossible to guess without pulling up her skirt, really -- are similarly colored to her sweater. Her shoes, a pair of leather ankle boots the color of gunmetal, are hardly fuck-me heels, but take her three inches above her normal height all the same.

She is, as Lukas discovers after a moment of conversation, able to slip her small feet out of them just as easily as any regular pair of pumps. His jeans aren't loose enough for her to slide her toes up alongside his leg, but that's alright. The touch of her foot to his ankle, running up and down his calf, is... more familiar than anything else. They haven't so much as touched hands since the last time they saw each other.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Theron Locke] Theron offers a shrug to Keith "It seems just the usual for Chicago... some friends of mine ran into some trouble last night. Saying ne ended up pretty badly hurt is a understatement, thankfully she was brought to me in time and there were a couple of others to help. "

"But last I heard from her guardian.. she was safe at home, resting. Just has all left me rather tired and stressed. I'm just glad they are in one piece though" a small look to both Genevre and Danicka.

"However I don't want to be a downer... was actually out looking for a distraction. So maybe we should direct the conversation elsewhere."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "You'll have to tell me about that sometime." That's not just conversational. He means it: he'd like to hear the story behind that. They're Shadow Lords. They're not particularly known for wandering.

Lukas goes on, "I'm sure someone's already passed the word on, but I take care of our family's affairs here. So if anything comes up, or if you get in any trouble, come find me. I'm at the Brotherhood most nights, room 2."

[Danicka Musil] "You do," Danicka answers Keith, in an agreeable sort of tone. She's leaning back a bit in her chair, looking a touch more relaxed than she did at first, her head tipped slightly to one side. In this light, the amber flecks in her eyes come out more brightly, make her gaze warmer.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Perhaps it says something, how good they both are at looking ... well, normal. Above the surface of the table, Lukas's attention doesn't waver from Park. He doesn't glance at Danicka when her foot contacts his shin.

Beneath the surface of the table, his leg extends slightly; brings the hard arch of his shinbone more solidly in contact with the curl of her toes. There's a sort of familiarity in that, too; an unshy, firm intimacy, like an animal bumping up against his mate in greeting.
to Danicka Musil

[Keith Sommers] It seems just the usual for Chicago, Theron says, and something about that phrase. Keith frowns down at the table for a moment, and when he looks up, his expression is apologetic. For once, he's managing control. "You're right, Theron; and I'm no good for company at all tonight, so I think I'm going to leave. I'm sorry; I'll try the coffee another time," brief nod for Danicka, and it's amazing that he even remembers these social niceties. "If you're coming," he says, to Covered Sky, giving her the option. And to Genevre, whose player looks like she's fallen off: "Good night. Lukas? I would like to speak to you soon. Nice to meet everybody once again." And with that, he makes his escape into the cold.

[Danicka Musil] Her foot slips behind his leg, entwining as they sometimes do when they're bared. When they're alone. He often covers her legs with his own as they sleep, just as his arm wraps around her and keeps her close to his chest. On the surface level, Theron is discussing last night and -- Danicka is watching the others leave, each to their own.

So she withdraws her leg, lest they see it nestled against his as they leave, the table not covered by a cloth. And exhales.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Danicka Musil] A muscle in Danicka's cheek works as Theron goes on about last night. Again. She doesn't look at him, but nods to Genevre as the other woman takes her leave. There's a slight exhale from her and a nod of goodbye as Keith exits, possibly with Park in tow. She looks at Lukas, then at Theron.

"I wasn't aware you knew Lonna."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas's brief discussion with Park seems over; he looks up as Keith stands. "Sure," he says. "I'm at the Loft often enough. Are you still staying there?"

[Keith Sommers] "Yeah, I'm there tonight; probably tomorrow. Otherwise," a moment's pause. He's antsy, can't quite keep still. Too much energy, and it gets expansive. "I think Kate has my address." Ah: so the freeloader actually had his own place; he was just too lazy to go there. Or he liked the pool. "Good night," he says, again.

Then: gone!

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I'll catch you there," Lukas replies, meaning the Loft. Or maybe the pool.

Genevre departs as well; the table belongs to the Shadow Lords. Lukas looks between the two for a moment. Then:

"You guys want to get sandwiches to go?"

[Theron Locke] "Sounds like a plan.. I've got some things I want to talk to Danicka about." and then he turns to face her "Yeah after a few casual run-ins , we've been spending a bit of time together.". Standing from the table as he readies to make his leave with them.

[Danicka Musil] That makes one of Danicka's eyebrows quirk. She doesn't know Lonna very well; she's only met her a few times, and usually something horrific is happening. But the eyebrow lowers, unexplained, and if there was a question behind it, Danicka doesn't voice it. She looks vaguely curious about whatever it is Theron wants to talk to her about, but -- again -- doesn't seem to think now is the time.

"I'm actually going to go home, I think," she says, half-turning to glance at Lukas before returning her attention to the Theurge. "You can get my number from Lukáš," she says, and -- oddly enough, especially for a kinswoman of their time -- there's a note of permission being granted, to both of them, in that statement.

She says his name differently from everyone in the city. A rounder vowel, a susurration of sound at the end. It's deeper on her tongue, warmer from her throat. It isn't just that she pronounces his name correctly. She doesn't say anyone else's name with that sort of... ache to it.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Já uvidíme se pozd&+283;ji," Lukas says to Danicka.

Then he stands up, picking his coat up off the back of his chair, raising his eyebrows at Theron. "Sandwiches, and then I'll give you a lift back to the BroHo?"

[Danicka Musil] "Brzy," Danicka says back, rising to her feet and picking up her coat to shrug into it. She shoulders her bag and nods a goodbye to Theron as she buttons her coat, smiling faintly at both men before walking out the door and down the street ot her car.

[Theron Locke] "Yeah sounds like a plan... I got permission to go see Lonna, but I think I'll save that for the morning." he gives Danicka a nod as he is told to ask for her number , and watches as she leaves.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

cleanup call.

[Lukas] It's quite late at night when Lukas gets the text, but he's always been something of a night owl. A minute later Danicka gets a return text:

Will take care of it.

Maybe twenty, thirty minutes later, Danicka receives a call. Her iPhone announces it's Lukáš Kvasnička. When she picks up, she can hear a steady rush in the background. He's driving.

"I cleaned it up." He sounds ... surprisingly calm. "What happened?"

[Danicka] She's at home by then. She's been at home for awhile. It was late enough when she issued the first text to her 'boyfriend', a little later still when she heard back. It's now late enough that her roommate has gone to bed, because he works in the morning. He's freaking out. Oprah's quitting. He can't quite get over it. Since he works for her show, especially.

"Dog ran at us. Lonna Larson, Alexander Vaughn, and Genevre were all there. After we killed it, a couple of leeches showed up. We killed them, too."

[Lukas] There's a silence; she can't see his face, so she has little enough clue as to what he's thinking. Then, "Did anyone die?"

[Danicka] It's a fair question. But there's a tense pause anyway. "That would have been the first thing I told you, if someone had." Another beat: "Genevre took Lonna to the Brotherhood for more healing. But no one died."

[Lukas] "Okay." Another pause. "You're all right? Just ... tired?"

[Danicka] She takes a deep breath. "I am. I didn't get injured." There's a long pause. "I only had one bullet left at the end. And it was one of those that... just turns to shadow?" He hears a rustle, too, the brush of her hair across the mic. "I was scared."

She says this quietly. Like a secret.

[Lukas] More than any other Tribe except perhaps the Silent Striders, Shadow Lords have a long and bloody history with the thirsty undead. Several of Lukas's ancestors were renowned not for their honor or wisdom amongst the nation, not for their savagery and cunning against the Wyrm, but for their battles against the ancient bloodsuckers of the Carpathians. More than a few died at the hands of ghouls armed with silver; were hunted down shrieking human mobs roused by vampire puppetmasters.

In the oldest strongholds of his extended family, there are rooms deep underground and carefully protected from sun and heat; vaults containing the bleached and pitted bones of destroyed vampires.

Lukas doesn't tell Danicka she should bring more than one clip. She knows that already. He doesn't tell her not to be scared; that would be a lie.

What he says, instead:

"When I was sixteen, the Stark Falls Sept received word that a bloodsucker was going to be passing through our protectorate under cover of night. Promised Rain's pack was recruited to kill it. He brought me along. It was my first battle against a leech.

"There was only one vampire. He was quite old, very powerful; a shadowtwister. He had many human servants armed with guns, but Promised Rain is cunning and swift. We took them out without trouble. But when we went to destroy the leech, he rose out of his vehicle in a form that was ... shadow and terror. I looked at it and my courage broke. I ran. When I woke up I was in a ditch miles away.

"When I slunk back to the Sept, Promised Rain's packmate was dead. Kristianna Merciful-Strike was her name."

A pause; then:

"I'm glad you're all right."

[Danicka] She could tell him now about her own history with vampires, not stories she knows of from the Musil or Dvorak lines -- she doesn't, and no one has ever tried to tell her what she does not know about her family's lineage, the heroes and Betas she comes from. Truth be told, Danicka knows very little about her family, about her mother's and her brother's packs.

When Lukas was sixteen, she was nearing the end of her high school tenure. They're close in age, but Anezka and Danicka are closer. It's not enough to make any difference, that Danicka's a bit older. It might not matter if the difference were ten years.

She listens. She could tell him things now, unload secrets of her history that would terrify and maybe even anger him, impotent rage against damage done to her in the past that he knows he can't go back and protect her from. She could tell him about Cristobal, too, but she hasn't yet. Danicka exhales slowly when Lukas finishes.

"I don't like vampires," she says, quiet as a confession, though it's a thin one. "I'm tired. And one of the other kin used knives I bought for the den against the dog and now they're blunted and bloodstained and I'm inordinately upset about it."

On her end, Danicka scratches at a spot on her knee. "Thank you. For taking care of it."

[Lukas] They say things to each other, somehow, without quite saying them. Words are easily twisted, misused; lead to misunderstandings. Perhaps it's easier in a way to communicate without them. To speak without speaking. To convey meaning in the subtext, in the implication.

He doesn't tell her, it's all right to be scared. He doesn't tell her, I'm scared for you too.

He tells her a story. He gives her a piece of his past that she did not have before.

"We'll get more knives," Lukas replies, quiet himself. "Or we can tear at our meat with our teeth. It doesn't matter to me."

Pause.

"I love you. I'm glad you're ... " he realizes he said this already; trails off.

Then: "I'll see you soon?"

[Danicka] "I need knives there for things other than cutting meat," she says, with a faint hint of gentle exasperation in her breath. Silly mate. Silly Lukasek. "I'll get more. I'm just upset that they got used for that."

She pauses, too. "Miluji tě taky. Zavolám ti zítra, jo?"

[Lukas] "Jo," he replies, quiet. And, "Dobrou noc, Danička."

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

eenie meenie miney moe.

[-bump-] OK folks! This is gonna be a pretty standard dicetastic scene. Nothing fancy. Ergo:

1. 10 min per post OR LESS. Preferably less. If we're dicing, declare in 3 min. Roll in 2 or I'll roll for you.
2. No posting order, but please post ONCE for every post I make.
3. Keep track of your own health and tempers.
4. Questions in the chat. Don't IM me. If I don't see the question, repeat it until I do *LOL* If I don't respond for minutes on end -- I'm probably posting. You should wait, unless it's absolutely urgent, upon which you should PM me once.
5. PM me your applicable flaws. This includes stuff like nightmares and phobias and hatreds and compulsions.
6. If there are any off-limits themes, imagery or events you do NOT want to see in a scene, PM 'em to me now.
7. Go ahead and post yourselves in. We are a block or two off Broadway, so it's a quiet semi-urban commercial/residential area. Brick rowhouse, treelined street. Looks something like this:

http://tinyurl.com/yb2vaqp

Your character might just be coming out of a theater or a restaurant or something!

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson had finally become comfortable enough with herself that she could go to the movies alone and not be embarrassed or frustrated or anything of the sort about the act. It violated a social norm, yes, that one was supposed to be ashamed when they came out of movies alone because it was an inhernetly social act to sit by your closest friends for two hours and not say a word to them.

No. No, Lonna thought this act was completely stupid because, well, if she wanted to watch a movie with her friends she would talk through it. And, if she wanted to actually watch a movie, she obviously did not feel the need to surround herself with people that she liked.

So, there she was, making her way out of the theatre smelling vaguely like cut flowers and dissapointment.

There was twelve bucks and two and a half Lonna Larson was never going to get back.

[Danicka Musil] Ms. Musil is finished shopping for the night. She's striding down the sidewalk, back to the station or back to wherever her car is parked. Her boots are worn over her skinny-legged jeans, crunching into the snow and crushing the salty icemelt. She's got a few layers on up top underneath her black wool revere coat, a yellow leather purse over one arm, and she's carrying a couple of shopping bags in her other -- gloved -- hand. There's a green knit hat on her head with a tiny decorative brim and a daisy on it, offset. Her hair is in two long blonde braids.

It's very cold. She's alright with that. Her breath steams as she walks. Her cream-colored scarf peeks out at the world from beneath her coat. She hums to herself as she goes. It's the Happy Birthday song.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre had spent most of the morning and afternoon in this district working on some contracts for a local company. Now she was on her way back up the street to find her car, since parking sucked in America, so that she could head back to the office and work on revisals.

[-bump-] There's an faux-irish pub just down the block, and the door flies open to emit a burst of noise and music -- as well as one glass walker kinsman, tossed out on his ass. The Fox & Feather isn't really the sort of establishment you see barfights in a lot. It's all green felt and dark wood, expensive and just a little pretentious, a place for young professionals with musical leanings to go for overpriced scotch and half-decent open mic nights. No wonder Alexander Vaughn and his antics weren't welcome here.

"I know girls that fight better than you!" he shouts back in the open door. A motorcycle helmet answers him -- pitched out at his head. He catches it. The door slams shut. The street is quiet again.

By coincidence or serendipity, they're all within a block or so of each other -- Danicka, Genevre, Lonna, Alexander. Grumbling, the Glass Walker gets to his feet, dusting snow off his ass.

Somewhere down the street, a dog starts barking.

[Danicka Musil] She's not one of the women in this town who delights in seeing Alexander Vaughn tossed out of a pub, tackled flat in the snow, or otherwise brutalized. She doesn't feel much at all when she sees him up head, nor does she have much reaction to the sight of Lonna coming out of a theater across the street. She's familiar with both of them. She usually only sees them when bad things are happening, and that may be why the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end suddenly.

No matter, no matter. She ignores the crawling sensation of foreboding for now and keeps walking, does not offer Alexander a nasty quip, but does wave to Lonna slightly. She hasn't seen Genevre yet.

[Lonna Larson] Somewhere, a dog starts barking. The blonde keeps her hands in her pockets and she moves down the street. She stops, finds herself looking at a pub, and wonders briefly if she should go get a drink or not. There's always room for booze, it seems. The Child of Gaia continues on her way, though her eyes go from Mr. Vaughn to... oh, a wave.

She looked at Danicka and she smiled. The bonde slipped her hand out of her pocket and waved hello to her. Lonna had yet to realize that she only saw Danicka when something terrible was about to happen. They were missing Atropos this evening, how unfortunate. She does see Genevre though, and she waves to her as well.

She is pleased, to say the least.

[Genevre de Provence] She manages to get to where her car -should- be and looks around. She frowns, she could have sworn she had parked just there.

Hearing the commotion not too far away, she looks to see Alex throw out on his ass. She smirks a bit, finding it amusing actually. Then a look around, and she notices Lonna. A light wave was given back before she moved up the way and stood next to Alex.

"You alright, monsior?"

[-bump-] By then, Alex is back on his feet, dusting his ass off, turning his helmet over in his hands to check for damage.

"What?" He whips around, looks at Genevre. "Who the fuck are you?"

Down the street, the dog's bark grow louder, more urgent. Whoever's dog it is, he isn't getting shushed. Maybe the owners aren't home. Or maybe --


(percep/alert check! diff 8, all or nothing.)

[Danicka Musil] [perception + alertness]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Lonna Larson] [per+alert, diff8]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 8)

[Genevre de Provence] "Genevre. I 'ave seen you around, non? May'aps at the Brother'ood? For zee celebracion of Thanks?" But the dog's barking makes her turn to that general direction.
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[-bump-] That dog is getting closer.
to Danicka Musil, Genevre de Provence

[Danicka Musil] Her attention does pick up on Alex and Genevre now, as her hand drops and she turns her head that way. The barking of the dog makes her frown, as she heads towards Genevre and Alex, expecting Lonna to do the same, perhaps.

"Genevre de Provence, Alexander Vaughn," she says. "Vaughn, de Provence." Only half a beat. "Would the three of you like to join me for some drinks? I have an idea to run past some of you, and now's as good a time as any."

Maybe she believes in Providence. Or Serendipity. Or something.

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson is deliciously clueless in this regard. There was a dog barking, and it was barking quite a bit. Lonna wasn't too sure what that meant, but she didn't quite put much thought into it. She smiles, something polite and lovely as usual and has finally bridged the gap with little effort.

"I'm Lonna, Lonna Larson, it's a pleasure," introductions to the man who is a little taller than she is, and it's back to Danicka.

Mentioning booze. God bless Danicka Musil.

"That? Sounds fabulous, I would appreciate that."

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other, so she could get to her purse hung from her shoulder, and shifting her hand in it as if looking for something. She's a touch distracted by the dog barking, but a nod was given to Danicka. "Oui, mon ami. I will buy zee firse round."

[-bump-] Alexander laughs, a rough sort of sound, dabbing at his nostrils with the ball of his thumb to see if he's bleeding. He's not. "Well, if she's buying, I'm in. We better head somewhere else. I'm no longer welcome here -- "

He breaks off. They can all hear claws on asphalt now, running. The dog's still barking. It's loose. It's coming at them, and

it's not a dog.

This is a nice street; a quiet, tree-lined street with brick rowhouses that march away into the distance and plenty of street lighting. Pools of amber sodium light fall on the snow drifts and the well-plowed street. Sprinting straight down the center of the road, seen in flickers and flashes as it dashes through those pools of light, is a beast out of nightmare.

It's fourlegged. It runs like a dog, forepaws stretching for leverage and hindquarters churning with power. It has short, dense fur; the markings are vaguely those of a doberman, or a rottweiler. That's where the resemblance ends.

The size of the thing is mindboggling, for one -- as large as a pony; bulging with overblown musculature. Bone spikes protrude from its elbows and the hocks; from the point of the shoulder and the croup. A ring of bone crowns the withers. Three horns protrude from the skull, like a triceratops gone wrong. Slaver runs from its jaws as it snaps and growls and barks, coming straight at them.

By now, it has become rather clear Fido doesn't want to play.

(inits!)

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[-bump-] (Those of you with guns: I'll let you draw and load in one action (split is okay). Fido is still a good 20-30 yards away, though it will cover that in a round -- so for this round, it's just running at them.)

[Genevre de Provence] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Lonna Larson] 5+1d10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[-bump-] +6!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Action order:
Fido
Lonna
Danicka
Gen

Declare in reverse!)

[-bump-] 7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Ahem.
Alex
Fido
Lonna
Danicka
Gen)

[Genevre de Provence] Spending round to draw gun and load clip.

[Danicka Musil] Upon sight of the dog, Danicka Musil's eyes go wide. She drops her shopping bags on the sidewalk immediately, but it's not out of shock. Air, ice cold, shoots into her nostrils as her hand goes into her bag with motions that are, sadly, becoming rather practiced.
[1a. Draw and load
1b. 3RB on Fido]

[Lonna Larson] There was a dog there. A bog... thing... ish. She looks at it, brows knit and the blonde takes a second to rifle through her purse, because no lady was ever really fully dressed without a hand gun
[Actions1
1a: Draw and load
1b: 3 round burst! Sorry, Fido]

[-bump-] Fido:
BARK! BARK BARK! RUN! BARK!

Alex:
1. Dig in Danicka's shopping bags for something to use as a weapon.

[-bump-] (Anything useful in those bags?)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] [Shoooot! dex3+firearms2+3RB = 8 -3 (split) = 5, diff 7)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 7) [WP]

[Lonna Larson] [Damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] The first staccato burst of bullets comes from Lonna. They hit the once-dog with a crunch of lead into bone. The creature yelps, stumbles ... keeps on coming.

[Danicka Musil] [1b. dex + firearms + 3 (burst) -3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Danicka Musil] [damage. 4 + 1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] *is loading in the clip*

[Lonna Larson] Bullets hit the once-dog, but it doesn't stop moving just yet. No, it's still coming. it just... keeps... coming. The blonde grits her teeth, and a look of clear displeasure crosses too pretty features. Normal day in Chicago, it seemed.

[-bump-] Danicka, Genevre and Lonna, for all intents and purposes, appear to be three ordinary young women.

They're not going to some secret meeting; they're not on some quest. They're rather attractive, all of them, but nothing that would stop traffic, shake the earth. They're all well-off, or at least comfortably situated in life, but none of them appear to be heiresses to a fortune. None of them are out particularly late. None of them are returning from anything particularly interesting.

And then a hound from hell comes howling down the street at them. And not a single one of them shrieks, or runs. Not a single one of them cowers and hides.

They all drop their shopping bags, their movie popcorn, their briefcases -- and pull handguns out of their pretty little outfit-coordinated purses. Not little snubnosed ladies' affairs, either, but matte black, heavy, semiautomatic pistols capable of firing three round bursts. They step away from each other on instinct, load, flick the safety off, square to the target, brace their firing hand with their off.

The street resounds with gunfire.

And with the sound of tearing paper and cardboard. Alexander has found a knife block in Danicka's shopping bags. A moment later the kinsman gets to his feet, a cleaver in one hand, a chef's knife in the other.

"Bring it!" he shouts at the dog-thing.

And the dog brings it.

[Genevre de Provence] 1) Firing, 3RB at hellhound

[Danicka Musil] "Alexander Vaughn, I swear to Christ almighty if you blunt a single one of those I will end you," snaps one of the two blondes, the shorter one, without lowering her arms.
[1a. 3RB
1b. 1 shot]

[Lonna Larson] Action! 3rb!

[-bump-] Hellhound:
1a. Headbutt Lonna! With horns!
b. Bite Alex!

Alexander:
a. Stab in ribs with chef's knife!
b. Chop cleaver into skull!

[-bump-] a. Stab! +2 diff for targeting. Effects: if damage after soak, stamina -1 for collapsed lung. -2 dice!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Damage, +1
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] b. HEAD CHOP. No particular effect.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 4)

[-bump-] 2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander: "Your knives are already dull!"

[-bump-] The hellhound yelps as Alexander's knife -- formerly Danicka's knife -- parts thick muscle, slips past arching ribs, finds its target in the tender tissue of the lung. However, it shrugs off a direct blow to the cranium. Doesn't even seem to split the skin.

A second later it bows its head and drives directly for Lonna with its three wickedly pointed horns.

a. -2 dice, headbutt!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[-bump-] Damage +1(headbutt) +2(succ), lethal.
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Lonna isn't nearly so tough. Bone tears through her flesh like razors through paper. The kinswoman drops, stunned, as a pool of blood begins to spread beneath her.

The hound doesn't hesitate. It turns and snaps, viciously, for the one with the knives.

b. -3 dice, bite!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[-bump-] Damage, lethal!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] She doesn't so much sit up as she does roll over and look at the triceratops-turned-housepet. The blonde barely levels her gun and fires three times. Thank everything she's close...

[3RB: dex3+firearms2+3 = 8 - 5 (OWW!) = 3, diff 7 - 2 (really effing close))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Lonna Larson] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Danicka doesn't answer Alex. The hellhound's closer, and there's a muscle in her jaw twitching, a glint in her eyes that isn't fury but terror. She readies herself for the nine millimeter's kickback and fires off three rapid shots again, thinking not Alexander Vaughn is an asshole but oh god oh god oh my god oh god.
[1a. dex + firearms +3 (burst) -2 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! 4 + FUCK YOUR MOTHER]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [1b. dex + firearms -3 (split)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]

[Danicka Musil] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak against 1 auto)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] ((Dex 2 + Firearms 2 + 3RB Diff 7 - 2diff point blank shot))((Add WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Genevre de Provence] Dam 4 + 1
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] The thing is unholy in its toughness. Despite bullet after bullet hitting its hide, the hound

just
keeps
coming.

(Let's reinit! Hound, +6!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[-bump-] Alex, +7
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] (0+1d10)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[-bump-] Genevre
Hound
Alex
Danicka
Lonna

go!

[Lonna Larson] action!: 3rb on the thing

[Danicka Musil] [1a. 3RB on Fido
1b. -1WP, BB on Lonna]

[-bump-] Alex:
1a. This is fun! Stab to back of neck with chef knife.
b. Cleave again!

Hound:
1a. STOP STABBING ME. Bite!
b. STOP SHOOTING ME. Toss Danicka!

[Genevre de Provence] 1) shooting again 3RB

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex + fire + 3RB = Diff 7 -2diff for PB range)) ((WP again))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 1
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Yelp!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] ...until Genevre plants three bullets in its thick skull, anyway. The hound's head snaps back so hard it rears up, its huge body twisting once in the air.

Then it hits the asphalt on its side, motionless. There's so much mass there that the kin can feel the ground literally shudder on impact.

They get only a second's worth of respite before an inhuman shriek splits the night.

"THEY KILLED MY PUPPY!"

It's coming from above them. At the edge of one of the brick lowrises is a girl, perhaps 18 or 19, pouting. She clings to the sleeve of a tall gentleman whose coat and hat makes him look like a throwback to Chicago's gangster era.

"POOPSIE, THEY KILLED FIDO. THEY KILLED HIM. LOOK."

The man beside her sighs the sigh of the longsuffering. "Yes, darling, I see that. But I told you, if you let him off his leash like that, he'll get hurt one day. Didn't I tell you?"

"BUT POOPSIE--"

"No buts. Come on now. Let's find you another one."

The girl's face lights up. Her mouth splits open. The smile is an obscene mockery of delight, all sharp teeth.

"REALLY, Poopsie? Which one?"

The gentleman looks over the edge at the kin below. "Pick one," he says.

The girl -- well, she looks like a girl, anyway, until she vaults over the edge and falls, falls, lands in a coiled, compact, effortless crouch. Her eyes are totally black, insectoid. She looks from one kin to the next.

Then she begins to chant:

"Eenie, meenie, miney, moe..."

[-bump-] (one free round while the two are talking to make whatever preparations you like!

also, everyone roll 1d10.)

[-bump-] (alex)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Lonna Larson] (ohgod!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Danicka Musil]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Danicka Musil] Danicka starts to lower her gun when the hound goes down. She's breathing heavily from terror, from preparation. Her arms are already sore. She jerks when the shriek hits her ears, whips her head -- and, notably, her firearm -- around, though the barrel doesn't point straight at the girl until she sees those sharp teeth. And then she just bolts towards Lonna, reaching into her purse and taking out something wrapped in cellophane.

"You're okay," she says to Lonna, the woman whose intestines are currently showing and who -- even so -- went on shooting. Danicka lays the bloody bandage, black and dried, across her midsection. "You're going to be fine. But you need to get up."

A hard rush of air leaves the Lord kinswoman's lungs right as the bandage starts to glow faintly blue, sparking with bits of silver that turn black as they die out, like candles extinguishing themselves when the wick and the wax are diminished too far to be of any use. The bandage feels like rage when it shudders, unravels, and then disperses into nothingness. When the glow has faded, all that's left are -- well.

Lonna's midsection is still a mess. But it's far less of one, now. Danicka stands up, rolls her shoulder, gun still in hand. She goes over to Alex and hands him a pair of thin darts, speaking fast. "You have to get up close anyway. Focus on these and jab them wherever you can. You'll have three seconds, maybe, where they won't be able to react while you chop them the fuck up. Okay?"

She doesn't wait for an okay. She lifts her gun and aims.
[-1WP, BB, +3Health to Lonna]

[Genevre de Provence] The dog finally drops, and as she listens to the strangeness of the girl and man, she pulls out a fresh clip, her spare, and switches them out. Leaving the half clip in her coat pocket so she can get to it faster. Her eyes staying on Mantis-girl.

[Lonna Larson] Lonna Larson always expected that, if her life was a horror movie, she would be the first to go. She sits up as best. she can, though it doesn't quite work. Everything hurts. There's blood everywhere, and she's starting to feel incredibly lightheaded.

She shoots anyway.

Danicka rushes over, and within a moment her midsection isn't quite as disgusting. She's okay, Danicka says. She's going to be fine, but she needs to get up.

The blonde has no qualms with it, and she is on her feet quickly.

"Anyone parked close? We gotta get the Hell outta here," it's all the advice and forethought she has to offer.

[Lonna Larson] (close that tag!)

[-bump-] While Danicka is handing out talens, Alexander is staring at her.

"What are you, Mary Poppins?"

And then, to Lonna: "My bike's a block away, but that doesn't help the rest of you much."

--

"...catch a tiger by the toe.
If he hollers let him go.
Eenie meenie miney ... moe."

Her finger points at Alex for an endless second.

Then:

"My, mommy, told, me, to, pick, the, best, one.
And, that, is, Y ... O ... U."

She's pointing at Lonna. And then she squeals in delight, jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

The gentleman leaps down behind her. He lands as she does, effortlessly, catlike in balance. And he shrugs apologetically at the kin.

"You heard her."

(inits!)

[-bump-] Alex +7!
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8

[Lonna Larson] 3+1d10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[-bump-] Darla +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] P. Sherman +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Failure at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] 5

She glanced over her shoulder, and took a quick look. "Zee red one" A gesture to the red Volvo 3 cars up across the street.
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[-bump-] (init order:

Alex
Danicka
Darla
Genevre
P Sherman
Lonna

For the record, I'm going to say Genevre's car will take a full turn for most people to reach (doing nothing else). If you split your actions 50/50, it's two turns to get there; if splitting 33/33/33, it's three turns, and so on. It'll take an additional action for Genevre to unlock it, and then 1 each to get in.

Declare!)

[Lonna Larson] action! 3rb for Miss Darla (Sorry Darla!)

[-bump-] P Sherman:
1. Evil Powerz, Activate!

[Genevre de Provence] 3RB at Sherman

[-bump-] Darla:
1a. Grab Lonna
b. Evil Powerz, Activate!

[Danicka Musil] She doesn't look at Alex when she answers him, staring down the street. "I used to be a governess, actually," she says. "Not a nanny." Like it matters. Especially right now.

"I didn't drive," she adds to Lonna, and fires at P. Sherman. She's getting tired. They're not even half done and she's tired. She would wonder if she should run, if it weren't for the fact that she's too focused on what she's doing.
[1a. 3RB on Sherman]

[Lonna Larson] (changing action to this: dodge Darla like a mofo]

[-bump-] Alex:
1. Jab Sherman with dart! -WP to activate talen.

[-bump-] Rolling it like a knife, since it's in his hand! +1 diff for unwieldy knife.
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 2

[Danicka Musil] [dex + brawl + 3 (burst) // diff -2 (pointblank) -2 (partially immobilized target)]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 2, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3)

[Danicka Musil] [damage. 4 + 4]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander doesn't know what he's doing. He's never handled a talen before. But when the tall man comes sailing down, and when all the kin line up their beads on him, he doesn't think twice.

The Glass Walker leaps in and jabs the dart into the tall man's side. As though struck by lightning, his spine arches and his head flies up, eyes staring emptily skyward.

Three seconds. The kinswomen unload.

(soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Darla: grab! -2
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] Eyees widen, her heart pounds, and all she knows is that she does not want this spoiled brat of a whatever she was touching her. Lonna intended on getting out of the way

(dex3+dodge2= 5 - 1 (oww) = 4)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[-bump-] Quick as the preying mantis Genevre thinks of her as, the girl strikes at Lonna --

-- but the blonde dodges. Easily.

Shrieking with vexation, the girl tries again.

(b, changed action! -3 dice, +1 diff.)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 7, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank - 2 immobilized target))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (Action order:
Alex
Danicka
Darla
Genevre
Sherman
Lonna

declare while i quick-recap!)

[Lonna Larson] action: stomp on Darla's instep (poor Darla)

[Genevre de Provence] 1) SHooting Mantis girl now 3RB

[-bump-] This time, Darla gets a fistful of Lonna's hair. The girl's strength is nothing to write home about, but her tenacity is alarming. Like a piranha on a victim, she just doesn't let go.

"Lets," she hisses, "make you a little prettier."

Meanwhile, the others fire on Sherman again and again. Bullets riddle his wool coat, his felt hat; for all that, only Genevre manages to wound him -- and then, only grazingly.

Seconds tick by. Awareness is coming back into his eyes. For the first time, his longsuffering weariness melts into something else, closer to true irritation.

"Insects," he snarls.


[Sherman declare: 1. ACTIVATE EVIL!]

[-bump-] [Darla declare: 1. ACTIVATE EVIL!]

[Danicka Musil] [1a. 3RB on Sherman
1b. 1 shot]

[-bump-] [....on Lonna, that is. Sherman's just powering up something evil.]

[-bump-] [Alexander: 1a. Get behind Sherman
b. Kidney stab!]

[-bump-] a. move!
b. -3 dice, -2 diff.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 2)

[-bump-] dam +3!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Even as she fires, Danicka is counting, chanting in her head like a nursery rhyme. Seven to go, seven to go, seven to--

Go.
[1a. dex + firearms + 3 (burst) -2 (split) // diff -2 (point blank)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! 4 + 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] Four to go, four to go, four to --

Go.
[1b. dex + firearms -3 (split) // diff -2 (pb)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 4)

[Danicka Musil] [damage! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] (this will be followed by a short post)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[-bump-] Darla's eyes are bottomless pits.

They hold Lonna's as her thin hand holds its grip on her hair. The girl's other hand comes up and grasps Lonna around the throat, viciously.

The sensation that follows, rippling out like a shockwave from that pitiless grasp, is like nothing Lonna has ever felt before. Radiant pain shocks through her very bones -- literally. Her skeleton pops and cracks, and then her skin splits.

Spires of bone, bloody still from their sudden eruption, rear from her shoulder girdle; curve from her knuckles; jut from her elbows. Darla's shrieking laughter rings in her ears.

(soak 2 lethal, Lonna!)

[Genevre de Provence] ((Curve the bullet!!!))

((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank))((WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) [WP]

[Lonna Larson] [Soak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 4
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[-bump-] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] [this, too, will be followed by a short post.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)

[-bump-] Darla doesn't laugh for long. Genevre's next shot hits the girl square in the shoulder, smashing bone, tearing flesh.

The wound doesn't bleed.

The impact drives her back, though, slams her against the brick wall. She slides down in an untidy heap, dazed, Lonna slipping from her grasp.

Her companion snarls in fury, lips peeling back from his teeth. They all see it: his canines long and sharp, translucent white like those of a viper's. And then shadows devour him alive. Where the man once stood is a column of living darkness, writhing and sentient.

[Lonna Larson] Oh that. was. It.

The blonde one, bloody, warped, and ultimately displeased, turned and looked at Darla. She was a vengeful little thing.

"I'm pretty the way I am, thank you."

(actions!
1a: punch! -2
1b: 3RB for Darla)

[Lonna Larson] (oh, wait, just a 3RB, she doesn't have the dice to split)

[Lonna Larson] (dex3+firearms2+3rb= 8 -2 (oww!)= 6, diff.. something)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 9 [WP]

[Lonna Larson]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] (init order:
Alex
Danicka
Darla -- Stunned
Genevre
Sherman
Lonna

Declare in reverse while I recap!)

[Lonna Larson] Action: she's stunned, may as well finish the job!
get in point-blank-range for Darla, aaaand shoot.

[-bump-] Darla stares at Lonna stupidly as the child of gaia -- badly injured but pissed as hell -- blows another hole in her chest.

That one doesn't bleed either.

Then the column of shadow and wrath, howling like nothing human, moves. Fast as light. Fast as darkness. It gets between Lonna and the girl, protecting her. Tendrils of darkness, agile, dimensionless, like countless ropes of gossamer, lash out.

[Sherman, reflexive:
-1 blood point. Heal for 1L

Leftside tendrils:
1a. Disarm Lonna
b. Initiate Clinch on Genevre

Rightside tendrils:
1a. Grab Danicka
b. Bash against wall!)

[Genevre de Provence] 1) 3RB HEAD shot @ Darla

[-bump-] [Darla: stunned]

[Danicka Musil] [1a. Dodge
1b. 3RB on Sherman]

[-bump-] [Alex: 1a. I ATTACK THE DARKNESS (stab!)
b. MOAR. (stab!)]

Furthermore: if your character has NEVER seen Obtenebration 4, roll permanent WP vs diff 8 to prevent succumbing to terror. If you fail this roll, you must try to flee instead.

If you have Gall, roll at diff 6.

Alex's WP roll -- ]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Lonna Larson] [OMG WTF?!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Genevre de Provence] ((WP))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] a. stab -2!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 4)

[-bump-] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] b. Stab -3!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4) Re-rolls: 2

[-bump-] dam+3!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[-bump-] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] [1b. 3RB // diff -2 (pb)]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Danicka Musil] [damage!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[-bump-]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Alexander strikes at the seething darkness. Danicka's knives -- once gleaming, now wet with houndsblood -- sink again and again into

nothingness.

It does little. The same can't be said for Danicka's shots. Muzzleflash from the guns casts their shadows onto the buildings -- everyone's except the man-turned-darkness. Like a vampire of legend, the shadow itself casts no shadow. It does not bleed. It does not speak.

But it is capable of being damaged. Wounded.

Brought down.

Three bullets strike in quick succession, square-on, and the writhing tendrils of darkness seem to twist in on themselves; fall apart at the edges. Tattering, shattering, they spin apart --

-- the form of the man, revealed again, hits the wall beside his companion. Slides down.

He looks dead. He doesn't breathe. His skin is cold. But at least one of them here knows that if he were really dead, he would turn to ash.


[Darla: still stunned! Genevre, go!]

[Genevre de Provence] ((dex 2 + fire 2 + 3RB / diff 7 - 2 diff (point blank - 2 immobilized target))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 3)

[Genevre de Provence] Damage 4 + 5
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[-bump-] Darla: Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 2 (Failure at target 6)

[-bump-] One last burst of gunfire from Genevre drops all light of awareness out of Darla's eyes. She slumps beside the tall man, apparently lifeless.

[-bump-] [back IC!]

[Danicka Musil] She's shaking now. Her backbone -- never what she's been known for, at least before Chicago -- feels chipped away at, bent out of shape, weakened. Danicka has one bullet left in her gun, and she doesn't carry extra clips. She's never exhausted even one before. Why would she carry extras?

But she knows she has one. One. And she knows what these things are.

When the others are faced with massive black tentacles of shadow writhing about in the street, Danicka thinks only Oh, god. and it's a resigned, exhausted sigh of blasphemy even in her own skull... rather than a scream of terror resonating around her head. She doesn't lower her firearm but squeezes the trigger once, twice, three times in quick succession, praying. She prays, sometimes.

And it does the trick. Finally. Danicka lets out a noise that's not quite relief, nor is it anywhere close to triumph. She is breathing heavily, her chest moving with each pant, and her arms are still locked to keep the gun at the ready.

The girl falls, and Danicka walks immediately to the fallen man. She bends at the waist, presses the barrel of the gun to his head, and unloads one last bullet into the bloodsucker.

[Genevre de Provence] It took a few moments for Genevre to lower her gun. She wasn't shaking, or fearful, or the like when one took a life. It almost seemed as though, this wasn't the first life she ever took. She slowly pocketed the gun in her coat. "Why iz it when I go out, some kind of bullzhit like zis always 'appens?"

[Lonna Larson] She has no idea what this is. She has no idea what they are or what they could do [she has an inkling though, and that was enough]. She could handle quite a lot of things, but this was not natural by any means. She is furious... and when the fury and anger and indigation settled down...

She caught a look at her knuckles, her shoulders, the blood that was everywhere and daring to make her get sick to her stomach. Lonna looked pale, and now that her adrenaline was daring not to pound too heavily, her hands were shaking...

"ohmigod..." is the only thing she can think.

Ohmigod. ohmigodohmigodohmigod fix. it. now

Breathe, Larson. Right?

"I think I'm gonna be sick..."

[Genevre de Provence] She moved over to Lonna. "Come, we take you to.." She had to think for a moment then grumbled. "We take you to Theron. 'E will fix you, 'opefully."

[-bump-] The bullet does nothing.

But the spark -- the fire bursting from the muzzle, point blank; the ignited gunpowder coughing out onto the bloodsucker's temple --

it catches. Like sparks to paper, lightning to tinder, it burns, sudden and hot and unbelievably fast. A rim of fire spreads, orange and furious, licking from one monster to the other. Behind it, flesh and bone, a century old or more, crumbles away to ash.

In seconds, the man and the girl are gone. Ashes blow away on the wind, speckling white snow with grey.

--

Kinfolk live a rough life. They get jaded fast.

A few months ago, Alexander fought against fomori for the first time. He was terrified. Tonight, facing the hound with the bone spikes and the muscles and the teeth, he thought mainly about how to kill it. Where to strike. How to angle the knife.

And then he saw a man turn to darkness.

The knives are shaking in his hands, splashing shards of light in all directions. He's panting, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His helmet is forgotten in the gutter.

"What the fuck was that?"

[Danicka Musil] "Leech," is all Danicka says, and this is to Alexander Vaughn.

She's stepping back from the fire, and she's still trembling. And shudders when she looks over at Lonna. "Oh god. Lonna, I'm sorry."

As though she could have stopped that.

[Genevre de Provence] She was pulling off her coat to put on Lonna's shoulders. "Zat was our life, mon ami."

[Lonna Larson] In a moment of morbid fascination, the blonde perks up with a half of a laugh, "hey, look, they're self cleaning. We don't have to do anything."

Ashes scattered to the winds, and she shudders. The blonde is genuinely horrified. It comes across in her speech- shakey, uncertain, quiet, and the way that she is holding onto Genevre's coat for dear life.

"I'm fine," is the only thing she can get out, for her own benefit as much as anyone else's. "We... we... we need to go. We need to go now."

[Genevre de Provence] She took Lonna by the arm. "I take you to Theron. 'E should know 'ow to fix zis." And started for her car with Lonna in tow.

[-bump-] Alexander just gives Genevre a look: equal parts disbelief and disgust. "What the fuck?" he says, and then turns back to the blonde. The one with all the spikes. "Let's go. Think we can get someone to ... help her? Push her goddamn bones back in under her skin?"

[Danicka Musil] The Shadow Lord kinswoman -- who has been, at turns, mistaken for a member of a great many other tribes, and not just by Mr. Vaughn over there -- looks at the Fang and the Gaian with a concern she's never shown for others after one of these skirmishes. She looks at Genevre. "She needs to be taken to her tribe. If you don't know a Child of Gaia, take her to the Brotherhood and flag down the first one of them you see. Someone will know a Theurge."

Her eyes go to Alex as she's staring to put her gun away. She swallows hard. "Would you mind giving me a ride home?"

[Genevre de Provence] She shoo'd Alex off. "You go. I will 'andle Lonna. I will take 'er to mon pack's zeuge. Now shoo." Being all Fangy at it.

[Danicka Musil] "Genevre," Danicka snaps. "It hardly matters which Theurge it is. Find someone, for god's sake. But shut up and go."

[Genevre de Provence] *takes Lonna to the BH*

[Lonna Larson] People keep talking about taking her to her tribe. The blonde, however, doesn't seem to be taking this well. Of course, she's taking it just fine for a moment, then the realization of something seems to be sinking in and she's reminded of something else and things build and build and-

Genevre was taking her to the brotherhood. No panicking.

[-bump-] Fang and Coggie head toward the red Volvo. Alexander watches them go, trying not to stare too hard at the bone spikes.

"No problem," he says to Danicka. "It's this way."

[Danicka Musil] [intelligence. is there any chance you even remember?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Danicka Musil] There are shopping bags on the sidewalk. Williams Sonoma. Crate and Barrel. Pottery Barn. They are left right where they are, as the rather pale woman in the black coat -- which has ash on it now, and Lonna's blood on the cuffs -- and the cheerful green hat walks over to Alexander Vaughn with a small nod, gun in purse now. She shoulders the bag and nods. She doesn't even notice the shopping bags, it seems. Or maybe she just doesn't care.

"It isn't far," Danicka assures him, as though this makes much of a difference with a dead dog-monster's body behind them and a cloud of ash stirring up and vanishing. She stops, though. "Oh."

And looks at the dog, then Alex. "I don't want to deal with this," she confesses. And then: "One moment."

An iPhone, sleek and shining, comes out of her coat pocket. She doesn't call anyone. She sends a text, and then nods to Alex. "Alright."

Her address is given, and she doesn't shy from quite literally clinging to him once they're on his bike, all the way to Kingsbury Plaza.

[-bump-] "Hey, you forgot your stuff," Alex calls. If she doesn't go back for them, he does -- muttering the whole time.

It's probably a good thing she doesn't live far. The Buell's saddlebags are small on a good day; its storage space is miniscule with a passenger on board. It's possible she'll have to leave some things on the curb.

The knives, maybe.

They get there, though -- Alexander riding not so fast as he would in better weather; under better circumstances. The kinsman's body is stocky and solid, a compact, dense bundle of meat and bone. He shrugs her back if she leans against him so heavily he's in danger of losing his balance, but given who this is, and her approximate mass, this is unlikely.

At the foot of her building Alex stops, sitting back as she gets off the back of the bike. She's at the glass doors when he suddenly calls her back.

"Hey!" Irony: it's the same words. "You forgot your stuff."

He's holding the second dart out to her, shimmering between gloved fingers, faintly green-black in the sodium lights.

[Danicka Musil] "Oh."

Danicka does indeed turn back to get her bags, folding paper around items inside to shove them into the saddlebags. Her trembling is dying down. She'll have to be reminded again when he gets to Kingsbury Plaza, perhaps, to take her stuff back out. She didn't shake when she was firing. She just lets it all hit her now, in the aftermath.

She's ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. A few times. A lot of times. And she does need to be reminded of the talen, if not the bags from the places she chose to shop at today. Her hands have Lonna's dried blood on them when she turns on her heel, walks back, and takes the dart back.

"Thank you," she says. No words about keeping it, or about doing a good job out there tonight. She does look at him for a moment though, and her parting shot is just: "You'll be hearing from me."

She goes in. Home. Or something like it.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

consumption.

[Consumption] Ground rules!
1: Post in Alphabetical order, please! It helps me keep track of whose turn it is to post
2: Please limit posts to 7 minutes in length when we are not in combat. There are a lot of you guys, I want you all to be able to get things done quickly.
3: When we are in combat, please limit declares to 3 minutes in length. This is, also, so that all can get out at a decent hour.
4: Don't roll until I ask you to roll! The reason behind this is that I'll be writing your recap while you are in combat.
5: Don't die. If you die, I will personally come to your house, eat all of your food, and make fun of your living room decor.
5: I have a hard time keeping up with group chats. In the event that I DO miss your question, feel free to IM me. I am usually much better about answering an IM than I am a group chat question.

There is a thirty minute gateway in this scene. If the people who are supposed to be here are not in scene by 8:00, the doors close. Sorry, loves!

Enjoy, lovelies! And thank you for joining! *heart-sunshine!*

[Consumption] This sort of place was... exclusive.

It was the kind of place where the door man judged people with the eyes of a critic. He looked at those who entered the nightclub as though he were at a grocery store. In the end, that's all these places were- meat markets. Where people were bought and sold by the pound.

["I thought I saw something interesting," she said. It was offhanded. The music continued. She repositioned herself, shifting her weight and taking a drink of the gin and tonic she had since forgotten that she was still holding in her hand. "That something interesting, however, happens to be attached to something peroxide-soaked," again, her tone seemed distracted. She couldn't have just been checking some person out. "I wonder how many people come in and out of this place a night."
"Hundreds," he replied, "maybe a thousand. What was so interesting?"
"It's all so structured and... it's really quite interesting. It's like it doesn't matter who is there, just so long as someone is playing their roles it goes on... but they make it look so easy... Or have they all just practiced this to the point of second nature?"
He laughs under his breath -- "Always so clinical. Sometimes I don't know which of you is colder." Was he being unkind? She could take the truth; she's a big girl.]


When they get inside, through one way or another, it is like any other club. With low lighting and loud music and bass that was more tribal, rhythms more primal than they realized. All set over pseudo-posh remixes of dance songs no one cared to remember the names of. This club was the flavor-of-the-week, to be tossed aside when it was used up and no longer 'the place'.

It was large, with vaulted ceilings and two-tiered balcony. More accurately, it appeared to be a balcony and a "press box". It was, more than likely, the club's main office. The decor was done up in red and violet. When the lights in this place came on, it would more than likely be horrific to look at, but something about its current color combination sounded awful. There was some shiny, garish, slick garland at the top of the curtains that separated booths from the dance floor. The tiebacks looked ivory and sharp- a lawsuit waiting to happen.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where we open our scene, with grinding bodies and suggestive tones and people on the dance floor, chasing blue dolphins.

[Covered Sky] However she got in, whatever stroke of luck or slip of judgment that had the doorman allowing this tall young woman with unruly black hair and a dangerous--what had that woman said last night?... 'beautiful'?--aura off of the ice-slicked sidewalk and into the den, does not matter now that the chill is off of her spine and her attention is focused elsewhere.

Places like this are teeming with corruption, with vice, with cracks in the psychic armor of hundreds of humans so easily taken over. This city is filled with bars and clubs, all of them offering up a thrill and a threat that can be otherwise found in darkened lots and back alleys without the fear of public exposure.

The woman is above the average height for a human female of either American or Southeast Asian origin, over 5'7" in black hiking boots, her slim legs wrapped in dark denim and her torso bearing a dark gray A-shirt and nothing else. Her hair is down and frazzled from the dryness of the air around them and a lack of attention; there is an electric tension in her form, a ferocity that keeps most people from coming too close or attempting to work their magic on the lone woman. There is a drink in her hand, but is is ignored in favor of eying the crowd. She stands at the bar without leaning on it, her attention cast out like a net over the grinding, undulating throng on the dance floor.

Her back is to the wall. It wouldn't do to have it anywhere else.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre was one who had little problems getting into such places. She could be found herself sitting at one of the couches on the teir overlooking the dancefloor. After recent events, she needed a good night out. Of course, the last time she went to a nightclub, she met someone who got her in serious trouble.

Thinking of that, she just smiled. SHe was trouble no matter. An attractive woman, all the way from Paris, in a dress of red silk that slinked over her curves like paint. Her nails tapped on the table with the music as she sipped on her Mojito, and watched the crowd below. Her purse on the table, near her hand for quick access.

[Leaves-No-Trace] Getting into places like this wasn't easy. However, getting into places like this got a whole lot easier if you happened to be a ne'er-do-well with a lopsided grin named Edwin Morr.

And while he had his... admirable and fetching qualities, it was not these that enabled the sly grinning No Moon entrance into this most exclusive club. Or would, assuming he was worth his salt at the trade to which he plied his hands. Doormen tended to focus on people waiting in nice, orderly lines. Given that Edwin neither felt the need or desire to do so, he was nonetheless far harder for them to deal with.

He crept like a wraith through the darkness, making his way around the building a time before deciding on the direct route. While waiting in line, as they were letting in a larger group, a slight shove of the guy waiting in line ahead of him was enough to draw the attention of both bouncers on the shoved man as he barreled into them. Then, entering neatly upon the heels of the group that had just gone into the club, no one seemed the wiser to his entrance.

At least he looked the part... He wore a pair of blue jeans that were absent the cookie cutter look so prominent on the outside, yet of a shade within these environs that was entirely too common. His shirts, a long sleeved shirt of soft black cotton, and a gray v-neck tee shirt underneath, blended neatly in the flashing lights of the dance floor and bar.

And for once, he wasn't even wearing the baseball cap. Still... To say he was without all of his standard trade tricks was another matter entirely.

Upon reaching the dance floor area on the first level, the sly grinning No Moon takes a moment to enjoy the view; there were beautiful women here. Why not? Then, after having taken the time to smell the roses, he begins moving through the building proper, considering entrances, exits, and general layout.

It was only prudent.

[Liadan Whelan] On an ordinary day, Lee doesn't look like the kind of woman who frequents night clubs. Then again, Lee doesn't look like the kind of woman who does half the things she does. She looks too quiet, too bookish, too much like the stereotype of the reclusive geek. Even now, there are more than a few hints of what should be a quiet nature. Her vibrant red hair is down, framing a pale face made up for once. She's wearing a long-sleeved blue top that exposes her shoulders and clings to her figure, snug fitting jeans and a pair of Chuck Taylor's.

When the night started, Lee was with people. Mostly models, clients, contacts. They've since departed, leaving the redhead alone at the bar. She sits on one of the tall stools, a bottle in hand as she looks out over the dance floor. She has no bag, no coat, no other gear. One can only assume it was all left at a coat room.

[Warcry] Sinclair is in the middle of the throng. She's not unrecognizable, she's not unattractive, she's not even so plain that an unwary eye passes over her without pause. But there is a horde of people in this club, and she is lost in them. Most of those in her immediate surrounding area are giving her a bit more of a wide berth than they dare give anyone else, than they would dare give at any other club tonight when it's this packed. But she doesn't lash out when jostled.

Tonight is her moon. Sinclair garners as much attention as she repels tonight, the epitome of the proverbial flame, where mortals are the moths. There's a feather knotted into her hair, some of the threads stripped and the black gloss of it painted with white symbols. Her clothes are black, and hard to see down in the crowd, and don't really matter much anyway. Something about her seems to glow, seems to writhe even when she's still, makes her seem like the wildest, strongest thing out there.

And she may very well be.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas leans on the balcony railing, watching the crowd below. Once upon a time he came to places like this with Edward Bellamonte, and Edward would gamble and Lukas would try to keep up, at least for a while. Then for a while he came to places like this looking for release -- looking for women strongwilled enough to withstand him, or, contrarily, weakwilled enough to succumb.

Now he comes here largely because it's a way of remembering the past. He likes the beat and the bass and the bodies churning in an anonymous ocean of flesh. He likes it because it reminds him of Boston, of New York City, and

of his mate.

He can feel his packmate(s) out there tonight. Sinclair burns bright as a brand in his mind. The Bellamontes, somewhere, glistening beacons of breeding. Theron, steadfast; Caleb, remote. If he closes his eyes, he'd be able to pinpoint them -- which direction, how far. He doesn't. He blinks once, slowly, and takes a drink from the tumbler in his hand. People typically don't come to clubs to drink scotch neat, but Lukas does.

[Edward Bellamonte] (Today I feel . . .)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Edward Bellamonte] Lukas can, in fact, feel one of those Bellamonte beacons coming through the door - it's not even eight yet, still early for his gambling, smiling, always laughing friend. But things are different now, so very much so. Edward is shut down, reserved, in a way that Lukas has never witnessed in the years the two men have known each other, in a way that's foreign to friend and sisters both. He lacks in trust and would, in fact, be a recluse if duty didn't call him out of the loft every now and then, if there weren't some obligation or another to make him shave and go through the motions of wanting to be a part of things around him.

Today, Edward is not that laughing, pleased-with-himself-and-life-and-the-world boy . . . but it's not as bad as it has been on some occasions of late. He's trying; he's dragged himself out to this place of so many others to choose from, to a place that reminds him of Boston, of New York City.

It doesn't take long to home in on his old friend. The dance floor is more or less ignored and Edward heads upstairs to take up a lean next to his Alpha, who had once been his Beta.

Things change. And they stay the same. "Hey." And he, too, watches.

[Consumption] Downstairs
Corruption. That's the sort of thing that runs amock on these sorts of places. Covered Sky knows these things, can deal with them accordingly, and for now she watches the area with whatever degree of interest she so desires. Several seats down sits a particular Fianna kinswoman whose name was whispered with praise. To her left, the Fianna and some athletic blonde in too-little clothing, to her right... a male who bore little mention.

Liadan Whelan, a little geeky, a little tall... her quiet nature is hinted at, rather than screaming out loud. she has no bag, no coat, no gear of any kind. It's just her and the bar and the pulsating dancefloor. Someone has the balls to sit down next to her. She's cute, really. An athletic woman with a short skirt and a bare midriff. She's a pretty thing without being too pretty.
"Hey," she offers, "can I buy you a drink?"

Her pupils are wide, it could be from the lighting, but it could be from something else, too.

Edwin can watch all of this, has found the entrances, the exits, watches as Sinclair moves in a way that is both beautiful and terrifying. She enthralls as much as she repels. She seems to glow. She is movement, she is inspiration, she is a Galliard. As though she needed dancing to prove that, Sinclair moves like it matters, and those who are near her simply can not look away. In the crowd, she can almost hear something, though it's hard to tell if it's the music or the sound of the others dancing with her.

The air is charged. It's a good night.


Balcony
"Why spend all your time up here alone?" is the herald of the male's arrival, he passes by Lukas, and the movement is intentional. He looks at him briefly, and skirts the edge in much the same way a mortal wold. There is a tinge of something in the air, electric and fresh. It is neither here nor there.

The male looks at Genevre, and he is all charm. All bright, sharp smiles that beckon for a woman to forget what was bothering her. It rings true of temptation, but then again, everything in this place does.

"Come out here often?" Idle chat, rapore building. That jazz.

What Lukas sees from his vantage point is familiar. Feels like Boston, tastes like New York, beats like the ebb and flow of the tides. People move, it's almost elegant, sometimes. Edward comes up the stairs to join him, and is treated to a similar view. Just another night in the club.

[Liadan Whelan] [percept + alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8) Re-rolls: 1

[Warcry] [perception + alertness + waxing gibbous moon]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Covered Sky] [Alertness+Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 6, 8 (Failure at target 8)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Perception + Alertness, diff = 8))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Warcry] [intelligence + streetwise + moon]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Wits + Streetwise + Fox, diff = 7))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Liadan Whelan] [int + streetwise]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Consumption] "You wanna hit? First one's free," they hear the pusher say. it's hard to tell where he is in the crowd, but it's close enough that, when catching the tones, he can be heard.
"I don't know," replies the lamb, "I don't really do that shit. Who knows what they put in it"
"It ain't blue dolphin, sweety, this is better."
"... okay."

Down the hatch it goes.
to Leaves-No-Trace, Liadan Whelan, Warcry

[Consumption] You wanna hit? the pusher said.

First one's free, the pusher said.

It always is.

Ecstasy. It comes in all color so the rainbow, from a pale, boring white to vibrant limes and playful blues and pinks. All with cute names and cuter pictures- Adam, Adidas, alligator red- butterfly, blue dolphin, bacardi bat green.

This ain't blue dolphin, sweety, the pusher said.

This is better better, the pusher said.

As far as club drugs go, ecstasy is considered harmless. It's just a pill that makes you feel good, makes you want to touch, to be close, that makes every sensation count like it's supposed to be. And that's what it is- it's a rush, a high, a pleasure undaunted and unmeasured. Ecstasy is life the way it is supposed to be. Everything, everything more significant. It doesn't matter if it's cut with meth or heroin or coke, it's harmless.

Just don't grind your teeth.
Just don't get dehydrated.

You wanna hit?

First one's free.

It always is.

"...okay."

Down the hatch it goes. Sinclair gets a feeling, however, that this little pill sure-as-shit ain't ecstasy. The air is charged. Something doesn't feel right. She knows how a deal goes down, and she knows that, the way this "deal" is going, this guy's being a little too free with his product for it to be the real deal.

Cut it with heroin. Cut it with meth. Cut it with rat poison for all someone cares, because it's not ecstasy. It's better.
to Warcry

[Warcry] ...Guys?
to Edward Bellamonte, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] A stirring on the totemphone -- and a stirring on the balcony, the Ahroun rising up from his lean to brace his hands on the balcony rail.

Yeah. Up on the balcony. Something the matter?
to Edward Bellamonte, Warcry

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre looks up at the male now before her. A sip of her drink taken, and a smile is given. She manages to shift on the couch just a bit to allow him to join her on the couch. Her French accent ringing through the air. "Non, it's mon first time 'ere."

[Leaves-No-Trace] Edwin blinks, his lopsided grin turning a touch dark as he watches the exchange before him. Then, with a wry chuckle, he makes his way toward the bar and takes an empty space nearby. Waiting for the bartender to take his order, the stormy blue eyes are turned toward the dance floor with a measure of amused curiosity.

Then, once the bartender arrives to take his order, Edwin's mid range drawl floats low over the loud dance music to the bartender.

"Jack'n'Coke. Hold th'Coke."

A couple bills are placed on the bar... Enough to cover the drink, and enough tip not to be bugged about a silly thing like drivers' licenses, Edwin waits for his drink and returns to watching the crowd.

[Warcry] The Galliard sounds uncertain in their minds... as uncertain as she ever does, which is never very much but moreso these days than when Lukas first met her. When she's answered, it somehow makes finding her in the crowd easier. That feather, which Lukas knows to be a talen. The glint of her piercings. The sheer shine of her down there, the way she always looks when it's her moon.

There's some deals going down not far from me. I just got a bad feeling about it, like ...that's not just fuckin' E, y'know? Seems a little too hot for the guy's hands.

A beat. She's a big girl. But:

You want me to do anything about it?
to Edward Bellamonte, Wyrmbreaker

[Liadan Whelan] She can't tell where it's coming from, but she hears it. Lee glances around her immediate area once, idly, not really trying to find the source of a particular conversation. She doesn't feel any particularly strong incliniations one way or the other about it. Lee didn't stay in one school long enough to join any anti-drug clubs, and while drug abuse is fairly common in her line of work, she doesn't care what people are on, so long as they aren't on it on her time.

It might be considered odd that the tall redhead wouldn't jump to her feet and hunt down those engaged in conversation. She crept through a basement to free captured kinfolk. When she found herself in the twelfth century, about to face an oncoming army, she ran to shield a boy she had never met before. She has defended people and protected others with no apparent gain for herself. But whoever is being pushed to buy something on the first floor is beneath her ability to care or feel concerned.

Her eyes instead are drawn to the blonde who has come to sit beside her. When asked if a drink can be bought for her, Lee raises the bottle she already has in hand, smiling a little.

"Thanks, but I'm covered." Dark eyes sweep over the athletic figure, the bared mid-riff, all of it, before sliding back up to the pretty face, appraising. "Do you want something?"

[Warcry] The Galliard may be one of the most sober people down in that crowd of dancers. Those who have spent any time with her at all may easily guess that she doesn't need alcohol or drugs as much as she needs self-control when the moon is waxing. She's dancing, and nothing else.

Almost nothing. When she hears something, she ignores it at first, then cocks her head to listen. Her dancing slows. She never loses the rhythm, follows the beat, but her attention is ...well, present now, where before it had been lost in the mass consciousness of the music. She looks up, past the heads of the humans, looks at the balcony. Likely she can't actually see what's covered in shadow, but her eyes don't stay pinned on the two Fosterns for more than a moment anyway.

She looks back down, but doesn't go anywhere. She keeps her eyes and ears on the pusher and his little lamb, but doesn't make a move yet.

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a sense of consideration across the totemlink. Then: I haven't seen anything, but you have. I trust your judgment more than my assumptions.

Ed, let's get closer to Sinclair and back her up if she goes in.

to Edward Bellamonte, Warcry

[Edward Bellamonte] to Wyrmbreaker (And now also to you)
Sounds like a good idea to me, is Edward's answer. Edward the peacemaker, Edward the listen-and-find-out-more....er. Sinclair doesn't know him (at all) well, but Lukas does. That's something new. Want company?
to Warcry

[Wyrmbreaker] Above, the Ahroun straightens up from his cross-forearmed lean against the balcony balustrade. He picks up his drink and heads for the stairs down.

[Consumption] [don't mind this roll... dooobeeeeedoooooo...]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 8) [WP]

[Edward Bellamonte] As does the Ragabash, nearly in time. Except he hadn't gotten a drink yet.

[Liadan Whelan] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 5, 8, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Covered Sky] [BOOZE]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Willpower))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Consumption] Downstairs
Do you want something?
"I want you to come dance with me," she tells Liadan, "does that count?"

Edwin orders a jack and coke... sans coke, and the drink is given to him soon enough. Those who have taken them to their lips notice something, a tingle, a sensation that is strange... the look at the drinks, and though they know they are actually just alcohol, something doesn't feel right. Something has a srange tinge and an aftertaste... something that feels like exhaust fumes on their tongues.

Something that leaves their fingertips feeling oily. Something that feels... odd.

Covered Sky knows these places are ripe with corruption. She knows many things. Edward and Lukas are headed down the stairs, Sinclair is not the eye of a hurricane, but its heart. The music pulses and beats. The little blonde lamb moves with the beat, adn her eyes widen, pupils wide and she, along with half a dozen other club goers, seem content to stare at the lights and taste sunshine.

The woman, the athletic brunette, grins like the devil at Liadan Whelan, and aye if the devil does not take a pleasing shape. Her eyes travel down the bar to those gathered. She starts to walk away, and as she walks she addresses all of them.

"You should come dance, too, all of you. Clubbing isn't a spectator sport."

Balcony
"You know... you should come dance with me," he tells her, "there's no fun to be had sitting here drinking."

He starts to stand, and he offers her a hand, "I don't think I can stand being so stationary for too long... c'mon... I'm Devon."

[Covered Sky] The Philodox stands at the bar, watching but noticing nothing; nothing but the faint hint of breeding that comes from down the bar, nothing but the sweat and strain of bodies moving on the floor in front of her, nothing but the beat of the music and the flirtation going on mere feet from her. It isn't until a crowd of bodies moves away from the bar that she is able to pinpoint the pure blood as coursing through the veins of the redhead, and when the athletic brunette entreats the lot of them to come dance, the black-haired female just raises her eyebrows and scoffs.

Yet she doesn't take her eyes off of the brunette. Her nostrils flare, once, and then she sets down her drink, her interest suddenly piqued.

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre looks at her drink a moment, the thought of 'Figures, it is watered down cheap shit' going through her mind. "I suppose you are right, non?" She doesn't bother to finish her drink. Her appetite not sated by the cheap shit. She took the man's hand and rose from the couch. "Genevre." She smiled softly as she gave her name. "And I zink I could manage 1 dance wiz you."

[Edward Bellamonte] Edward is quiet. He always has been, really - this is nothing new.
He's quiet and he watches, listens, and reads people the better to find out what's going on and where. So at Lukas' side and still sans drink (because he doesn't start drinking when shit might be going down; that would be foolish), he moves towards Sinclair on the dance floor.

Next to his packmates, he is nothing (special) to look at. He is, but for the Rage far outweighed by an Ahroun and a Galliard, Just a Guy. No one pays him any notice, which is a good thing. It means that, while they're running off at the mouth, Edward can learn all kinds of things. Needless to say, he's listening closely for any hint as to what it is that's going on as he and Lukas cut through the crowd to join Sinclair.

[Leaves-No-Trace] Edwin blinks at the liquor, his blue eyed gaze narrowing as his smile grows a touch unpleasant. The filmy, oily aftertaste put him on guard; as a man who frequently consumed Jack Daniels' whiskey, he was accustomed to what it should and should not taste like.

Idly, he begins considering the inside of his glass, running a finger inside it, rubbing the bit of leftover liquor within between a thumb and forefinger curiously.

His mid range drawl again carries to the bartender.

"Whutever dat was... 'Tweren't Jack... Or ruther, 'tweren't Jack only.

Whut say ya tells me whut I jes' drank..."

Then, he's being invited to dance... A lopsided grin grows upon the No Moon's lips, as he shakes his head slightly in dissent.

"Mebbe after bit, doll... Reckon I'll let th'purty folk start th'show."

[Liadan Whelan] Lee has a bottle of beer in hand. It's simple, it's not what female's are generally known for ordering at places like this, but it's generally safer. It's easier to stay sober when no one can see how empty the drink is. It's harder to slip something into a bottle of Budweiser.

That doesn't make it impossible.

Lee takes her first sip of the evening, and it tingles strangely in her mouth. It tastes funny in the aftertaste, not quite right. She looks at the bottle, sets it down on the bar with a heavy clunk.

And quickly forgets about it.

The cute athletic girl wants to dance, so Lee rises to her feet. In her flat canvas shoes, she doesn't stand out as easily as she normally would. In the dim light, strobes going off over the dance floor, the striking color of her hair doesn't draw attention. Tonight, Lee blends in with the crowd, no different than any other ordinary mortal, even though she's more on the tall side. The only thing that makes her stand out, that draws eyes to her, is the hint of breeding, that vague sense that marks her as something special to the Nation.

she grins, and she follows the woman out onto the dance floor.

[Warcry] There is a part of Sinclair that is not, never was, human. Not 'only' human, not 'just' human... never really human to begin with. For a homid-born Garou, especially one of a tribe closer to humanity than any other, Sinclair lacks whatever quality it is that makes someone belong in a school, a workplace, a family of human beings. That, or whatever else is in her is so strong, so vicious, so alien to humanity that it burns through it, consumes it, destroys everything but the faintest traces of someone who -- but for a trick of genetics and spirit -- would have grown up to be a

programmer. Coach. Singer. Teacher. Investment banker. Writer.

Who could have been anything, with her brain and her drive and her parents' support. Instead she is this: pierced, tattooed, savage, moon-touched, violent. She is not an animal. She is more dangerous than any half-sentient creature found in the wild. She is a Garou, and so it is not some part of her but her body and mind and soul entire that chants quietly alongside her heartbeat

my pack is coming my pack is coming mypackiscomingmypackiscoming

and says it with an unfettered delight, a hungry straining at a self-imposed leash. Maybe it's the moon. Maybe it's because it's the day after Christmas and she does remember what that day used to mean to her. When Lukas and Edward get there, their Rage cutting a swath through the crowd and creating a pocket of space when it collides with Sinclair's, she all but jumps on the Ragabash, some of her hair sticking to her skin with sweat and the feather dangling and her surreal, opaque blue eyes finding Lukas's more searing ones.

All she does is nod in the right direction, indicating: There.

[Wyrmbreaker] The two Fosterns of the pack -- and two of the three founders of the pack -- have joined Sinclair now. The Galliard jumps on the Ragabash, letting go nearly in the same breath. Lukas, a step or two behind, turns his head simultaneously to look in the direct indicated.

They form a triangle on the dance floor, a core of strength and unity. Around them, the human tide laps and churns, always staying an arm's reach or more away. In a club as packed as this one, that's a huge berth.

[Consumption] [don't mind me again! dooobeee dooo doooooooo!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8) [WP]

[Covered Sky] [Primal-Urge+Perception]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Edward Bellamonte]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Liadan Whelan] [percept + intuit]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Warcry] [perception + primal urge + moon]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Perception + Primal Urge, diff = 6))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 5, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Genevre de Provence] ((Perception))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Consumption] Bartender: WTF mate?
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] P/A!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] P/U!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] SHADOW LORDS DON'T FAIL!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 7 (Failure at target 7)

[Warcry] [retry]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 9 (Botch x 1 at target 76)

[Consumption] They all start the transition down the stairs, and soon enough Genevre and Devon are heading their way to the dance floor. They all, in some form or fashion, are headed that way. Covered Sky notices that the drink is strange, follows instincts and stares at the athletic brunette who is more-than-content to tempt them out to the dance loor.

Edin declines in favor of speaking to the bartender. He is a scrawny sort, the kind who looks like he might blow over in a strong wind. He looks at Edwin, then at his glass. He looks like he's in college, the clueless type, really.

"Oh, gross," he says as he looks at the glass, "do you want a refund? Or... oh man."

He takes a second to get a second glass and makes sure to really rinse it out, "that looked nasty."

The bartender pauses, and looks at the glass again. He seems uneasy, he pours another glass of jack.

"Try that?"

Liadan goes to the dancefloor, and the athletic brunette shoots her a wink. She moves with grace and poise. She dances. It's not so much graceful as it is eroitc; the beat demands it. She and the Lamb move closer, they are attracted, but the brunette continues to beckon Liadan forth.

The more the merrier. Sometimes, three isn't a crowd.

Sometimes, three is a party.

[Covered Sky] Whether it's the gleaming of the strobe lights against the surface of her drink or the sheen of whatever is coating the inside of the glass, Park notices the amber film clinging to the surface of the vessel like some sort of thick sweat. Her eyes pull away from the athletic brunette to examine the drink more closely, and then she's looking over towards the exchange between Edwin and the bartender.

She turns around, her back going to the crowd, and walks over to join the other Lord.

"Mine's got stuff in it, too," she tells the bartender, thrusting the barely-touched drink across the lacquered wood for his inspection, clearly uncaring as to how he's going to react to the Rage pouring off of her like heat from a furnace.

And then she feels something behind her. Around her. Around them. A seam is torn, a barrier is being breached. The woman with the set jaw and the intense black eyes whips around, her hair flying like a weapon to resettle behind her, and then she asks Edwin, "You feel that?"

[Edward Bellamonte] The Galliard all but jumps on him and a split second too late, after she's moved on (as if he's forgotten that such things should, perhaps, be reciprocal), his arm comes up to wrap around air or . . . play it off as a smirking wave, or something. She nods, and his eyes follow the path her head indicates.

He's [I bet you look good] on the dance floor, but he doesn't dance. It's strange, really - he's certainly not a good dancer, but prior to his return, Edward's enthusiasm for nearly everything was all but overwhelming. He reveled in everything that is and was, gloried in it. Now, more than half the time, it seems like he's holding everything, everyone, at arms' length.

".....something's coming," he says, perhaps needlessly, and proceeds to go very, very still, to the point where it's difficult to see if he's breathing.

And then, it's difficult to see him at all.

Every good fight needs a scout, after all, and Ed's (generally) pretty good at that job. Once it's achieved, this invisibility, Ed's . . . well, doing something that no one can see.

(Dex+Stealth for Blissful Ignorance!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Genevre de Provence] Genevre continues to hold Devon's hand as he leads her to the dance floor.

[Leaves-No-Trace] The bartender puts another glass before Edwin, and he nods but makes no move toward it. Instead, Edwin wipes off his fingers on a napkin, trying to get the oily substance off of them, and then dips the same two fingers in the new glass, rubbing them together. Whatever that was... Maybe it was too much detergent in the dishwasher. Maybe it was something else.

But he'd be damned if he was drinking another drop of whatever it was. Even if there was perfectly good Jack in the glass to dilute or kill it.

Instead, his gaze moves to the dance floor, and as the lopsided grin widens and grows more menacing, he begins wiping his fingers off again on another napkin by the bar. His eyes move to where Covered Sky stood slightly further down the bar, asking if he felt it. He nods, his step carrying him closer to her.

He speaks only when he's close enough that nobody else can hear him over the cacophony.

"Whutever comes through... Kill't."

And with that, Edwin's hand moves to the unbuttoned sleeve of his shirt... Grasping at something that from the outline visible to Covered Sky alone appears to be a handle. With a sigh, he adds, almost regretfully...

"Why's it dat all th'best parties seem ta end up like dis..."

[Liadan Whelan] Lee has barely set foot upon the dancefloor, has not yet lost herself to the crowd of writhing bodies, when she feels something wrong. She's not a spiritual person, has no stronger a connection to the universe and the forces that affect it than the mortals around her. The only thing special about her is her connection by blood, by some preternatural link to a shifting breed.

But she feels something amiss.

She notices something about the dancers on the floor, and she looks up, to a press box above their heads.

Lee didn't come here with anyone but mortals, she has no one around her to turn to, no one's sleeve to pluck and ask Did you feel that?

She stops at the edge of the dancefloor, hesitant to join in lest she find herself part of something she can't escape. The tall redhead doesn't intend to stick around and see what's up. She skirts the floor, headed for the coat check.

[Warcry] To say that Sinclair is bewildered when Edward says something cryptic and vanishes is an overstatement. Mostly, she's irritated. She doesn't say a word, but looks up at her Alpha, annoyance darkening her eyes.

[Warcry] Would you like to share with the rest of the class, -rhya?
to Edward Bellamonte, Wyrmbreaker

[Wyrmbreaker] What do you see, Ed?

Lukas turns to face the direction Edward disappeared in, his feet bracing a little wider than shoulderwidth, hands loose and readied at his sides.

[Edward Bellamonte] Of course. When I have something to share other than what I said. It's wry, and even mentally chuffed with something that should be amusement. But Ed's amusement is a hard won thing, these days, and the wry chuff is just that. I don't see anything yet, just felt it. I'm trying to find who did the calling.
to Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Edward Bellamonte] (Per+Invest)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7) [WP]

[Consumption] Bar people.

"Dude," the bartender says when he looks at Covered Sky's glass, and he is genuinely confused, "what the fuck is with this place?"

He stops to check her glass, too, and moves to get her another glass... only to find that it too seems dirty. He looks them over, and the bartended, probably still in college, looks disgusted.

"They don't pay me enough for this shit... look, this is unacceptable, ma'am, I'm sorry, do you want to go talk to the manager?" he looks at them, then at the redhead who was leaving. He was confused, but one couldn't say that they blamed him. Whatever it was that was felt, he seemed to feel it to. The bartender shook his head and started to head for his exit.

"They don't pay me enough for this shit, man, fuckin' temp agencies."

Such was the life of Jake Forstrom. Couldn't catch a break. Couldn't hide from the Nation. Couldn't do anything more than be an unwitting pawn. Such was his birthright. But he stops, and he looks back at Covered Sky and Leaves No Trace. He tosses them a set of keys. He's not sure what's going on, but the Shadow Lords look like they might have some wicked things in mind, and he might not be worth much, but Mama Forstrom didn't raise no fools.

"If you wanna talk to the managers, those are the keys. I dunno want's goin' on out there, but this feels like a big ol' load a bullshit and I ain't gettin' stabbed over some dirty glasses."

And he was out.

Dance Floor


They dance. And it becomes more than that.

It starts out as it always does. Kissing and brushing of slightly clad bodies. They are beautiful, the writhing, sensuous mass ont he dance floor. A man runs his hand down the well-toned abdomen of a woman on the dance floor. Down and downward still across a bare belly to a short skirt. The man's hand pulls up, but the woman with the athletic frame is too busy kissing some short, plucky blonde to her side- the lamb. They are locked at the lips, kissing and nipping at one another. The athletic woman's hand goes to the blonde's cheek andmoves into her short, straight hair.

The blonde gasps in ecstasy as another figure- a twenty-soemthing Italian man- the 'pusher' as Sinclair remembers him- moves behind the blonde. His hands go over small breasts, under her shirt as he kneeds the tender flesh. It's a pile of people, hands moving over one another, and it starts at these four.

They dance.

They Dance.

It's a second before the first man reaches back from touching the woman in the short skirt, taking another woman by the wrist and kissing her. She's a bottled redhead, and it's soon enough easy because her date is joining her. This is a fantasy for him, really. The redhead looks at the athletic female, who half presses her to the ground. One would normally be afraid of being trampled in a place like this.

Normally, one would be horrified by a complete stranger shoving your head between the legs of another woman, but the redhead didn't mind. It all just felt too good, riding the waves of ecstasy and Ecstasy [Not Ecstasy, this is better] until it became a writhing mass of pleasure.

["Truth is, Armstrong, I don't think anyone comes here looking to find a mate for life. Or even for the next month. It's a meat market. Humans come here to find someone to take home for the night, or maybe just to drag into the bathrooms. And I confess," and he sits up, "it's an impulse I can understand. It's quick and easy. It means nothing. No strings, no complications. No liabilities, no deadweight. Nothing to make you vulnerable after the fact."]

Her boyfriend was content to push into the woman his girlfriend was currently... enjoying, and it began as such. The bodies became a pulsating mass of body heat. The athletic brunette moans in complete pleasure, her lips part and she grinds back against the man behind her. Her eyes flicker to Liadan again, then to the redhead between her thighs.The look is come-hither, but she is again interested in the crowd with her.

Genevre finds that Devon isn't dancing anymore. She finds that he doesn't move towards the mass of people reveling in debauched pleasures. Instead, she finds that he is holding her hand a bit too tightly.

It's hard to tell if the gesture is protective or possessive. He does not pursue, though he does not stop it either.

Others are pulled in, though. People get up from their booths, leaving confused dates and make out partners to join the mass. Some beautiful, too beautiful. Others, showing odd signs of deformity. They add on to one another, until there are ten bodies- young and old, beautiful and grotesque-

Fucking.

It goes on like this for a moment, the nameless bottled redhead tries to pull her face back from the athletic woman tasted like honeyed sulfur, and she tried to pull back, finding that her head couldn't quite be pulled away. Liadan could have sworn that the athletic woman looked at her briefly... she could have sworn that the woman winked at her as the bottled redhead panics. She had very little give. She pulled back with a pained grunt, but found that there was no room to do so. She pulls back a third time, and the sound of vertebrae snapping is heard. Instead of a moan of ecstasy, there is one of terror.

Her neck, now elongated several inches, is more visible. The skin has stretched, but she can not move. dark brown eyes look up helplessly in terror as she finds she can not move.

She places her hand on the athletic female's thighs, only to shove and find her hands were stuck, too. Like it was flypaper.

Her boyfriend tries to pull out of the woman, only to find himself stuck. Slowly, whatever skin they have pressing feels more like liquid, when one pulls back, it looks as though there is too much honey on them, though it does little good. They stick soon enough.

Where lips met, there is soon little distinction between faces, figures fused at the mouth, eyesockets drooping as figures push in terror. The humans, who had little idea of the game they had been playing, were duped.

The too beautiful and the grotesque seem pleased, fuck with wreckless abandon until they, too, can not move in the mass. Human and fomor fat move like glue. It bonds the people together. There is muffled, brainless screams and screeches of terror.

Bones snap and reform, or, rather, begin to reform.

It has begun.

Upstairs

Edward follows where his instincts take him. He is a ragabash, and he is well-suited for this job. When he follows his instincts, follows his sense of reason, Edward finds himself headed up the stairs, he is not swayed by the sound of screaming and agony below him. Instead, he follows where he believes he should go. He heads up the staircase. The humans, the ones that are notin the know, the ones that are not taking part in this disgusting ritual, are running.

No one cares that he is headed up that spiral staircase.

Up the stairs, there is an office with the door ajar, and what he sees catches his attention. There is a small figure- he might be fifteen, sixteen at best. With greasy hair and eyes that burned like hatred. He wanted to prove himself, and he was more than willing to do so. Blood on his mouth, on his hands, he smiles something triumphant and looks at the larger, stronger male for something akin to praise.

He is prompty backhanded by the flaxen, scarred man.

His head snaps around and his eyes fall upon the dead body. He sneers at it.

"Took you long enough," the flaxen haired man said.
"It's hard," the younger male replies, "do you have any idea how fucking difficult it is to pull anything through in the city, much less-"
"I don't have time for your excuses, whelp. If you are half of what I was promised, then you can gloat... don't think someone can't just fuck and make more of you little shits. Mules are a dime a dozen, don't forget that."

The younger male growled, but instead looked... injured. his pride wounded. His place, reminded.

[Edward Bellamonte] Come upstairs, comes with a strength that Lukas hasn't heard from Edward since Boston. Grab anyone you know, any of ours, and get off the dance floor.
to Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Covered Sky] Hearing in a place like this is next to impossible. Low tones, loud speech, she can pick up; certain ranges, certain pitches, are lost under the thudding of the bass and the jostling of the crowd. Behind her, the bartender is apologizing profusely, is bitching about his placement, and Park doesn't seem to pay him much mind. She's straining to hear Edwin as he anchors his voice so as not to have it drift too far.

The No Moon reaches inside his shirt, and then keys are tossed across the bar.

Park sharply looks back, then snatches up the keys and calls to the bartender, "Get outta here!"

She indicates the stairs with a sharp jerk of her head, starts to stalk that way, and then a sound that is discernible even under all the heavy music, even with the strobe lights making observation difficult: screams.

Keys in her hand, something bloody awful going on mere feet away, Park's eyes lift skyward not in plea for divine intervention but to gauge what's at the top of the stairs. When she looks back at the dance floor, soft disgust marks her soft features.

"What the fuck?" she shouts to Edwin.

[Warcry] Around the time someone shrieks, and around the time things start to go to hell, Sinclair hears something in her mind that has her looking up, finding the direction to the stairs like a canine scenting a squirrel. She does not bother to grab Lukas's hand. She starts for the edge of the dancefloor quickly, dodging bodies and even jumping over a couple. If she did not move so very, very much like a beast of prey, one might compare her grace to that of a gazelle.

As she's on her way, though, she sees -- smells -- feels something in the crowd. Irish. A hand, stronger than a drunk asshole who thinks she was flirting, latches onto Lee's wrist. "Get off the floor!" she says, and pulls Liadan with her as she heads for the stairs. If Lee resists, Sinclair lets go.

[Wyrmbreaker] As three become two, Lukas instinctively and thoughtlessly moves, pivoting on an invisible axis until his back is to Sinclair's. The Ahroun's head turns left, right, watching with growing disbelief and revulsion as people start fucking

and fusing

on the dance floor. Edward's voice comes through clear and urgent in his mind, and Lukas cups his hands to his mouth and shouts -- no; doesn't shout; shouting wouldn't even be heard in this place. Bellows three names with all his might:

"EDWIN. LIADAN. GENEVRE."

Then he hikes a thumb toward the staircase. The message is clear: going up.

[Leaves-No-Trace] At first, Edwin can't help but stare and grin in wry amusement at the morass of people getting busy on the dance floor... His head shaking slightly as people get stuck in whatever the glue was that was gathering them all in a pile. Then, as things really go South, Edwin's grin turns to Gillian, and after a wink, he speaks in an almost amused tone... One that hints at some macabre joke nobody knows but him.

"See whut I mean? Later, doll..."

She wasn't even paying attention, her head only just swivelling toward the clink of keys as Edwin spoke. Then, he grins that lopsided grin and fades from view, disappearing utterly into the shadows while her head is turned away.

Assuming it worked as it should, she would ask her question to thin air.

((Dex + Stealth + Fox, diff = 6, stealth specialized))
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Genevre de Provence] Gen was having a wonderful time dancing with Devon til it began. Devon stopped dancing, and when Gen noticed, she stopped as well, taking his hand and trying to get his attention. When he started to squeeze her hand, she looked over at what was going on. ANd a chill ran through her body. She pulled on Devon, trying to pull him away. "Mon ami, we need to go, now!" If he didn't respond, she tried to pull her hand free.

Then she hears Lukas's voice. Why is she not surprised? Seemed like everywhere she went, one of the Unbroken was around. But at this moment, she wasn't complaining. Right now, she just wanted her purse, and what was inside as she tried to pull away from Devon. ((Not sure if he's gonna let her go))

[Edward Bellamonte] Bottom of the spiral stairs. People coming down. Abrupt, and the feeling of a brother enRaged.
to Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Liadan Whelan] It's not long before Lee finds she's happy to have stayed off the dance floor. At first, when people began to converge on the athletic brunette, something stirred within the kinswoman. There was a moment when she wanted to join in the mass, become part of something greater than hersel, belong somewhere.

But the floor had too much the feeling of ritual. There was a tang in the air, not just of sex and alcohol and deviancy, but of sacrifice. Something was wrong and suddenly all the redhead wanted was to get away.

The brunette tries to catch her eye as she rushes off, but Lee continues on. That's when she starts to hear the change. Moans of pleasure change to cries of horror. She glances at the crowd on the floor as she pushes through those rushing to join them, and sees horror upon horror.

And then a hand clamps onto her wrist. Instinctively, Lee tries to twist free and finds herself released. That's when her name is bellowed across the floor, along with two others she doesn't recognize. Lee doesn't recognize the voice, but she does recognize the tall figure beckoning for her and others to go upstairs.

For one moment, one fraction of a fraction of a second, Lee's eyes flick to the exits, to the otuside, to twenty-five degree weather and snow and a flight instinct that wants to overpower her.

She barely looks at the door before she pivots and heads for the stairs.

[Wyrmbreaker] Don't try to take them yourself, is the immediate response, crackling down the totemlines like lightning. We're on our way up. Stay hidden and ambush when I say.
to Edward Bellamonte, Warcry

[Genevre de Provence] When Devon lets go, and seeing the gesture from Lukas, she heads upstairs, which is good, her purse is there.

[Liadan Whelan] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Warcry] [+7]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Covered Sky] [+6]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Wyrmbreaker] [Homid: +18]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 6)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((+7))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Genevre de Provence] 5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Consumption] Devon: 7 + 1d10
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2

[Consumption] WTFBBQ: +4
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 5, 8, 8, 10

[Consumption]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Consumption] Theurge upstairs: +5
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient: +16
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9

[Edward Bellamonte] (+5)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient: 16 + 9 = 25
Wyrmbreaker: 18 + 1 = 19
Liadan: 6 + 10 = 16
leaves No Trace: 7 + 6 = 13
WTFBBQ: 4 + 9 = 13
Covered Sky: 6 + 6 = 12
Genevre: 5 + 6 = 11
Devon: 7 + 2 = 9
Warcry: 7+ 1 = 8
Theurge Upstairs: 5 + 1 = 6
Edward: 5 + 1 = 6

[Consumption] If you're on the third floor, all posts will be PMed to you. Thanks a million!

[Warcry] [Reflexive: -1WP (resist pain)
1. Getting upstairs
2 Rage -- held]

[Consumption] Devon: -1 rage: snapshift crinos, -1 WP resist pain
1a: bite giant blob
1b: claw giant blob
r1: claw it again

[Genevre de Provence] 1) Running upstairs to get gun from purse

[Covered Sky] [Reflexive: -1 WP (look, this character doesn't wait until she gets hurt to activate Resist Pain!)

1: Upstairs!
R1: Holding.]

[Consumption] WTFBBQ: actions!
1a: grab Devon
1b: squish.

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Base action: Follow everybody else upstairs (and discreetly so)))

[Edward Bellamonte] Impulsive Ragabash says MEET YOUR DOOM AT MY PACKMATE'S CLAWS and reaches to toss nearest bad guy down stairs. (From the wayback machine.)

[Consumption] Theurge
action!: reflexive: back to breed form! (yay crinos!)
1: try and toss Ed would the plate glass window

[Liadan Whelan] [whatever actions it takes to get to the second floor bar and make a couple molotov cocktails, to be lit and tossed down onto the dancefloor on second round.]

[Wyrmbreaker] 1WP - Resist Pain
Reflexive totemphone: Goddammit Ed, I told you to ambush one. Get back down here!
Reflexive talk: "Flank and attack my target!"

1Gn - Bloody Bandage
1a. Shift to Hispo (or as close as possible) +WP
b. True Fear guy that Ed doesn't toss down
c. Chomp guy that Ed tosses down

[Warcry] [Re-Declare
-1WP (Resist Pain)
-1R (Hispo)
1a. Flank guy that gets tossed down
1b. Bite him
R1. Bite him again!]

[Consumption] (scale of 1 to 10, how smart is Mr. Impatient?)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10

[Covered Sky] [REEEEEMIIIIIX
Reflexive: -1 WP (RP), -1 Rage (Hispo).
1: Flank bad guy who gets tossed.
R1: Bite him!]

[Consumption] actions: -1 rage for crinos
1a: Go shut and lock the door.
1b: claw Edward.
1c: bite him for good measure.
(spending 2 rage to be held and declared later)

[Consumption] [don't need to roll to shut a door. It's just a door.]

[Consumption] claw: -4.
dex3+crinos1+brawl3= 7 - 4 = 3, diff 6
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Consumption] Damage: str3+crinos4+1= 8, diff 6
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Edward Bellamonte] (Soooooooooooak)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Consumption] Bite? Dex3+crinos1+brawl3= 7 - 5 = 2, diff 5
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 2 (Botch x 1 at target 5)

[Consumption] Damage: oww!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Consumption] Soak: OWW!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] Moar reflexive yelling:
"Door's shut and locked! Edwin, get up here!"

1a. Shifting hispo! -3, +WP
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Wyrmbreaker] Good 'nuff. b: climbing.
c: held til door is open again.

[Liadan Whelan] [int + science (zomg it wasn't a wasted dot!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5) [WP]

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Changed action:
Reflexives: 1 Rage for snap-shift to Crinos
Base action: Run up to third floor
R1: Open Seal on 3rd floor door))

[Consumption] WTF: grapple! str+athletics (that's what I'm calling it) -2: str8+athletics0= 8 - 2 = 6
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Consumption] Squish!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 4, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Consumption] devon: soak?
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Consumption] Devon action: new action, try and break free of grapple
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Consumption] Devon: actions done until rage, sorry loves!

[Warcry] [1a. Climbing up
1b. Held til door is open]

[Edward Bellamonte] (Changed actions.
1a) Don't get pushed out a window.
1b) Open the damned door.)

[Consumption] Theurge kiddo: I'm trying to heeeelp yoooooou: shove!
dex2+crinos1+brawl2 = 5, diff 6
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) [WP]

[Edward Bellamonte] Eww, fuck off, mule. Don't touch me.
Dex2+Crinos1+Dodge2=5-2(split)=3
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 6, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Consumption] Damage (if he gets 3, he's out the window): str3+crinos4
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Consumption] (falling (bashing))
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Edward Bellamonte] (Soaky-soaky)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Open sez me.

Gnosis, diff = 7 [wp spent]))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 8 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]

[Wyrmbreaker] Totemphone: Fuck! Edward, get back up!

1c. Since still in f'ing Glabro -- grapple Theurge for Sinclair to chomp. +1diff for changing actions.

[Wyrmbreaker] (Str+2(Glabro)+Brawl+Totem - 5(split))
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Edward Bellamonte] Oof. The mental impression of wind being knocked out of a packmate by a three story fall, and then, I'm okay.
to Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Warcry] [1b. Changing to bite guy who did not get tossed down.
Dex + 2 (Hispo) + Brawl + 3 (Perun) -3 (split) // diff -2 (partially immobilized target), +1 (changing actions)]
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 4)

[Warcry] [forgot one. waxing gibbous moon.]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1 (Botch x 1 at target 4)

[Warcry] [damage. str + 2 + 3]
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Consumption] Theurge: Oww, my spleen!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Consumption] rage actions!
Mr. Impatient: Worthy prey...
r1: bite Lukas -2 (oww)
r2: bite sinclair -2 (oww)
(all at a +1 diff, because it was held)

[Consumption] r1: Bite Lukas! dex3+crinos1+brawl3= 7 - 2 (oww!) = 5, diff 5 +1
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]

[Consumption] Damage: str3+crinos4+3 = 10
Dice Rolled:[ 10 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (Glabro soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Warcry] [R1. Dex + 2 (Hispo) + Brawl + 3 (Perun) + 1 (moon)// -2 (immobilization) +1 (changed action, sort of)]
Dice Rolled:[ 14 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 12 at target 4) Re-rolls: 4

[Warcry] [Damage. Str + 3 (Hispo) + 2 (Hispo Bite) + 11 oh my fucking god]
Dice Rolled:[ 19 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Consumption] OWW QUIT HURTING MEEE!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 8, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Consumption] Rageback: I love life!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Consumption] Devon rage action: claw the blob! dex4+crinos1+brawl3= 8
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Consumption] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Consumption] blob: soak
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient: biting Sinclair the Barbarian
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Consumption]
damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Warcry] [Soak]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Consumption] The flaxen haired man looks at Edward, and with grace and speed only offered to those of a higher rank. He shuts the door, locks it, and claws at Edward. It tears into his flesh, leaving his innards splayed. When he bites, it does little good. Instead, it damned near breaks his own jaw. Wyrmbreaker shifts to hispo, but instead finds himself at a detour in glabro. He climbs the stairs, organizes troops while he waits.

Edwin runs up the stairs, snapping to crinos and covering quite a bit of distance... but not before the door shuts. Meanwhile, Park starts to make her way up the stairs, but something stops her, she looks at her companions and a horrible realization dawns on her: there is a hole ripped through the gauntlet. Anything could slip through, and she pushes herself through to the other side to deal with the problem accordingly.

Sinclair climbs to the door, prowls and waits poised and ready. It is her moon, and Sinclair is a predator.

Inside, the theurge who started this mess and Edward Bellamonte come to blows. The theurge looks between the ahroun with murder in his eyes and the Silver Fang... he was a moment of something akin to compassion, to regret... from one fallen from grace, to one who lives in its birthright, the theurge shoves the ragabash, hard enough that glass shatters and he topples out the window.

the door unlocks and opens thanks to the second ragabash outside. the Unbroken and the alpha of the boogeymen burst through the door. The fostern ahroun grips the whelp while Sinclair lunges for him. The first bite is enough to make him lose his guts, intestines springing forth. They are so in tune, the ahroun in his near-man form doesn't even notice the Spiral bite at him, nor does Sinclair allow the pain of a grazing blow deny her the satisfaction of ripping the crescent moon apart.

Straight up the middle. He falls, twitches, but does not stay dead.

Simply unmoving.

The commotion has left the ahroun's back completely undefended. What a poor tactical choice.

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient: 4 agg
Theurge: rage back, incapp
Sinclair: 1 agg

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient:
Wyrmbreaker:
leaves No Trace:
Warcry:

Declare in reverse!

[Warcry] [1a. Bite Mr Impatient]

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((
Reflexives: Laugh in crinos after Mr. Impatient gets sneak attacked from behind.
Base Action: Split action (2)
Split (1/2): Sneak behind Mr. Impatient
Split (2/2): Claw Mr. Impatient
Rage: Claw Mr. Impatient
))

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((Reflexives should include 1 rage spent))

[Wyrmbreaker] 1R --> Let's get to Hispo already.

1a.
b.
c.
d. Chomp Mr. Impatient!

[Consumption]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4

[Consumption] Mr. Impatient: -1 gnosis for a BB (+4 HP)
1a: bite Lukas!
1b: bite Sinclair
1c: Claw Lukas, too *is clueless about Edwin)

[Consumption] (amend: calling it a two way split, same actions still apply, however, no 1c)

[Consumption] action
1a: dex3+crinos1+brawl 3 - 2 = 5, diff 5
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[Consumption] Damage

[Consumption]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] (soak!)
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Consumption] bite Sinclair!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5) [WP]

[Consumption] damage
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] a. chomp -4!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] +3!
Dice Rolled:[ 12 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Consumption] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] b. -5!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Wyrmbreaker] damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Consumption] OWW!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Wyrmbreaker] c. -6!
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1

[Wyrmbreaker] +4!
Dice Rolled:[ 13 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 7 at target 6)

[Consumption] STOP HURTING MEEE
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Consumption] I love life!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 5, 5, 7 (Failure at target 8) [WP]

[Wyrmbreaker] d. -- Down the stairs we go!

"When we get down there, attack my target. Edwin, stay behind the enemy if you can. Sinclair, on the flank."

Totemphone: Edwin, where the fuck are you?
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 8 (Failure at target 5)

[Wyrmbreaker] (good thing i didn't need to bite again. *LOL*)

[Wyrmbreaker] (*coughs* obviously, totemphone should be "Edward", not "Edwin.")

[Leaves-No-Trace] ((*cackle* I figured he was muttering it to himself and the roll was to figure out where Edwin is.))

[Consumption] These were the best laid plans. The Fostern squares off with another, though it is a common occurence on either side, they were simpl overwhelmed by numbers, by those with the strength of a totem at their backs. It was strength and teamwork that allowed these sorts of things to occur. It is a moment that has no great trumpeting, there is no fanfare, their is nothing epic about this.

One fostern stands with the other, and does not realize when to run, does not realize when he's outclassed.

Does not back down. He never did.

[It was a moment of cowardice that drove Jacob Washington to the Wyrm. He remembered standing with his pack, he remembers standing proud, and being there and looking as though he should be a shining example to them. It was simple, a join-or-die sort of situation, and Jacob Washington remembered looking at them, at their faces so filled with hope.

Cliaths were impressionable like that.

He remembers looking at them, all scrawny and dirty and flecked and fatigued from battle they had lost. He remembers looking in their faces, at a Skald with high cheekbones and impeccable breeding. He remembers she would not break, he remembers her growling at him. He remembers a Glass walker who was missing an eye, who looked at him as though he had the answers. He remembers the metis theurge who looked at him with broken heart searching for answers.

"Better to reign in Hell," he told them. All of them died that day, except for Jacob Washington. The Skald was the last to go; his fondest memory of walking the spiral was hearing her scream, but not for mercy, but in rage. He wished for her strenghth.

It never came.

In his moment of cowardice, his weakness forever repaying. He would not be remembered as a hero in the eyes of Gaia...

but he would be remembered as a hero in the eyes of the Wyrm. as one who stood against three garou and was willing to die for the cause like he should have so many years before]


Blood spills, crashes to the floor, leaves a flaxen haired man, eyes vacant and the smell of filth and regret in the room. The battle, here, is won, while another rages downstairs.

[Warcry] [Taking Round 2 action to get downstairs.]

[Edward Bellamonte] Here! It's the closest to old-Edward he's sounded, this night - since things started. Which is odd, because he hates the fighting. He always has. Still, it sings through him and brings a sort of energy and release that nothing else does.
to Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Consumption] Liadan drops a bomb, but it falls on the philodox, and instead chars their ally on mistake. The second hit, however, does not miss and she, instead throws it and it hits her target. The blob groans in obvious agony, and what happens is interesting. It starts to melt, as though it were made of cheap plastic. The creature flails its various arms, and vomits on the Silver Fang.

It does not injure him, though it is a rather disgusting scent. The blob then throws itself outward upon the Child of Gaia, barely catching his hind leg and pinning him. The monstrosity does not move, which leaves Genevre with a good target. The first bullet makes contact, but it does little good. The body simply Genevre shoots, but the bullet is simply absorbed by the blob. She shoots again, but the same happens.It simply absorbs the lead.

The Child of Gaia squares off beside the Silver Fang, one bites but the creature does not react. They try the same, and blow after blow fails to do any damage. They regroup, are ready to attack again but find their attacks do little good.

In the end, chemistry prevails. In the end, it is Jack Daniels and determination that causes the creature to screach, four its dozens of melting eyes to roll back, and it collapses. It is without note that the creature dies, begins to fall and finally melt away from its twisted bones.

The creature- once a bottled redhead, a lamb, a pusher, an athletic brunette who sold herself for beauty, an ambitious boyfriend and more- melts like fetid icecream.

The too-loud music drowned out the screams. The only things that are left standing are the Gaians, a mess to clean up, and a hand full of unwitting, lost-looking kin who watch in horror and fascination as it all unfolds.

[Liadan Whelan] Though her first thought was to flee, to leave this place with its disgusting mutated fomor with or without her coat and bag, Lee followed the unspoken command of the Shadow Lord Ahroun and headed upstairs after the others. While people shifted, became wolves or simply oversized in Glabro, crowding the stairs leading up to the third level, Lee had other ideas. She ran to the bar, grabbed up whatever bottles she could, along with napkins and a discarded lighter, and took up a position at the railing overlooking the dance floor.

Her first attempt was a disaster. She misjudged her aim, and the bottle went flying not into the undulating mass of flesh and sex but into the fur of the unknown Garou. There was no time for shouted apologies, however. Lee readied the second makeshift molotov cocktail and let it fly with much better results.

Time blurs as it slows and speeds up at the same time. In the moment, it lasts forever as Genevre takes aim beside her, as the wolves below swipe at the monster with fang and claw. And yet all too soon the thing is dead, Lee's final flaming bottle of cheap tequila having found it's mark.

The redhead leans heavily against the railing, closes her eyes, and focuses on breathing. Dark eyes snap open, and she turns to take in the fight behind her, which has ended. Lee turns again to look down at the melted mess on the dancefloor. Slowly, she heads for the stairs leading down.

[Liadan Whelan] [oops, change my alcohol to Jack Daniels]

[Edward Bellamonte] It seems like forever, the time it takes to fall from the third floor, and Ed has time to think that it would be funny, after everything he managed to live through for six months or more away from Chicago - his new home - and his sisters and his pack, if crashing to a cheap, probably fake parquet floor after being thrown by a filthy little metis was the last straw. He'd laugh, anyway, and hope someone, somewhere, did too.

But he doesn't die - he is hurt, bleeding, but nothing that won't heal. There will be no new scars made tonight, not by Spiral claws, not by fomor . . . appendages, whatever they may be. Once on his feet, he fights beside an unknown Garou to destroy the being with little effect until a well thrown brand hits its mark (after the first one singed his companion) and melts it down to bone. These things are always too slow and too fast all at once - time stops and speeds, and everything telescopes to one action, one moment, one need.

He stands, now, still in Crinos, still bleeding, and very much a beacon of everything that is (and should be) Silver Fang, looking at the remains of their foe.

"Whiskey," he decides, and whether he means to drink or for some other purpose until he comes back from behind the bar with two bottles, one from which he swigs (a somewhat clumsy, amusing thing in Crinos) and the other that gets added to the already licking, growing, consuming flames. It's one way to clean up a mess, at any rate, and as good as any other.

[Wyrmbreaker] By the time the three Garou from the third floor reach the first, all's said and done. Wyrmbreaker surveys the scene for a moment, then reverts to homid form in an eyeblink.

He's lost his outerwear. He stands in his underclothes, self-possessed for all that. Liadan doesn't go far, the crook of her elbow caught in Lukas's hand. He turns first to Edwin, though, thanking the Ragabash in low tones before turning to the kinswoman.

"Are you all right?"

[Warcry] Sinclair is hot on Lukas's heels when they head downstairs, one of them calling over the totemphone for their packmate and one as silent as the eye of a storm. Then the smell hits her and she rears back, a noise that would be a yelping bark in lupus issuing from her throat. In hispo it's more like a keening snarl, a sharply pitched growl of displeasure as her claws skitter on the surface of the second floor.

She chuffs out air through her nostrils and pads towards the edge to peer over at what is left of the mass of congealed bodies. Even in this form, massive and making the floor creak under her steps -- and the steps of Wyrmbreaker nearby -- her eyes are a pale blue that bring to mind things like robin's eggs, clothes for newborn boys, summer skies.

The fire reflects in them.

Her eyes are ethereal, yet there's all too carnal blood all over her muzzle and front, staining her dark fur to glossy, shining black and red. There is a reason why her pack no longer lets her fight alone. There is a reason why they don't get nervous when other Garou are irritated with her, but watch more carefully if they sense that Sinclair is on the verge of losing her temper. It hasn't happened in awhile.

She tore a Spiral in half upstairs, rended him so violently that even when his rage hauled him back to life, he could do no more than twitch. She stepped on his head as she bounded down the stairs again, kicked his skull behind her massive hindpaw. Bone snapped, crushed in on itself. She lingered no more on the sheer power of the bite than she did on the Spiral's last watching, hearing, immobile moments of life. In the heat of battle, at least, it seems she is not entirely aware of -- or concerned with -- just how fucking dangerous she is.

Can be.

She watches the fire for a moment. There's a wound on her ribs where one of the Dancers bit her. She doesn't seem to notice it even as it leaks blood, dripping onto the floor with every breath she takes.

A moment or two later she finally descends to the first floor. Her forepaws touch the ground and then leave it again as she flows back up into her birth form. She stands in a bra that's starting to get worn, pink on pink, and the pair of holey jeans she was wearing when she was dancing. Her hair is down, her chin and throat bloodstained, her feet bare. There's scarring on her back. There's ink on both biceps, on the back of her neck, there's metal in her ears and through the skin of one arm. She looks like a cannibal, with the flames flickering and reflecting off of her. She looks around, then over at Lukas.

"Where's Genevre?" she asks. She doesn't sound concerned.

[Edward Bellamonte] Smoke and stench rise and Edward sprinkles the last of the bottle in his left hand over the body before tossing it off to shatter somewhere - the extra time in not-his-birth-form is for the quicker healing time, of course, but it can't last that long. He's not wasting the perfectly good bottle of surprisingly fine whiskey he'd found behind the bar, after all.

"Fire and Rescue will be here soon," he says, as the smoke rises enough to set off the sprinklers and alarms, thankfully rinsing off some (if not nearly enough) of the bile that covers him. "We should go."

Then Sinclair asks about his kinswoman, and his mouth twists into something like a smirk (or a sneer); he is no more concerned than the Galliard, clearly, despite the blood of his tribe in her veins. "She was shooting? Or I think she was. Maybe she slipped out."

[Consumption] Devon finally shifts down, and in homid, he is not impressive. Fairly attractive, yes, but he is nothing compared to those he is around. No paragon of breeding, nothing to that would set him apart or make him seem like anything but what he was-

A philodox with a lot to prove. Who rode a difficult path because it was the honorable one. He's charred; his pants are bloodstained, but he isn't in terrible shape. He'll live.

He looks at those gathered, and the cliath opens his mouth to say something to the pack. He doesn't, however, because he notices something important out of the corner of his eye.

"Jodie," he breathes to himself, and the young man. Serves in the Light of Truth, turns, pursues half-started, half amazed kinfolk with intent and concern. He's talking about some woman. He moves to pursue- she's a short, rounded thing. With cherub cheeks and size eighteen pants. She comes to these places and sits with the purses. For once, he's thankful for this.

"Jodie!"

Whatever happens between the Children of Gaia stays there.

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan doesn't make it far when she reaches the first floor. A hand on her arm stays her escape, and she turns and looks at Lukas first as if he's just told her the sky is green. Then she blinks at the tall dark-haired man. She nods her head jerkily.

She has to shout over the volume of the music. "I'm fine, thank you." His rage is diminished from the battle, but Lee threw everythin she had into throwing those makeshift bombs at the mass on the dance floor. She's weary, and she is still haunted by her first meeting with this man. The sight of the wild Galliard, like an angel covered in blood and ink and metal, makes her tense. She just wants to get away, to her apartment and a bath, or to somewhere with a familiar face.

Lee starts to pull free of Lukas' hand on her arm. If released she just goes to find her things, her coat and her bag.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Ed," Lukas lets Liadan go to turn toward the Fang, "just a second."

And then the Shadow Lord crosses the distance to his packmate in two strides. His hand swings up; grasps Edward firmly behind the neck. Lukas is quite some inches taller than Edward. He neither uses this height advantage nor attempts to obliterate it by stooping. It is what it is. The Fosterns' eyes meet; they are silent for a long time.

At the end of it, Lukas's eyebrows rise, as though in question.

[Wyrmbreaker] Totemphone:

Edward, you're my brother and my oldest friend, and I love you. But when we are in battle, you will follow my orders like any other member of this pack. You will not break rank. You will ignore orders to do as you please. You will not recklessly endanger yourself, and by doing so, endanger us all.

I won't warn you again. Am I understood?

to cricket, Edward Bellamonte, Warcry

[Edward Bellamonte] Yessir. It's almost cheeky, almost amusing. It's so very, very close, but falls just barely short. Aside from that, there's no apology or explanation - it's acknowledgement, pure and simple.
to cricket, Warcry, Wyrmbreaker

[Warcry] Something about Ed's answer makes Sinclair frown, and deeply. There is an agonizing-looking bite wound on her side, still seeping blood. She uncrosses her arms and watches as Lukas lets go of Lee, giving the kinswoman a look, but... not surprisingly... she doesn't offer help getting home. The woman is not of her tribe, and Sinclair isn't sure who is in charge of the Fianna these days, and even if she were, she doubts the bespectacled female would want to go anywhere with her.

So she lets her go, and when she does, Sinclair shifts into lupus and sits out of the way of the flames while the Fosterns talk. She is staring at them, and her tail is motionless, her ears up.

[Edward Bellamonte] He did wait, and at the end, there's one simple nod - the only break in eye contact. (And yes, Lukas is some inches taller. At right around six feet, Edward is just a little above average height.) He is bruised and a claw has torn through flesh (but not as far as bone) at his left shoulder. He will be well enough, given a couple of days. As will Sinclair be, but with her worse injury, of course his eyes are drawn.

"We should go," he says again, and - unless there's more - does. With his packmates [where he should be].

[Wyrmbreaker] For a little longer, the Fosterns look at one another -- the Ahroun's eyes flicking between the Ragabash's, perceptive, incisive.

Then Lukas nods once, and his hand drops from behind Edward's neck, grips his shoulder briefly. Solidly. "Go on ahead. Tell Kate what happened here so she can check on her kinswoman."

He turns back to Liadan. "I'll let Hatchet know. Call yourself a cab, all right?"
 
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